ven before his ordination all that he touched was holy.

The storm had again given place to sunshine, and the two quiet women
passed gently to and fro with coarse but sweet-scented linen, which they
fetched from an old chest adorned with red tulips, a crown of thorns and
the legend "K. M., 1820," on a bright blue ground. Good old Kaetana!
That chest had once been crammed full to overflowing with linen which,
like other young women, she had spun for her own dowry, but when the
Hofbauerin died Kathi became the housekeeper and mother to the little
children. Thus the contents of the chest had gradually decreased, until
the maiden aunt drew forth the four last pair of new sheets for these
passing strangers. She felt it no sacrifice. It would have grieved her
more to touch the piles of fine new linen which she and Moidel had spun
through many a long winter evening, and which were now safely hidden
away in the great mahogany wardrobe, which the Hofbauer, in harmony with
the more luxurious ideas of the age, had given to his daughter. It
occupied the place of honor in the great saloon, having three companion
chests of drawers of lesser dimensions, which the father at the same
time had presented to each of his sons. That of the eldest, Anton, was
emptied by the owner and placed by him at our disposal; that of the
second, the student, was carefully guarded from the sun by a covering
formed of newspapers; the third, belonging to Jacobi, the youngest,
appeared to us filled with books. Jacob was shy, and some days elapsed
before we became acquainted. Anton, however, appeared modestly ready to
attend to our least beck and call. The first evening, perceiving that we
had no candlesticks, we conferred with Anton.

"Freilich," he said. "We have none of our own, but I am sure that, as
you will take care of them, there can be no great harm in lending you
some of the Virgin's." We demurred at first, but with a smile on his
open, ingenuous face he added, "The Herrschaft may be quite sure that I
would not sin against my conscience." He then brought half a dozen
plated candlesticks from the little sacristy, which he committed to our
care.

The reader must not suppose that this was a disused chapel: far from it.
In the dusk of the summer evening a murmuring chant like the musical hum
of bees pervaded the vast old mansion, which was otherwise hushed in
perfect silence. It was the Rosenkranz (or rosary) repeated by the
household in the chapel. T