the human heart craves. Should she persist in resistance
or yield to the person to whom she had already sacrificed so much the
great blessing which had the ability to console her for every other loss,
even the most cruel?

Then her refractory heart again rebelled. This was too much; Heaven
itself could not require it of her, the divine Mother who, before her
eyes, was pressing her child so tenderly to her bosom, least of all.
Hers, too, would be a gift of God, and, while repeating this to herself,
it seemed as though a voice cried out: "It is the Lord himself who
intends to confide this child to you, and if you give it up you deprive
it of its mother and rob it--you have learned that yourself--of its best
possession. What was given to you to cherish tenderly, you can not
confide to another without angering him who bestowed the guerdon upon
you."

Just at that moment she thought of the star, her lover's first memento,
with which she had parted from weakness, though with a good intention.

The misfortune which she was now enduring had grown out of this
lamentable yielding. No! She would not, ought not to allow herself to be
robbed of her precious hope. One glance at the Mother and Child put an
end to any further consideration.

Comforted and strengthened, she went her way homeward, scarcely noticing
that Peter Schlumperger and his sister, whom she met, looked away from
her with evident purpose.

CHAPTER VI.

That night Barbara dreamed of her father. Birds of prey were attacking
his body as it lay upon the ground, and she could not drive them off. The
terror with which this spectacle had disturbed her sleep could not be
banished during the morning. Now, whatever it cost, she must go to
Landshut and hear some tidings of him.

Maestro Gombert would set out for Munich the next day, and in doing so
must pass the neighbouring city. If he would carry her with him, she
would be safe. He came at twilight to take leave of her, and with genuine
pleasure gave her the second seat in his travelling carriage.

Early the following morning the vehicle, drawn by post horses, stopped
before the little Prebrunn castle, and Barbara was soon driving with the
musician through the pleasant country in the warm August day.

Sister Hyacinthe and Fran Lamperi had tried to prevent her departure by
entreaties and remonstrances, for both feared that the long ride might
injure her; and, moreover, the latter had been charged by Quijada, i