ed to meddle with things out of his own reach.
She fancied that the counsel which she required should be sought for
from some one wiser and more learned than Jacob Heisse.

Among the names of those who had loved her father, which still
rested in her memory, was that of Herr Molk, a man much spoken of
in Nuremberg, one rich and of great repute, who was or had been
burgomaster, and who occupied a house on the Egidien Platz, known to
Linda well, because of its picturesque beauty. Even Peter Steinmarc,
who would often speak of the town magistrates as though they were
greatly inferior to himself in municipal lore and general wisdom,
would mention the name of Herr Molk with almost involuntary respect.
Linda had seen him from time to time either in the Platz or on the
market-place, and her father's old friend had always smiled on her
and expressed some hope that she was well and happy. Ah, how vain had
been that hope! What if she should now go to Herr Molk and ask him
for advice? She would not speak to Tetchen, because Tetchen would at
once tell it all to Ludovic; and in this matter, as Linda felt, she
must not act as Ludovic would bid her. Yes; she would go to this
noted pundit of the city, and, if he would allow her so to do, would
tell to him all her story.

And then she made another resolve. She would not do this without
informing her aunt that it was about to be done. On this occasion,
even though her aunt should tell her to remain in the house, she
would go forth. But her aunt should not throw it in her teeth that
she had acted on the sly. One day, one cold November morning, when
the hour of their early dinner was approaching, she went up-stairs
from the kitchen for her hat and cloak, and then, equipped for her
walk, presented herself before her aunt.

"Linda, where are you going?" demanded Madame Staubach.

"I am going, aunt Charlotte, to Herr Molk, in the Egidien Platz."

"To Herr Molk? And why? Has he bidden you come to him?" Then Linda
told her story, with much difficulty. She was unhappy, she said, and
wanted advice. She remembered this man,--that he was the friend of
her father. "I am sorry, Linda, that you should want other advice
than that which I can give you."

"Dear aunt, it is just that. You want me to marry this man here, and
I cannot do it. This has made you miserable, and me miserable. Is it
not true that we are not happy as we used to be?"

"I certainly am not happy. How can I be happy when I see