The clergyman spoke only a few words, but they sank deep into the hearts of both. Linden looked down on the brown drooping head beside him, the two hands rested on the infant's garments, two warm young hands close together, and from the lips of both came a clear distinct "Yes" in answer to the clergyman's questions. When the rite was ended, the young girl took the child to its weeping mother and pressed a kiss on the small red cheek, then she came up to Linden and her eyes gazed at him with a mixture of wonder and gratitude.
"I thank you, sir," she said, laying her small hand in his for a moment. "I thank you in the name of the poor woman--it was so good of you."
Then with a proud bend of her small head she went away, the heavy silk of her dress making a slight rustling about her as she walked. She paused a moment at the door in the full daylight and looked back at him as he stood motionless by the font looking after her; it seemed as if she bent her head once more in greeting and then she disappeared.
Frank Linden remained behind alone in the quiet church. Who could she be who had just stood beside him? A slight jingling caused him to turn round; the sexton was coming out of the sacristy with his great bunch of keys.
"You want to shut up the church, my friend?" he said. "I am going now." Then as if he had thought of something he came back a few steps. "Who was the young lady?" was on his lips to ask, but he could not bring it out, he only gazed at the glowing colors in the painted glass of the lofty window.
"They are very fine," said the sexton, "and are always much admired; that one is dated 1511, the Exodus of the children of Israel, a gift from the Abbess Anna from the castle up there. They say she had a great liking for this church, and it is the finest church far and wide too, our St. Benedict's."
Frank Linden nodded.
"You may be right," he said, abstractedly. Then he gave the man a small sum for the baby and went away.
Soon after, his carriage was rolling away towards home. The outlines of the mountains rose dark against the red evening sky, and the church-tower of Niendorf came nearer and nearer.
Nothing seemed strange to him now as it had been this morning; the first slight happy feeling of home-coming was growing in his heart. On the top of the hill he turned again and looked back at the city, where the castle looked to him like an old acquaintance, and hark! The faint sound of a bell was wafted towards him on the evening breeze; perhaps from St. Benedict's tower?