ted to discuss
any point of theology with her aunt, such attempts always ended in
renewed assurances of the devil's greediness, and in some harder,
more crushing rule by which the devil's greed might be outwitted.

Then there came a time of terrible peril, and poor Linda was in
greater doubt than ever. Fanny Heisse, who was to be married to
the Augsburg lawyer, had long been accustomed to talk to young men,
to one young man after another, so that young men had come to be
almost nothing to her. She had selected one as her husband because
it had been suggested to her that she had better settle herself in
life; and this special one was well-to-do, and good-looking, and
pleasant-mannered, and good-tempered. The whole thing with Fanny
Heisse had seemed to go as though flirting, love, and marriage
all came naturally, without danger, without care, and without
disappointment. But a young man had now spoken to her, to Linda,--had
spoken to her words that she did not dare to repeat to any one,--had
spoken to her twice, thrice, and she had not rebuked him. She had
not, at least, rebuked him with that withering scorn which the
circumstances had surely required, and which would have made him know
that she regarded him as one sent purposely from the Evil One to
tempt her. Now again had come upon her some terrible half-formed idea
that it would be well to give up the battle and let the Evil One
make free with his prey. But, in truth, her heart within her had so
palpitated with emotion when these words had been spoken and been
repeated, that she had lacked the strength to carry on the battle
properly. How send a daring young man from you with withering scorn,
when there lacks power to raise the eyes, to open or to close the
lips, to think even at the moment whether such scorn is deserved, or
something very different from scorn?

The young man had not been seen by Linda's eyes for nearly a month,
when Peter Steinmarc and Madam Staubach settled between them that
the ice should be broken. On the following morning aunt Charlotte
prepared herself for the communication to be made, and, when she came
in from her market purchases, went at once to her task. Linda was
found by her aunt in their lodger's sitting-room, busy with brooms
and brushes, while Tetchen on her knees was dry-rubbing the polished
board round the broad margin of the room. "Linda," said Madame
Staubach, "I have that which I wish to say to you; would you come
with me for a