ers
the Invisible over his worlds.

Clara von Eppingen, a plump fair Swabian kneeling at the altar, had in
the meanwhile thoroughly imbued herself with the appearances of the
Holy Family. How lovingly did the Madonna bend over the fair headed
Christ child, which pulled at her neckband with its little hands; how
paternally proud stood St. Joseph close at hand, whilst St. Anna in
attendance on the child and mother surveyed the group. The Holy Family
seemed to look back at the plump Clara with a kindly gaze, and the
coarse strokes and vivid colors of the picture impressed themselves
more and more on the mind of the almost entranced maiden. Had she been
a woman, she would have loved to be the mother of such a brown-eyed
Madonna, or fair Christ child; the Magister had treated her like Jacob
did Laban's flocks, in causing her to remain kneeling for hours before
this colored imagery. The thoroughly hearty maiden would have felt
quite at her ease during these _exercitia_, had it not been for the
rolling and sighing of the Organ which at times startled her, and had
not a shriek of terror from the chapel, and a cry for help from the
organ steps reached her ear.

The nervous and delicate Bertha von Steinach had in the meanwhile bent
her curly head in prayer in the chapel over the sweet-smelling roses.
As she then, as directed by the Magister, plunged her hand in among the
flowers, a cold, flat surface met her fevered touch. In terror she
seized it and drew out a skull, which gazed at her with hollowed eyes,
and mocking drooping jaw. Tremblingly she wished to replace it, when a
living object rustled past her. It was a ring adder which the Magister
had concealed in the basket, and which now gliding over the floor
disappeared behind the altar. At this the excited young maiden uttered
the cry of terror, heard by her friend Clara, and on regaining her
composure, she saw at the bottom of the basket, bloody nails, thorns on
which hung pieces of wool, scourges with small knots at the end or
leaden shot, sharp prongs, little wheels, and other instruments of
mortification. Such things as these according to the words of the
Magister lay concealed under the roses of life. In horrified anguish
she knelt before the basket out of which the skull grinned back at her,
and unresistingly did she give herself up to the tones which poured
forth from the organ.

Matters had not been better for Lydia. She knelt before the "Mirror of
remembrance" and