the death of her lover had made life henceforth bitter to the third and least, and only the middle one, Kunz, remained unhurt and still such as it might have gladdened his parents’ hearts to behold him.  Thus I deemed, at least, when after long parting I set eyes on him once more, a goodly man, tall and of a fair countenance.  All that had ever been good and worthy in him had waxed and sped well at Venice, that high school of the merchant class; but where was the smiling mirthfulness which had marked him as a youth?  The same earnest calm shone in his wise and gentle gaze, and rang in the deep voice he had now gotten.

My grand-uncle had esteemed him but lightly, so long as Herdegen was his delight; but whereas Kunz had done good service at Venice and the master of the Im Hoff house there was dead, and our guardian himself, on whom a grievous sickness had fallen, gave himself up day and night to meet his end, he had, little by little, given over the whole business of the trade to his young nephew; thus it came to pass that Kunz, when he was but just twenty, was called upon to govern matters such as are commonly trusted only to a man of ripe years.  But his power and wisdom grew with the weight of his burthens.  Whether it were at Nuremberg or at Venice, he was ever early to rise and ready, if need should be, to give up his night’s rest, sitting over his desk or travelling at great speed; and he seemed to have no eyes nor ears for the pleasures of youth.  Or ever he was four and twenty I found the first white hair in his brown locks.  Many there were who deemed that the uncommon graveness of his manners came of the weight of care which had been laid on him so young, and verily not without reason; yet my sister’s heart was aware of another cause.  When I chanced to see his eye rest on Ann, I knew enough; and it was a certainty that I had not erred in my thought, when old Dame Pernhart one day in his presence spoke of Ann as her poor, dear little widow, and the blood mounted to his brow.

I would fain have spoken a word of warning to Ann when she would thank him with heartfelt and sisterly love for all the pains he had been at, with steadfast patience, to find any token of our lost brother.  And how fair was the forlorn bride in these days of waiting and of weary unsatisfied longing!

Poor Kunz!  Doubtless he loved her; and yet he neither by word nor deed gave her cause to guess his heart’s desire.  When, at about this time, old Hans Tucher died, one of the worthiest and wisest heads of the town and the council, Kunz gave Ann for her name-day a prayer-book with the old man’s motto, which he had written in it for Kunz’s confirmation, which was as follows: 

          “God ruleth all things for the best
          And sends a happy end at last.”

And Ann took the gift right gladly; and more than once when, after some disappointment, my spirit sank, she would point to the promise “And sends a happy end at last.”