for three-quarters of an hour in his garden.  On the stroke of a quarter to one and a quarter to seven he latches the door behind him.  On Sunday it is different; then he sits for a whole hour in the arbor and gazes up at the church roof of St. George’s.  There is little for us to tell; the reader knows all that goes on in Nettenmair’s soul, and what he reads from the church tower.  The reader also knows to whom the aged but still beautiful face belongs that sometimes peers through the trellised arbor at the old man.  The lock which is now white was dark brown and full, falling over an unwrinkled forehead, the cheeks glowed with youthful strength, the lips were red and smiling and the blue eyes gleamed when she hastened to meet the man who had rescued the town.  He kissed her gently on the brow and called her “Sister.”  She understood what he meant.  Even at that time she looked up to the man with the submission, nay, the devotion with which she now hangs on his every word; but at that time there was another feeling as well that showed itself in her open countenance.

The old gentleman flew into a rage when Apollonius told him of his determination not to marry.  He gave his son his choice between considering the honor of the family or returning to Cologne.  Apollonius’ heart found it harder than his head to convince his father that it devolved upon him alone to uphold the honor of the family and that he must remain.  He knew that he could keep his word only by remaining true to his determination.  But he could not tell his father this, for if the old man should discover the true relation existing between the two young people he would insist upon the marriage more strongly than ever.  Then he would also have to tell him how his brother had met his death, and that would cause his father unnecessary pain.  He did not realize that his father in his heart was convinced that his brother had taken his own life.  The two men, so closely related, did not understand each other.  Apollonius assumed that his father had the same inward sense of honor which he himself possessed; and the father saw in his son’s refusal and in his argument of having to maintain the position of the family, nothing but the old obstinacy contending that his presence was indispensable and not even taking the trouble to conceal itself—­he thought that in his son’s eyes he was nothing but a blind, helpless old man.  And what caused and furthered their misunderstanding was reserve, that family trait which they held in common.  On the same morning a delegation had tendered Apollonius the thanks of the town and its most prominent citizens had vied with each other in giving tokens of esteem and respect.  This was cause enough to arouse arrogance in an ambitious soul, and cause enough for the old gentleman, who considered that Apollonius had such a soul, to believe in this arrogance.  The old gentleman had to admit that his son was indispensable and dared assert neither right nor might against him.  The emotion and