s, directed towards the group
formed by the two young people, was enough to make even this fearless
girl quail.

"What does all this mean?" he said, as he came forward and placed his
lantern upon the table. "What are you two doing here at this hour? Is
the boy asleep, or have you been acting a play?"

"I do not profess to understand you;" she answered, flushing up with
pride and scorn. "He is asleep, as you see. We were reading, and he
fell asleep; and then I did too."

"And the lamp? Why was the window suddenly darkened when I came up to
the house-door? Did you mean to make me believe that you were in bed,
and had been asleep for hours?"

She bent over the lad, and took him by the shoulder: "Get up, Walter,"
she said; "the Meister is here, and I wish to go to my own room, and
not to hear any more of what he may please to say in his drunken--"

"Who dares to say it is the wine I have drunk that makes me speak?" he
broke out in a tone so fierce, that the sleeper started, and springing
to his feet, stood upright before him with a penitent mien.

"Go to bed, Walter," he continued, with more moderation. "It is nearly
two o'clock. This is not to be borne! At this hour of the night--" His
eye caught the girl's, who had now recovered her usual self-possession.
"Ah, well!" he growled, "it will be put a stop to soon, in one way or
another." Then--"I have somewhat to say to you, sister-in-law. I shall
not be able to get up to-morrow morning; I feel my pains in all my
joints, and my leg as heavy as a stone. So I shall expect to see you in
my room, Helen; Good-night." He lighted a candle, took up his lantern,
and limped downstairs again to his own room.

The two he left behind him did not speak another word. The lad gave
Helen's hand a squeeze, and nodding to her with a look half penitent,
half drowsy, he went up to the garret-room he shared with the first
apprentice, Peter Lars, who had been asleep for hours. He threw off his
clothes, listening to the cats that were running riot upon the roof;
and only then remembered that he had left Lottchen's crimson bow to
perish with the others, instead of taking it up with him to sleep upon.
He laughed to himself before he fell asleep. "She is right," he
thought; "I don't suppose it _is_ the real thing."

* * *

Next day was Sunday, and Helen went downstairs betimes, to knock at the
Meister's door. He was lying upon the bed half dressed, in a