While I spoke Ann, panting for breath, fixed her eyes on the ground, but my aunt rehearsed the words after me in a clear voice:  “beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth and endureth all things.”  And she added right earnestly; therefore do thou believe and hope and endure yet longer, my poor child, and tell me in all truth:  Does it seem to you a lesser deed to lead back the sinner into the way of righteousness and bliss in this world and the next, than to give alms to the beggar?”

Ann shook her head, and my aunt went on:  “And if there is any one—­let me repeat it—­who by faithful love may ever rescue Herdegen, albeit he is half lost, it is you.  Come, come,” and she signed to her, and Ann did her bidding and fell on her knees by her, as she had done erewhile in the forest-lodge.  The elder lady kissed her hair and eyes, and said further:  “Cling fast to your love, my darling.  You have nothing else than love, and without it life is shallow indeed, is sheer emptiness.  You will never find it in the Magister’s arms, and that your heart is of a certainty, not set on marrying a well-to-do man at any cost . . . .”

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!”