ward much better; nay, he could
not himself comprehend the rapidity and ease with which he succeeded
in transcribing the twisted strokes of this foreign character. But
it was as if, in his inmost soul, a voice were whispering in audible
words: "Ah! couldst thou accomplish it wert thou not thinking of
_her_, didst thou not believe in _her_ and in her love?" Then there
floated whispers, as in low, low, waving crystal tones, through the
room: "I am near, near, near! I help thee; be bold, be steadfast, dear
Anselmus! I toil with thee, that thou mayest be mine!" And as, in
the fulness of secret rapture, he caught these sounds, the unknown
characters grew clearer and clearer to him; he scarcely required
to look on the original at all; nay, it was as if the letters were
already standing in pale ink on the parchment, and he had nothing more
to do than mark them black. So did he labor on, encompassed with dear,
consoling tones as with soft, sweet breath, till the clock struck six,
and Archivarius Lindhorst entered the room. He came forward to
the table, with a singular smile; Anselmus rose in silence; the
Archivarius still looked at him, with that mocking smile; but no
sooner had he glanced over the copy than the smile passed into deep,
solemn earnestness, which every feature of his face adapted itself to
express. He seemed no longer the same. His eyes, which usually gleamed
with sparkling fire, now looked with unutterable mildness at Anselmus;
a soft red tinted the pale cheeks; and instead of the irony which at
other times compressed the mouth, the softly-curved, graceful lips now
seemed to be opening for wise and soul-persuading speech. The whole
form was higher, statelier; the wide nightgown spread itself like a
royal mantle in broad folds over his breast and shoulders; and through
the white locks, which lay on his high open brow, there was wound a
thin band of gold.

"Young man," began the Archivarius in solemn tone, "before thou
thoughtest of it, I knew thee, and all the secret relations which
bind thee to the dearest and holiest I have on earth! Serpentina loves
thee; a singular destiny, whose fateful threads were spun by hostile
powers, is fulfilled should she be thine and thou obtain, as an
essential dowry, the Golden Pot, which of right belongs to her. But
only from effort and contest can thy happiness in the higher life
arise; hostile Principles assail thee; and only the interior force
with which thou shalt withstand