The answer received an astonished “Can it be!” But as soon as she informed him that she needed a companion, he shouted something to the others, put on his fisherman’s cap, stepped to Barbara’s side, and led the way with a lantern which stood lighted on the table.

The road was so softened that, in spite of the light which fell on the ground, it was impossible to avoid the pools and muddy places.  But the girl had become accustomed to the wet and the wading.  Besides, the presence of her companion relieved her from the terrors with which the darkness and the solitude had tortured her.  Instead of watching for new dangers, she listened while Valentin explained how it happened that she found him still awake.  He had helped hang the banners and lamps tinder the lindens, and when the storm arose he assisted in removing the best pieces.  In return a jug of wine, with some bread and sausages, had been given to him, and he had just begun to enjoy them with two comrades.

The Hiltner house was soon reached.  Nothing had troubled Barbara during the nocturnal walk since the fisherman had accompanied her.

Her heart was lighter as she rapped with the knocker on the syndic’s door; but, although she repeated the summons several times, not a sound was heard in the silent house.

Valentin had seen the Hiltners’ two men-servants with the litters under the lindens, and Barbara thought that perhaps the maids might have gone to the scene of the festival to carry headkerchiefs and cloaks to the ladies before the outbreak of the storm.  That the deaf old grandmother did not hear her was easily understood.

The Hiltners could not have returned, so she must wait.

First she paced impatiently to and fro in the rain, then sat upon a curbstone which seemed to be protected from the shower by the roof.  But ever and anon a larger stream of water poured down upon her from the jaws of a hideous monster in which the gutter ended than from the black clouds, and, dripping wet, she at last leaned against the door, which was better shielded by the projecting lintel, while the fisherman inquired about the absent occupants of the house.

Thus minute after minute passed until the first and then the second quarter of an hour ended.  When the third commenced, Barbara thought she had waited there half the night.  The rain began to lessen, it is true, but the sultry night grew cooler, and a slight chill increased her discomfort.

Yet she did not move from the spot.  Here, in front of the house in which estimable women had taken her to their hearts with such maternal and sisterly affection, Barbara had plainly perceived that she, who had never ceased to respect herself, would forever rob herself of this right if she did not make every effort in her power to save Erasmus from the grave peril in which he had become involved on her account.  During this self-inspection she did not conceal from herself that, while singing his own compositions to him, she had yielded to the unfortunate habit of promising more with her eyes than she intended to perform.  How could this vain, foolish sport have pleased her after she had yielded herself, soul and body, to the highest and greatest of men!