, reckless, sinful, crippled strolling player, for whom not a
soul on earth cared, whose death would not have drawn even a single tear
from any eye, to whom a speedy end could be only a benefit, was perhaps
the cause of the premature drying up of this pure fountain of joy, which
had refreshed so many hearts and animated them with the fairest hopes.

The tall lady, whose noble face and majestic figure were shrouded in
a thick veil, was Juliane's mother--and she had offered the sick
ropedancer a home in her wealthy household.

"If she had only known," thought Kuni, "the injury I was inflicting upon
her heart's treasure, she would rather have hunted me with dogs from her
threshold."

In spite of the veil which floated around the stately figure of the
grieving mother, she could see her bosom rise and fall with her sobs of
anguish. Kuni's compassionate heart made it impossible for her to watch
this sorrow longer, and, covering her face with her hands, she turned
her back upon the procession and, weeping aloud, limped away as fast as
her injured foot would let her. Meanwhile she sometimes said to herself
that she was the worst of all sinners because she had cursed the dead
girl and called down death and destruction upon her head, sometimes she
listened to the voice within, which told her that she had no reason
to grieve over Juliane's death, and completely embitter her already
wretched life by remorse and self-accusations; the dead girl was the
sole cause of her terrible fall. But the defiant rebellion against
the consciousness of guilt, which moved her so deeply, always ceased
abruptly as soon as it raised its head; for one fact was positive, if
the curse she had called down upon the innocent child, who had done her
no intentional wrong, had really caused Juliane's end, a whole life was
not long enough to atone for the sin which she had committed. Yet what
atonement was still in her power, after the death which she had summoned
had performed its terrible work of executioner?

"Nothing, nothing at all!" she said to herself angrily, resolving, as
she had so often done with better success, to forget what had happened,
cast the past into oblivion, and live in the present as before. But ere
she could attempt to fulfil this determination, the image of the tall,
grief-bowed figure of the woman who had called Juliane her dear child
rose before her mind, and it seemed as if a cold, heavy hand paralyzed
the wings of the light-heart