daughter is welcome to my house. A glass of wine will not
hurt you this cold weather." She declined the wine, but the old man
would have his way. He went out, and was absent perhaps five minutes.
Then he returned bearing a small tray in his own hands, with a
long-necked bottle and glasses curiously engraved, and he insisted
that Linda should clink her glass with his. "And now, my dear, what
is it that I can do for you?"

So far Linda's mission had prospered well; but now that the story was
to be told, she found very much difficulty in telling it. She had to
begin with the whole history of the red house, and of the terms upon
which her aunt had come to reside in it. She had one point at least
in her favour. Herr Molk was an excellent listener. He would nod his
head, and pat one hand upon the other, and say, "Yes, yes," without
the slightest sign of impatience. It seemed as though he had no other
care before him than that of listening to Linda's story. When she
experienced the encouragement which came from the nodding of his
head and the patting of his hand, she went on boldly. She told how
Peter Steinmarc had come to the house, and how her aunt was a woman
peculiar from the strength of her religious convictions. "Yes, my
dear, yes; we know that,--we know that," said Herr Molk. Linda did
her best to say nothing evil of her aunt. Then she came to the story
of Peter's courtship. "He is quite an old man, you know," said poor
Linda, thoughtfully. Then she was interrupted by Herr Molk. "A worthy
man; I know him well,--well,--well. Peter Steinmarc is our clerk
at the Rathhaus. A very worthy man is Peter Steinmarc. Your father,
my dear, was clerk at the Rathhaus, and Peter followed him. He is
not young,--not just young; but a very worthy man. Go on, my dear."
Linda had resolved to tell it all, and she did tell it all. It was
difficult to tell, but it all came out. Perhaps there could be no
listener more encouraging to such a girl as Linda than the patient,
gentle-mannered old man with whom she was closeted. "She had a lover
whom she loved dearly," she said,--"a young man."

"Oh, a lover," said Herr Molk. But there seemed to be no anger in
his voice. He received the information as though it were important,
but not astonishing. Then Linda even told him how the lover had come
across the river on the Sunday morning, and how it had happened that
she had not told her aunt, and how angry her aunt had been. "Yes,
yes," said Herr Molk