Agatha von Erfft got in touch, by letter, with some business people who were in a position to give her some practical advice. Their assistance was helpful in that it at least saved her the invaluable time she might have lost by appealing to the wrong people. One day she appeared before Eberhard and Sylvia with her plans all drawn up.
One of the most reputable music houses of Mayence had been nursing the idea for years of bringing out a pretentious collection of mediæval church music. A great deal of material had already been assembled under the supervision of a writer on musical subjects who had recently died. But there was still much to be collected. To do this, it would be necessary to go on long journeys, and these would entail the expenditure of a good deal of money. Moreover, it was necessary to find a man who would not be afraid of the work attached to the undertaking, and on whose judgment one could rely without doubt or cavil. Owing to the fact that the expenses up to the present had far exceeded the initial calculations, and since it seemed impossible to engage the right sort of man to place in charge of the work, the publisher had become first sceptical and then positive; positive that he would invest no more money in it.
Agatha had heard of this some time ago. That the enterprise might be revived she learned from direct inquiry; indirect investigation confirmed what she had been told. But the publisher was unwilling to assume all the financial responsibility; he was looking for a patron who would be disposed to invest capital in the plan. If such a person could be found, he was willing to place Daniel Nothafft, whose name was now known to him, in the responsible position of making the collections and editing them. There would be a good deal of work connected with the undertaking: the treasures of the archives, libraries, and convents would have to be investigated; corrections would have to be made; notes would have to be written; and the entire work would have to be seen through the press. To do this would take several years. The publisher consequently insisted that whoever was placed in charge should sign a contract to remain until the work had been finished, he in turn agreeing to pay the editor a salary of three thousand marks a year.
Eberhard made careful inquiries as to the standing of the firm, and finding that it enjoyed a rating well above the average, he agreed to furnish the requisite capital.
A few days after the conversation between Sylvia and Marian, Daniel received a letter in the morning mail from Philander and Sons, requesting him to accept the position, a detailed description of which was given. In the event of his acceptance, all he had to do was to sign the enclosed contract.
He read the letter carefully and quietly from beginning to end. His face did not brighten up. He walked back and forth in the room a few times, and then went to the window and looked out. “It seems to rain every day this summer,” he said.
Marian had returned to the table. She took the letter with the enclosed contract and read both of them. Her heart beat with joy, but she was exceedingly careful not to betray her state of mind to Daniel: she was afraid of his contradictory and crotchety disposition. She hardly dared look at him, as she waited in anxious suspense to see what he would do.
Finally he came back to the table, made a wry face, stared at the letter, and then said quite laconically: “Church music? Yes, I will do it.” With that he took his pen, and scrawled his name to the contract.
“Thank God,” whispered Marian.