rancius was like a strong fire. In the midst of the keenest pain
one finds a true man, and the discovery is like a sudden soothing of
sharp anguish, or like the finding a strong comrade in a battle.

Adelaide had been very self-restrained and quiet all this time, but now
suddenly broke out into low, quick, half sobbed-out words:

"Oh, I love him, I love him! It is dreadful! How shall I go through with
it?"

Ay, there was the rub! Not one short, sharp pang, and over--all fire
quenched in cool mists of death and unconsciousness, but long years to
come of daily, hourly, paying the price; incessant compunction, active
punishment. A prospect for a martyr to shirk from, and for a woman who
has made a mistake to--live through.

We needed not further words. The secret was told, and the worst known.
We parted. Von Francius was from this moment a sacred being to me.

But from this time he scarcely came near the house--not even to give me
my lessons. I went to my lodging and had them there. Adelaide said
nothing, asked not a question concerning him, nor mentioned his name,
and the silence on his side was almost as profound as that on hers. It
seemed as if they feared that should they meet, speak, look each other
in the eyes, all resolution would be swept away, and the end hurry
resistless on.

CHAPTER XXXI.

"And behold, though the way was light and the sun did shine, yet my
heart was ill at ease, for a sinister blot did now and again fleck the
sun, and a muttered sound perturbed the air. And he repeated oft 'One
hath told me--thus--or thus.'"

Karl Linders, our old acquaintance, was now our fast friend. Many
changes had taken place in the _personnel_ of our fellow-workmen in the
kapelle, but Eugen, Karl, and I remained stationary in the same places
and holding the same rank as on the day we had first met. He, Karl, had
been from the first more congenial to me than any other of my fellows
(Eugen excepted, of course). Why, I could never exactly tell. There was
about him a contagious cheerfulness, good-humor, and honesty. He was a
sinner, but no rascal; a wild fellow--_Taugenichts_--_wilder Gesell_,
as our phraseology had it, but the furthest thing possible from a
knave.

Since his visits to us and his earnest efforts to curry favor with
Sigmund by means of nondescript wool beasts, domestic or of prey, he had
grown much nearer to us. He was the only intimate we had--the only
person who came in and out of our quart