But she did not end her speech, inasmuch as Ann imploringly raised her great eyes in mild reproach, as though to defend herself from some hurt.  So my aunt comforted her with a few kind words, and then went on to admonish her as follows:  “Verily it is not love you lack, but patient trust.  I have heard from Margery here what bitter disappointments you have suffered.  And it is hard indeed to the stricken heart to look for a new spring for the withered harvest of joy.  But look you at my good husband.  He ceases not from sowing acorns, albeit he knows that it will never be vouchsafed to him to see them grown to fine trees, or to earn any profit from them.  Do you likewise learn to possess your soul in patience; and do not forget that, if Herdegen is lost, the question will be put to you:  ’Did you hold out a hand to him while it was yet time to save him, or did you withdraw from him your love and favor in faint-hearted impatience at the very first blow?’”

The last words fell in solemn earnest from my aunt’s lips, and struck Ann to the heart; she confessed that she had many times said the same things to her self, but then maiden pride had swelled up in her and had forbidden her to lend an ear to the warning voice; and nevertheless none had spoken so often or so loudly in her soul, so that her heart’s deepest yearning responded to what her friend had said.

“Then do its bidding,” said my aunt eagerly, and I said the same; and Ann, being not merely overruled but likewise convinced, yielded and confessed that, even as Master Peter’s wife, she could never have slain the old love, and declared herself ready to renounce her pride and wrath.

Thus had my aunt’s faithful love preserved her from sin, and gladly did I consent to her brave spirit when she said to Ann:  “You must save yourself for that skittle-witted wight in Paris, child; for none other than he can make you rightly happy, nor can he be happy with any other woman than my true and faithful darling!”

Ann covered my aunt’s hands with kisses, and the words flowed heartily and glaaiy from her lips as she cried:  “Yes, yes, yes!  It is so!  And if he beat me and scorned me, if he fell so deep that no man would leap in after him, I, I, would never let him sink.”

And then Ann threw herself on my neck and said:  “Oh, how light is my heart once more.  Ah, Margery! now, when I long to pray, I know well enough what for.”

My aunt’s dim eyes had rarely shone so brightly as at this hour, and her voice sounded clearer and firmer than it was wont when she once more addressed us and said:  “And now the old woman will finish up by telling you a little tale for your guidance.  You knew Riklein, the spinster, whom folks called the night-spinster; and was not she a right loving and cheerful soul?  Yet had she known no small meed of sorrows.  She died but lately on Saint Damasius’ day last past, and the tale I have to tell concerns her.  They called her the night-spinster, by reason that she ofttimes would sit at her wheel till late into the night to earn money which she was paid at the rate of three farthings the spool.  But it was not out of greed that the old body was so keen to get money.