time the Pastorin returned into the sitting-room, when her
brother Edward proved that he had a quick eye, not only for fine
scenery, but also for pretty people, by expressing his sincere regret,
that so lovely a creature should be doomed to pass her days in poverty
and sorrow.

"But though she looks ill even now," said the Pastorin, "if you had
seen her a year after her disgrace, she was so changed that it was
scarcely possible to recognise her, she looked so deadly pale, and just
like a dying person. It is said that a speech of Leegart's made her
strive to bear her calamity with more courage. 'Don't go on grieving in
that way,' said she, 'or people will say that Adam is quite right to
forsake such a faded, emaciated creature.' This advice, and love for
her boy, inspired Martina with new life."

While the Pastorin was talking to her brother, and listening to him,
she was also listening to sounds in the adjacent room, for she
suspected that the Pastor was now dressing; and, while doing so, he was
humming the air that she had sung with Edward the evening before; so
she quickly sat down at the piano, and sung once more, with her
brother, Mozart's melody, "Joys and sorrows let us share."

The Pastor entered the room, smiling kindly. He must, however, have
heard a good deal, even in his sleep, for in a few moments he said,
"Lina, Martina has just been here, I do beg that my orders may be
attended to, that she is not to be in the habit of coming here."

"You are generally so indulgent," ventured Edward to remark.

"Perhaps so; but that is quite compatible with sternness, when it is
requisite. Those who have sinned may reform and repent, but the
privilege of being at home in the Parsonage is one they ought no longer
to enjoy. It would be destructive to all morality if sin were allowed,
from false ideas of humanity, to remain unpunished."

The usually benevolent features of the Pastor assumed a stern,
uncompromising air while uttering these words. But he quickly added,
"Edward, give me one of your cigars."

The three once more sat pleasantly together.

CHAPTER IX.
BETROTHAL AND PLIGHT.

Mozart's harmonies were entirely ignored at the Roettmann's residence;
indeed, for seven years past, ever since Martina had been in their
service, no songs had ever been heard in that house. In all other
respects, however, the good living went on as before: there was an
e