Behind a table illuminated with wax tapers and decorated as for a festival, sat the fair Clara. Her loose golden locks flowed down over her white gala dress. Her right arm supported her pale, sad face, and bright tears were falling from her eyes upon her white bosom.
'Do you not bid me welcome, lovely little Clara?' Alf kindly asked of the sorrowing girl. 'Do you celebrate our victory with such bitter tears?'
Clara lifted up her eyes toward the youth with gentle sorrow. 'Be not angry with me for it, dear Alf,' she begged in a soft, subdued tone; 'every drop of blood shed in this unhappy war of opinion, falls envenomed upon my heart. Never shall I lose the remembrance of my poor uncle. He also was butchered for the new faith, of which I do not yet rightly understand whether it is the genuine worship of God, or a hellish sacrifice.'
'Leave the foolish girl!' cried Eliza, handing a goblet to Alf. 'Her spirit is not yet born again to the light. She still lies bound in the chains of darkness. She is not able to offer every feeling joyfully upon the altar of the holy God.'
'May He preserve me from such joy!' sighed Clara, almost inaudibly; and Eliza with a quick warm pressure of the hand drew the youth upon a seat near herself. His fellow soldiers seated themselves opposite the beautiful couple, and the ceremonies of the repast began. With the pleasing narration of the conquering warriors and the sweeter praises of the fair Eliza, the generous Rhenish of old Trutlinger glided swiftly and deliciously down, and gradually extinguished in Alf all thoughts of the movements in Munster, which his right worthy head and heart had from time to time obtruded upon him. Deeper glowed the flush upon the blooming faces of the youth and maiden; constantly brisker and more radiantly moved their eyes; with constantly increasing warmth were their kisses given and received. The journeymen, rejected by the grieving Clara, could only keep to the goblet, until, overcome by Bacchus, they staggered one after the other to their places of rest. Alf and Eliza remained quietly sitting at table, as much occupied with each other as if there had been nobody else in the world. Leaning sadly upon her arm, Clara looked through her tears upon the happy pair. Now and then a half suppressed sigh stole from her bosom, and she then placed her hand upon her heart as if she felt a sudden pain there. Already had the second hour after midnight struck upon St. Lambert's tower. Finally Clara rose from her seat, took one of the low-burnt tapers from the table, and remarked with assumed tranquillity, 'it is late, and I am now going to bed,--wilt thou not go with me, sister?'
No answer came, and the poor maiden sorrowfully retired to her own sleeping room.
CHAPTER V.
Early in the morning Clara was awakened by a disturbance in the street and came from her chamber, when she saw the couple still there. She hastily disappeared with an exclamation of alarm and grief.
'That must have been my sister!' cried Eliza, starting up with terror, her dark locks breaking loose from the band which had confined them.
'Be not alarmed my beloved,' said Alf with sweetly soothing tones. 'Immediately after my baptism brother Rothman shall bless our union, and our weakness will meet with mild judgment from the spirit of mercy which rules over the new Zion.'