ere indeed, between her nose and mouth, the first
terrible, unmistakable spots.

The leech came and confirmed the fact.--The house was closed and barred.

The physician and Susannah, who was still in full possession of her
senses, wished and insisted that Katharina should withdraw to the
gardener's house, but she refused with defiant obstinacy, saying she
would rather die with her mother than leave her.

Quite beside herself she threw herself on the sick woman, and kissed the
spots on her mouth to divert the poison into her own blood; but the
physician angrily pulled her away, and the sufferer reproved her with
tears in her eyes which spoke her fervent affection.

She was now allowed to nurse her mother. Two nuns came to her assistance,
and said, not only to the rich widow but behind her back, that they had
never seen so devoted and loving a daughter. Even Bishop John, who did
not shrink from entering the houses of the sick to give them spiritual
consolation, praised Katharina's conduct; and he, who had hitherto
regarded the water-wagtail as no more than a bright, restless child,
treated her with respect, talked to her as to a grown-up person, and
answered her questions--which for the most part referred to
Paula--gravely and fully.

The prelate, who was full of admiration for Thomas' daughter, told
Katharina how, to save her lover, she had taken a crime upon herself
which deprived her of every claim to mercy. The Syrian girl was only a
Melchite, but to take another's guilt, out of love, was treading indeed
in the footsteps of Christ, if ever anything was. At this Katharina
shrugged her shoulders, as though to say: "Do you think so much of that?
Could not I gladly have done the same?"

The priest saw this and admonished her kindly to be on her guard against
spiritual pride, though she had indeed earned the right to believe
herself capable of the sternest devotion, and did not cease to set an
example of filial and Christian love.

He departed; and Katharina, to whom every word in praise of her behavior
to her mother, whom her sin had brought to her death-bed, was a torturing
mockery, felt that she had deceived one more worthy soul. She did not, to
be sure, deserve to be charged with spiritual pride; for in this silent
chamber, where death stood on the threshold, she thought over all the
horrible things she had done, and told herself repeatedly that she was
the chief and most vile of sinners.

Many times she felt