tained external comfort,
but peace of mind more speedily, if he left to the Church many things
which the Protestant was obliged to settle for himself. Besides, as
such, he would have missed many beautiful and noble things which the old
faith daily bestowed upon him, the artist.

People in Ratisbon held a different opinion. Defection from the Roman
Catholic Church, which seemed to him reprehensible, was considered here
a sacred duty, worthy of every sacrifice. This threatened to involve
him in fresh spiritual conflicts, and, as he dreaded such things as
nocturnal birds shun the sunlight, he stood still, thoughtfully asking
himself whether he ought not at once to give up the desire of striking
new roots into this perilous soil.

Only one thing really bound him to Ratisbon, and that was by no means
the house which he had inherited, but a very young girl, and, moreover,
a very changeable one, of whose development and life he had heard
nothing during his absence except that she had not become another's
wife. Perhaps this girl, whose charm and musical talent, according
to his opinion, were unequalled in Ratisbon, had remained free solely
because she was keeping the promise made when, a child of sixteen, she
bade him farewell. She had told him, though only in her lively childish
fashion, that she would wait for him and become his wife when he
returned home a made man. Yet it now seemed that she had been as
sincerely in earnest in that youthful betrothal as he himself.

This fair hope crowded every scruple far into the shade. If Barbara had
kept her troth to him, he would reward her. Wherever he might build his
nest with her, he would be sure of the richest happiness. Therefore
he persisted in making his decision for the future depend upon her
reception.

The only question was whether it had not already grown too late for him
to visit her and her father, who went to bed with the chickens. But the
new clock in Jacobsplatz pealed only nine bell-like strokes through the
stillness of the evening, and, as he had sent his gifts in advance, he
was obliged to follow them.

He might now regard the cantor house, which was quickly gained, as his
own. Though it was now in the deepest darkness, he gazed up at the high,
narrow building, with the pointed arches of the windows and the bracket
which supported the image of St. Cecilia carved from sandstone, as
intently as if he could distinguish every defect in the windows, every
ornament