'No!' emphatically exclaimed the parson after a short pause.
'No?' asked Dorn with some surprise. 'The divine doctrine that we must live devoutly to die happily, not the substance of our religion! Ah, my dear sir, it was your cloth, and not your head or heart, which dictated that negative. You are too good and too intelligent not to be of my opinion.'
'Ah, do not press me with such argumenta ad hominem,' said the parson with excited but not unfriendly feelings. 'In point of fact there can be no disputing about matters of faith. It must come from within, and cannot be derived from without. Nevertheless I do not for that reason give you up. A time will come when you will be no longer satisfied with cold syllogisms, and you will then seek a refuge in the open maternal arms of the true faith, in which only you can find peace. Until when, only let your conduct be as fair as your speech, and I shall at all events hope that the maiden will not have made a bad choice. One thing, however, you must promise me with hand and word. Urge not upon your future wife your unbelief, or half belief, or whatever else you may choose to call it. Cause her not to waver in her own, which she has imbibed with her mother's milk. Yet more than the strong and self-relying man does weak, delicate and suffering woman need a steadfast faith. You would rob her of a belief, which is capable of sustaining her in the hour of sorrow and trial, and give her nothing in return but cheerless and disconsolate doubt; which would be an exchange unworthy of the magnanimity of a man.'
'In this case you are for once wholly right, my worthy friend,' said Dorn: 'and I promise you with this handgrip, by God and my honor, to do as you require. Now let a lasting peace be concluded between us. When we hereafter meet above, as I firmly believe we shall, when the scales shall fall from our eyes, when we shall clearly see what we perceive but dimly here below, then shall we as surely be one in knowledge as we now are in feeling, and side by side before the throne of the father of all men shall we unite with full hearts in the song of praise to the one true God.'
'So may it be!' cried the parson, pressing the youth's hand and leaving the room with visible emotion.
CHAPTER VI.
In the forenoon of the 20th January, 1629, a joyful bustle prevailed in Fessel's house. The floors and steps were carefully swept, strewed with a beautiful yellow sand, and adorned with evergreens. A large fire was crackling in the kitchen, before which the spit was turning, and pots and stew-pans were steaming. The diligent housewife, notwithstanding the ready assistance of her mother, had her hands full of business; her two daughters, who insisted on being employed, hindered more than they aided her; and the sons who, with their cousin Engelmann, had just returned from school, raced about the house like wild animals, practically illustrating the 'Dulce est desipere in loco,' which they had that day construed in their class. In short, it was the betrothing day of the beauteous Faith and Fessel's new partner in business, master Dorn.
The interesting pair had just returned from the church, where, in pursuance of a good old custom, they had made their mutual engagements in the presence of their God, and commended themselves to his protection by pious prayer. In the house-door they encountered their brother-in-law, who was returning from the city council-room, where his attendance had a short time before been required. He was, however, unusually pale, returned but brief thanks for the joyous greeting of the lovers, and silently mounted the stairs with a slow and dull motion, as if he had been troubled with asthma.
'In God's name, my brother, what has happened to you?' cried Dorn, returning from the kitchen, where he had left his fair companion.
'Dark clouds are beginning to overshadow our horizon,' answered Fessel, with anxious concern. 'Colonel von Goes has arrived, and demands permission to march through the city with seven squadrons of the Lichtensteins.'