because he was worthy of the
whole affection of a loyal heart she would not repay him in worthless
metal for the pure gold of his love. She was no prophetess, yet she knew
full well that some day he would bless this hour. What she concealed from
every one, even her father, as an inviolable secret, she had confessed to
him because he deserved her confidence.

Then she began to speak of Dr. Hiltner's offer, and discussed its pros
and cons with interest as warm as if her own fate was to be associated
with his.

The result was that she dissuaded him from settling in Ratisbon. She
expected higher achievements from him than he could attain here among the
Protestants, who, on account of his faith, would place many a
stumbling-block in his way.

Then, changing her businesslike tone, she went on with greater warmth to
urge him, for her sake, and that he might be the same to her as ever, to
remain loyal to the religion they both professed. She could not fulfil
his hopes, it is true, but her thoughts would often dwell with him and
her wishes would follow him everywhere. His place was at court, where
some day he would win a distinguished position, and nothing could render
her happier than the news that he had attained the highest honour,
esteem, and fame.

How gentle and kind all this sounded! Wolf had not imagined that she
could be so thoughtful, so forgetful of self, and so affectionate in her
sympathy. He hung upon her lips in silent admiration, yet it was
impossible for him to determine whether this sisterly affection from
Barbara was pouring balm or acrid lye upon his wounds.

Positively as she had refused to answer his question concerning the happy
mortal whom she preferred to him, Wolf could not help secretly searching
for him.

Agitated and tortured to the verge of despair, even the friendliness with
which she was trying to sweeten his cruel fate became unbearable, and
while she was entreating him to continue to care for her and to remain on
the same terms of intimacy with her father and herself, he suddenly
seized her hand, covered it with ardent kisses, and then, without a
farewell word, hastily left the room.

When Barbara was alone she retired into the bow-window and fell into a
silent reverie, during which she often shook her head, as if amazed at
herself, and often curled her full lips in a haughty smile.

The maid-servant brought in the modest meal.

Her father had forgotten it, but he would undoubtedly fi