"Yes, thou shalt know all," pursued Gottlob; "for it would seem as though the destiny that threw thee in my way were linked with hers. Her image it was that led me to the spot where first I saw thee. It was the last day of the Carnival, at the beginning of this year, and there was a fête at the palace of the Ober-Amtmann. I had long gazed with adoration upon that angelic face, and treasured it in my heart. I already worshipped yon saintly portraits, because in one--God forgive me the profane thought!--I had found a faint forth-showing of the beam of her bright eye; in another, the gentle, dimpled smile of her sweet mouth; in a third, her pure and saint-like brow. It was not for such as I, a poor artist, to be invited to the noble Amtmann's fête; but I thought that, through the windows in the illuminated halls, I might perchance trace her passing shadow. I fancied that, by some unforeseen accident, she might come forth upon the terrace, overhanging the river's banks--a foolish fancy, for the night was wintry and cold. I hoped to see her, no matter how; and I wandered out of the town--for its gates were open for that holiday--to look upon the lighted windows of the palace from the opposite side of the stream. The snow was on the ground. My mantle scarcely preserved me from the bitter cold. But I felt it not. It was only when a groan sounded near me, that I thought on the sufferings of others in such a night. I looked around me; and there, not far from me, on the snow, before the very windows of the palace, where within was music and dancing, and feasting and mirth, lay thy form, poor Magdalena! Feeble, helpless, stiff with cold, thou appearedst to me in the last agonies of death." "Yes; I had laid me down to die, in sorrow and despair. It is too true," sobbed the old woman, in a voice choked with tears. "But your hand raised me up--your arms warmed me into life--your voice encouraged me, and gave me force. You brought me to your home, fostered me, and nursed me--me, an unknown outcast, whose very history you did not even seek to know--whose silence and secrecy you respected. Your kindness saved me from despair, and gave me hope; and I lived on, in order to pay, were it possible, my debt of gratitude to my preserver." "Good Magdalena," said the young man soothingly, taking her withered hands between his own, "I did but the duty of a Christian man." "And you love her, then?" resumed Magdalena, recalling her young preserver to his promised confidence.