The old Minorite’s heart swelled at this confession and the sight of the maiden.  Thus, though far less richly endowed with the divine gift of beauty, he had seen St. Clare absorbed in prayer.  The words uttered by the fresh lips of this favoured girl, whom he beheld for the first time, expressed a feeling which might guide her into the path of the Holy Martyrs and, filled with pious enthusiasm, he approached, drew her clasped hands away from her breast, pressed them in his own and, remembering what the Abbess Kunigunde had told him yesterday beside the couch of Benedictus concerning her severe conflict, exclaimed: 

“Whoever said that, knows the words of Holy Writ which promise the crown of eternal life to those who are faithful unto death.  Obey the voice, my child, which unites you to those who are called.  St. Clare herself summons you to her heavenly home.”

The others listened to the old monk in silence.  Eva slightly shook her head.  But when the disappointed Minorite released her hands she clasped his thin one, saying modestly:  “How could I be worthy of so sublime a promise?  The poor servant on his straw bed, with his T and St embroidered on cap and cloak, of whom my uncle told us, has a tenfold greater claim, I think, to the crown of life, for which, as yet, I have been permitted to do so little.  But I hope to win it, and the saint who calls everything that breathes and lives brothers and sisters, as children of the same exalted Father, cannot teach that the fidelity shown in the world deserves less reward than that of the chosen ones in the convent.”

“That is a foolish and sacrilegious opinion,” answered the Dominican sternly.  “We will take care, my dear daughter, to guide your soul from pathless wandering into the right path which Holy Church has marked out for you.”

He turned his back upon the group as he spoke, but the grey-haired Minorite, smiling sadly, turned to Eva, saying:  “I cannot contradict him.  Fidelity to those whom we love, my child, is far less meritorious than that which we show to Heaven.  To you, daughter, its doors have already opened.  How strong must be the pleasure felt by the children of the world in this brief earthly happiness, since they are so ready to sacrifice for it the certainty of eternal bliss!  Your error will grieve the abbess and Father Benedictus.”

With these words he, too, took his leave, but Frau Christine whispered to her niece:  “These monks are not the Holy Church to which we both belong as obedient daughters.  To my poor mind and heart it seems as if the Saviour would deem you right.”

“Amen,” added the magistrate, who had heard his wife’s murmured words.

ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: 

False praise, he says, weighs more heavily than disgrace

*** End of the project gutenberg EBOOK fire of the forge, by Ebers, V7 ***