yet had frequent meetings with them.”—­“Not in the least,” I replied; “for, as I have said, except the first, I do not know one of them, and even him I have never seen in a house.”—­“Have you not often been in ... street?”—­“Never,” I replied.  This was not entirely conformable to the truth.  I had once accompanied Pylades to his sweetheart, who lived in that street; but we had entered by the back-door, and remained in the summer-house.  I therefore supposed that I might permit myself the subterfuge that I had not been in the street itself.

The good man put more questions, all of which I could answer with a denial; for of all that he wished to learn I knew nothing.  At last he seemed to become vexed, and said, “You repay my confidence and good will very badly:  I come to save you.  You cannot deny that you have composed letters for these people themselves or for their accomplices, have furnished them writings, and have thus been accessory to their evil acts; for the question is of nothing less than of forged papers, false wills, counterfeit bonds, and things of the sort.  I have come, not only as a friend of the family, I come in the name and by order of the magistrates, who, in consideration of your connections and youth, would spare you and some other young persons, who, like you, have been lured into the net.”  I had thought it strange, that, among the persons he named, none of those with whom I had been intimate were found.  The circumstances touched, without agreeing; and I could still hope to save my young friends.  But the good man grew more and more urgent.  I could not deny that I had come home late many nights, that I had contrived to have a house-key made, that I had been seen at public places more than once with persons of low rank and suspicious looks, that some girls were mixed up in the affair,—­in short, every thing seemed to be discovered but the names.  This gave me courage to persist steadfastly in my silence.  “Do not,” said my excellent friend, “let me go away from you; the affair admits of no delay; immediately after me another will come, who will not grant you so much scope.  Do not make the matter, which is bad enough, worse by your obstinacy.”

I represented very vividly to myself the good cousins, and particularly Gretchen:  I saw them arrested, tried, punished, disgraced; and then it went through my soul like a flash of lightning, that the cousins, though they always observed integrity towards me, might have engaged in such bad affairs, at least the oldest, who never quite pleased me, who came home later and later, and had little to tell of a cheerful sort.  Still I kept back my confession.  “Personally,” said I, “I am conscious of nothing evil, and can rest satisfied on that side; but it is not impossible that those with whom I have associated may have been guilty of some daring or illegal act.  They may be sought, found, convicted, punished:  I have hitherto nothing to reproach myself with, and will