arcely knew himself whither this love would lead him.

But true and steadfast Biberli would really have followed Sir Heinz, not
only in a dangerous nocturnal ramble, but through all the terrors of.
hell. So he only glanced down at his long, lean legs, which would be
exposed here to the bites of the dogs, with whom he stood on especially
bad terms, raised his long robe higher, as the paths over which they must
pass were of doubtful cleanliness, and deemed it a good omen when his
foot struck against a stout stick, which his patron saint had perhaps
thrown in his way as a weapon. Its possession was somewhat soothing, it
is true, yet he did not regain the pleasant consciousness of peace in
which his soul had rejoiced a few short hours before.

He knew what to expect from the irritable mood into which recent events
appeared to have thrown his master. Heinz usually soon forgot any such
trivial disappointment, but the difficulty threatening himself and
Katterle was far worse--nay, might even assume terrible proportions.

These alarming thoughts made him sigh so deeply that Heinz turned towards
him.

He would gladly have relieved his own troubled breast in the same way.
Never before had the soul of this light-hearted child of good fortune
served as the arena for so fierce a struggle of contending emotions.

He loved Eva, and the image of her white, supernaturally beautiful
figure, flooded by the moonlight, still stood before him as distinctly as
when, after her disappearance, he had resolved to plead his suit for her
to her sister; but the usually reckless fellow asked himself, shuddering,
what would have happened had he obeyed Eva's summons and been found with
her, as he had just been surprised with her sister. She was not wholly
free from guilt, for her note had really contained an invitation to a
meeting; yet she escaped. But his needless impetuosity and her sudden
appearance before the house had placed her modest, charming sister, the
betrothed bride of the gallant fellow who had fought with him in the
Marchfield, in danger of being misunderstood and despised. If the finger
of scorn were pointed at her, if a stain rested on her fair fame, the
austere Wolff Eysvogel would hardly desire to make her his wife, and then
this also would be his fault.

His kind, honest heart suffered keenly under these self-accusations, the
first which he had ever heeded.

Hitherto the volatile young fellow, who had often gaily risked his li