elf for the evening service, which unfortunately he had to perform
that very evening. Had he known how to reach Lydia, he would have
cancelled the appointment, and he determined if it did take place, to
remember in time the penitence which always follows every sin, and to
seize this opportunity of separating for ever from Lydia.

CHAPTER XII.

When Lydia returned to the Castle wearied and excited from her visit to
the Stift, she found her father sitting sorrowfully by the window
looking fixedly at the Rhine valley now bathed in the glow of a setting
sun. "We shall not enjoy this sight much longer, my child," said he
laying a long emaciated finger on her delicate hand. "My opponents are
increasing in power, and who knows whether I myself shall not some day
be sitting in the round tower together with Vehe and the Inspector."

Klytia grew pale. Had Paolo really sought an interview on her father's
account? It was on the tip of her tongue to relate the whole affair to
her father, to seek his advice and beg him to speak to the Magister.
But then if all being known her father, instead of the terrible
uncertainty, put an end to the whole affair? She felt that she could
bear this less well than all the misery of doubt. Her father noticed
how pale she turned and continued soothingly: "Be not afraid. For the
time I am not in immediate danger, only I cannot go on holding my
present position. The former hatred of many a man often prejudicially
affects the disgraced favorite of a prince." After supper Erastus asked
her to read a sermon of Zwingli's, and then kissing Klytia with a
certain gravity on the brow entered his study chamber which he
restlessly paced up and down till a late hour in the night. Klytia
looked after him in fear. What could all this mean? Oppressed, with a
feeling of the saddest loneliness, she sat near the window and looked
up to heaven, where one star after another appeared, as do the lights
of some big town when lighted, now here, now there. The sparkling
Hesperus shone through the ruddy glow of the still variegated clouds.
"The star of love, gleaming o'er a sea of blood," thought she. The
pointed roof of the round tower, and the dark massive fabrics known as
the Ruprecht building and the Chapel, stood out in prominent outlines.
A light flickered here and there from the tower. Was the once jovial
Sylvanus in whose garden she had spent many a happy hour, and whose
happy ch