Then she looked full upon him, and a light smile played over her features as she said: "No, Hans, never, never. No one can make me doubt you. They do not understand you, but I do. You have taught me (what the others do not know) everything that is good and great and noble. You have made me what I am; just as your artistic hands have cut beautiful forms out of dead wood." She took his big, brown hands and gently pressed them to her lips. "I believe in you, for you worship the Supreme with your art; and the man who does that, in word or deed, cannot be wicked."
"And will you always remain true, Marie, till I have perfected myself and my art, and can return to claim you?"
"Yes, Hans, I will wait for you; and should I die before you return, it is here under this rosebush, where we have spent so many happy hours, that I wish to be buried. You must return here to rest, when wearied by your troubles; and every rose-leaf that falls upon you will be a good wish from me."
Her tears fell silently, and their hearts were sorely tried by the grief of parting.
"Don't cry," said Hans, "all will yet be well. I am going to Dürer, as the Emperor bade me. I will learn all that I can; and when I feel I know something, I will seek the Emperor, wherever he may be, tell him my desires, and beg him to intercede for me with your father."
"Oh, yes, the Emperor—if he were only here, he would help us."
"Perhaps he will come again," said Hans. "We will pray that he be sent to us, or I to him."
They sank upon their knees in the cold, soft winter grass; and it seemed to them as if a miracle would be performed, and the rose-bush be changed into the Emperor.
There—what was that? The big clock on the church struck slowly, solemnly, sadly—
The two looked up. "What is it, do you suppose? A fire—enemies, perhaps? I sense a great calamity," said she.