ance. This,
however, in such circumstances, is a favourable prognostic.

When now both were seated on the aforesaid frail sofa, Rose began, with
downcast eyes, and a half bashful smile,--"I can guess what has
affected you so, dear Peregrine, and will own that they have told me
many strange things of the singular inhabitants of your house. The
neighbours,--you know what neighbours are, how they talk and talk,
without knowing why or wherefore,--these evil-minded neighbours have
told me of a strange lady in your house, whom many take for a princess,
and whom you brought home yourself on Christmas eve. They say that the
old Mr. Swammer has, indeed, received her as his niece, but that she
pursues you with strange arts and temptations. This, however, is by no
means the worst; only think, my dear Peregrine, my old cousin just
opposite with the sharp nose, who sends over such friendly greetings
when she sees you here, she has tried to put all manner of bad things
into my head about you. Notwithstanding her friendly greetings, she has
always warned me against you, and maintained that nothing less than
sorcery was carried on in your house, and that the little Doertje is an
imp in disguise, who, to seduce you, goes about in a human form, and,
indeed, in a very beautiful one. But, Peregrine, my dear Peregrine,
look at me; is there any thing like doubt upon my face? I trust you, I
trust the hopes of happiness to come upon us, when a firm band has
united us for ever. Let the dark spirits have determined what they will
in regard to you, their power is fruitless against pure love and
unchanging constancy. What will, what can, disturb a love like ours? It
is the talisman, before which the nightly images all fly."

At this moment Rose appeared to Peregrine like a higher being, and each
of her words like the consolations of Heaven. An indescribable feeling
of the purest delight streamed through him, like the sweet mild breath
of spring. He was no longer the sinner, the impious presumer, which he
had before held himself; he began to think with joy that he was worthy
of the love of the innocent Rose.

The bookbinder, Lemmerhirt, now returned with his family from a walk.

The hearts of Rose and Peregrine were overflowing, and it was not till
late that he quitted, as an accepted bridegroom, the narrow abode of
the bookbinder, whose joy exalted him to heaven, while the old woman,
from pure delight, sobbed rather more than was necessary.