other gentlemen that the sufferer's life was but a
failing lamp, his feelings were completely transformed. All the charity
in his nature began to stir and grew more zealous as he gazed at Kuni's
face, distorted by pain. The idea of giving up to her his own neat little
room behind the kitchen seemed like a revelation from St. Eoban, his
patron. She should rest in his bed. The wanderer who, a few years ago,
had scattered her gold so readily and joyously for the pleasure of others
certainly would not poison it. Her misery seemed to him a touching proof
of the transitory nature of all earthly things. Poor sufferer! Yet she
ought to find recovery on his couch, if anywhere; for he had surrounded
it with images of the saints, pious maxims, and little relics, bought
chiefly from the venders who frequented the tavern. Among them was a
leather strap from St. Elizabeth's shoe, whose healing power he had
himself tested during an attack of bilious fever.

The burden which he shared with his assistants was a light one, but he
was not to reach his destination without delay--the little bunch of pinks
fell from the hand of the unconscious girl, and Dietel silently picked up
the stolen property which had just roused his wrath to such a degree, and
placed it carefully on the senseless sufferer's bosom.

The second hinderance was more serious. Cyriax had heard that Kuni was
dying, and fearing that he might be obliged to pay the funeral expenses
he stuttered to the bystanders, with passionate gestures, that an hour
ago he had discharged the cripple whom he had dragged about with him, out
of sheer sympathy, long enough. She was nothing more to him now than the
cock in the courtyard, which was crowing to greet the approach of dawn.

But the landlord of The Pike and others soon forced Cyriax out of the
way. Kuni was laid on Dietel's bed, and the gray-haired leech examined
her with the utmost care.

The landlady of The Pike helped to undress her, and when the good woman,
holding her apron to her eyes from which tears were streaming, opened the
door again and the Abbot of St. AEgidius approached the couch, to render
aid to the dying for the second time that night, he saw by Hartmann
Schedel's face that he had not come too soon.

The ropedancer had recovered consciousness, and the kind prelate's
presence was a solace to her. The confession lasted a long time, and the
story which she had to confide to the priest must have been as strange as
it