He nodded several times in the dejected consciousness of knowing better than she what the world is like.

"Dear me, it's hard," he observed, "very, very hard."

She wanted whether or no to convince him of his own ability to conquer, and growing warmer and warmer continued with her peroration.

"If only I could express what I know and feel. If only I could give you some of my own a.s.surance. Look at me, poor thing that I am. I have no father or mother, and no friends. If at least I could have stayed at school and graduated. But here I am, without a vocation, without money, without clothes for the winter--not even a decent pair of shoes." She stuck out the worn tips of her old boots, which until now she had kept carefully hidden. "I don't get as much to eat as I need either; and if I come home too late to-day, I shall be whipped. Yet I know that happiness is lying in wait for me. It is here already--in every breeze that blows my way, in every sunbeam that smiles at me--the whole world is happiness--the whole world is music--everything's a Song of Songs--everything's a Song of Songs!"

She turned from him with an impetuous movement, to keep him from seeing how she was quivering all over.

Down in the city the chimes began to ring. St. Mary, once the cathedral, now the chief Protestant church, came first with its three resounding clangs. St. George uttered a clear third E-G--on high festivals it added a paternal, rumbling C. More bells followed. St. Anne's thin tinkling joined in--modest, yet to be distinguished the instant it began. There was a secret whispering and calling in it: "We know each other, we love each other, and St. Joseph says 'Good morning.'"

Lilly's friend seemed to have used the period of her silence in order to win back his spiritual balance. With the little air of didactic dignity that he liked to a.s.sume when he felt he had the advantage in a situation, he began:

"I am almost inclined to think we don't quite understand each other. I was at great pains to make a careful study of the problems of life, and so I see somewhat deeper into things than you. I'm up to snuff about the so-called illusions of youth. I know what men are worth, and I should advise you to be a little more cautious about what you do."

"What do you mean?" she asked, astounded.

He gave her a sidewise smile with an air of mingled superiority and uncertainty.

"Well, beauty carries certain dangers in its train."

"Nonsense, beauty!" Lilly cried, glowing all over. "Who thinks of such silliness?"

"The person upon whom nature has bestowed such a gift," he went on, "has many reasons for being on her guard. For instance, it's a piece of good luck for you that you chanced upon so strict and correct a young man as I am. Another man with a more frivolous nature than mine would have made an entirely different use of an excursion like this. You may be sure of that."

Lilly stared at him. She was carried away by a whirl of obscure and disagreeable thoughts. What did he want of her? Was he reproaching her?

Did he scorn her because of her most sacred feelings?

"Oh, dear," she said, utterly discomposed. "I wish we were at home."

"Understand me," he began again. "I am by no means a Pharisee. I have a thorough comprehension of the weaknesses of human nature. I am only offering you a bit of advice in all modesty, and some day you will thank me for it. It is not for nothing that a fellow has his principles.

Should we ever meet again later in life, you will, I hope, not have to be ashamed of the friend of your youth."

"If it's a question of shame," something within Lilly cried, "then I ought to feel ashamed now, and of myself."

Forward, undignified, ill-bred--that was what she held herself to be for having begged him to take this morning walk.

Yet there had been nothing evil in the thing! Where had the evil suddenly come from?

The chimes were still making music, the sun was still weaving its net of gold about her. She saw nothing, she heard nothing, so very ashamed she was. She wanted to run away, but did not dare even to stir.

As for him he no longer looked as if he needed comforting. His manner expressed the quiet satisfaction a man feels with a piece of work just completed.

A blackberry had remained sticking in a crevice in the seat of the bench.

"One mustn't get spots on one's clothes," he admonished, and stuck the berry in his mouth, slowly crunching the seeds between his teeth.

Lilly pulled herself together, and caught up her work-bag.

"What are you carrying there?" he asked. "It looks so heavy."

Lilly in terror clutched the bag tight.

"Only the house key," she stammered.

Then they went home.

"If only I could change his mind," she thought, "so that he would have a favorable opinion of me again."

Nothing better occurred to her than to stoop at the wayside and pluck the finest field flowers she could reach to offer to him as a farewell gift instead of that other gift, the mere thought of which made her feel like a goose.

She handed him the bouquet keeping her eyes turned aside. He thanked her with a pretty bow, and twirled the bamboo cane with the silver handle--an heirloom of which he had just come into possession. He swung it boldly about his head, the way future corps students do before making a high carte.

Lilly in her dejection and humiliation was unable to say a word.

"Doesn't an inner voice," he asked, "tell you we shall meet some time again?"

She turned her face away. She had all to do to force back the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Then I hope you will receive proof of what unremitting effort and unshakable fidelity to one's convictions can accomplish even with small means."

His voice now sounded full and vibrant with self-satisfied energy. While making her small and timorous he seemed to have sucked up some of her joyous mood.

When they drew near the Altmarkt, however, he became greatly disquieted again, and kept spying about on all sides. Finally he remarked that the streets were getting pretty lively, and it would be better perhaps if they were to part company and go back by different ways.

A few days later he left home, and the house was perfumed with the garlic of the sausage that Mrs. Redlich sliced into his soup as a farewell offering.

Lilly stood behind the window curtain with burning eyes, and thought in her sorrow:

"Oh, I wish I had never seen him!"

CHAPTER IX

One grey October morning, which hid the threat of approaching winter behind a mask of moist, warm mist as behind a hypocritical smile, the wonderful happened: Mrs. Asmussen's runaway daughters came back again.

Without casting a shadow before them, there they were all of a sudden, shoving several bulging hand-bags into the library, measuring Lilly with an astonished look of gracious frigidity, and ordering her to pay for the cab--they had no change.

Lilly felt the throbbing of her heart up to her neck. The moment the two grand, voluptuous figures appeared on the scene and, though looking a bit weather beaten and washed out, swept victoriously into possession of the territory, she knew they were Mrs. Asmussen's daughters.

She cast one anxious look at the pretty, pug-nosed faces, where two pairs of bright grey eyes challenged the door of the rear room, and another anxious look at the broom of welcome, whose hour had come. Then she hurried off to avoid the terrors bound to follow upon the opening of the middle door.

In the cab she found two withered bouquets of gladioli, a Scotch plaid rolled in a shawl strap, from which two umbrella handles--large blue gla.s.s k.n.o.bs, the size of a man's fist--were sticking out, some cushions trimmed with diagonal bars, and a whisky flask. There was also a tin box of lemon drops sans lid, and a disjointed paper hat-box, between whose cracks a comb and a piece of b.u.t.tered bread were striving in unison to find their way into freedom.

Lilly gathered up the effects, and stopped in the hall, listening in terror. She expected to hear the screams of the maltreated girls. But all was serene, and when she entered she saw mother and daughters hugging and kissing.