Herr Ernst gazed after her sorrowfully as, with a gesture of farewell, she silently left the room to tell her lover’s father that he had come in vain.

The old merchant was waiting in the entry, where the wails of the servants and the women in the neighbourhood who, according to custom, were beating their brows and breasts and rending their garments, could be heard distinctly.

Deadly pale, as if ready to sink, he tottered towards the door.

When Els saw him hesitate at the top of the few steps leading to the entry, she gave him her arm to support him down.  As he cautiously put one foot after the other on the stairs, she wondered how it was possible that this man, whose tall figure and handsome face were cast in so noble a mould, could believe her to be so base; and at the same moment she remembered the words which old Berthold Vorchtel had uttered in her presence to his son Ulrich:  “If anything obscure comes between you and a friend, obtain a clear understanding and peace by truth.”

Had the young man who had irritated his misjudged friend into crossing swords with him followed this counsel, perhaps he would have been alive now.  She would take it herself, and frankly ask Wolff’s father what justified him in accusing her of so base a deed.

The lamps were already lighted in the hall, and the rays from the central one fell upon Herr Casper’s colourless face, which wore an expression of despair.  But just as her lips parted to ask the question the odour of musk reached her from the death-chamber, whose door Eva had opened.  Her mother’s gentle face, still in death, rose before her memory, and she was forced to exert the utmost self-control not to weep aloud.  Without further reflection she imposed silence upon herself and—­yesterday she would not have ventured to do it—­threw her arm around Herr Casper’s shoulders, gazed affectionately at him, and whispered:  “You must not despair, father.  You have a faithful ally in this house in Els.”

The old man looked down at her in astonishment, but instead of drawing her closer to him he released himself with courteous coldness, saying bitterly:  “There is no longer any bond between us and the Ortliebs, Jungfrau Els.  From this day forth I am no more your father than you are the bride of my son.  Your will may be good, but how little it can accomplish has unfortunately been proved.”

Shrugging his shoulders wearily as he spoke, he nodded a farewell and left the house.

Four bearers were waiting outside with the sedan-chair, three servants with torches, and two stout attendants carrying clubs over their shoulders.  All wore costly liveries of the Eysvogel colours, and when their master had taken his seat in the gilded conveyance and the men lifted it, Els heard a weaver’s wife, who lived near by, say to her little boy:  “That’s the rich Herr Eysvogel, Fritzel.  He has as much money to spend every hour as we have in a whole year, and he is a very happy man.”