lady of his choice, and I found it not in my heart to give the death-blow forthwith to his fond and faithful hopes, albeit I wist full surely that they were all in vain.  Thus I bid him to have patience at least till Christmas, inasmuch as he should give Ann time to put away the memory of Herdegen; and he consented with simple kindness, although he had changed much and for the better in these late years, and could boast of good respect among the learned men of our city; and thus, albeit not a wealthy man, and in spite of his mature years, he would be welcomed as a son-in-law by many a mother of daughters.

Thus the Magister, who had waited so long, held back even yet awhile.  One week followed another, the third Sunday in Advent went by, and the holy tide was at hand when the delay should end which the patient suitor had allowed.

I had seen Ann less often than in past times.  In the coppersmith’s great household she commonly had her hands full, and I felt indeed that her face was changed towards me.  A kind of fear, which I had not marked in her of old, had come over her of late; meseemed she lived ever in dread of some new insult and hurt; also she had courteously but steadfastly refused to join in the festivities to which she was bidden by Elsa Ebner or others of the upper class, and even said nay to uncle Christian’s bidding to a dance, to be given this very day, being his name-day, at his lodgings in the Castle.  I likewise was bidden and had accepted my godfather’s kindness; but my timid endeavor to move Ann to do his will, as her best and dearest old friend, brought forth the sorrowful answer that I myself must judge how little she was fit for any merry-makings of the kind.  My friendship with her, which had once been my highest joy, had thus lost all its lightheartedness, albeit it had not lost all its joys, nor was she therefore the less dear to me though I dealt with her now as with a well-beloved child for whose hurt we are not wholly blameless.

Now it fell that on this day, the 20th December, being my godfather’s name-day, I found her not with the rest, but in her own chamber in violent distress.  Her cheeks were on fire, and she was in such turmoil as though she had escaped some terrible persecution.  Thereupon I questioned her in haste and fear, and she answered me with reserve, till, on a sudden, she cried: 

“It is killing me!  I will bear it no more!” and hid her face in her hands, I clasped her in my arms, and to soothe her spoke in praise of her stepfather, Master Pernhart, and his high spirit and good heart; then she sobbed aloud and said:  “Oh, for that matter!  If that were all!”

And suddenly, or even I was aware, she had cast her arms about me and kissed my lips and cheeks with great warmth.  Then she cried out:  “Oh, Margery!  You cannot turn from me!  I indeed tried to turn from you; and I could have done it, even if it had cost me my heart’s blood!  But now and here I ask you:  Is it just that I should lay myself on the rack because he has so cruelly hurt me?  No, no.  And I need your true soul to help me to shake off the burden which is crushing me to the earth and choking me.  Help me to bear it, or I shall come to a bad end—­I shall follow her who died here in this very chamber.”