e
had intended, she had gone to the image of the Virgin at the gate of the
Convent of St. Clare, before which she had often found consolation,
especially when homesick yearning for the mountains of her native
Switzerland pressed upon her too sorely. This time also it had been
gracious to her, for after she had prayed very devoutly and vowed to give
a candle to the Mother of God, as well as to St. Clare, she fancied that
the image smiled upon her and promised that she should go unpunished.

On her return the knight had just followed Eva into the house, and
Biberli pursued his master as far as the stairs. Here Katterle met her
lover, but, when she learned what was occurring, she became greatly
enraged and incensed by the base interpretation which the servant placed
upon Eva's going out into the street and, terrified by the danger into
which the knight threatened to plunge them all, she forgot the patience
and submission she was accustomed to show the true and steadfast Biberli.
But--resolved to protect her young mistress from the presumptuous
knight-scarcely had she angrily cried shame upon her lover for this base
suspicion, protesting that Eva had never gone to seek a knight but, as
she had often done on bright moonlight nights, walked in her sleep down
the stairs and out of doors, when the young girl's shriek of terror
summoned her to her aid.

Biberli looked after her sullenly, meanwhile execrating bitterly enough
the wild love which had robbed his master of reason and threatened to
hurl him, Biberli, and even the innocent Katterle, whose brave defence of
her mistress had especially pleased him, into serious misfortune.

When old Endres appeared he had slipped behind a wall formed of bales
heaped one above another, and did not stir until the entry was quiet
again.

To his amazement he had then found his master standing beside the door of
the house, but his question--which, it is true, was not wholly devoid of
a shade of sarcasm--whether the knight was waiting for the return of his
sleep-walking sweetheart, was so harshly rebuffed that he deemed it
advisable to keep silence for a time.

Though Heinz Schorlin had perceived that he had followed an unconscious
somnambulist, he was not yet capable of calmly reflecting upon what had
occurred or of regarding the future with prudence. He knew one thing
only: the fear was idle that the lovely creature whose image, surrounded
by a halo of light, still hovered before him lik