Peter felt ill at ease; and a consciousness of the despicable part he was playing, at times brought the mantling blush of shame to his cheek; but he hardened himself against conviction, by magnifying his own improvements and dreaming of future greatness. Besides, he had really been prejudiced by Faust against Gutenberg, and his mind was much occupied with the image of the amiable and charming Christiane; and he feared to offend the father lest he might not win the daughter. “When do you propose to pay me?” abruptly asked John Faust of Gutenberg some days later. “Pay you!” ejaculated the other in great surprise, “I am not aware that I owe you anything!” “Not aware of it!” angrily retorted the Doctor. “Not aware of the 2,020 florins and other large sums I lent you! I will give you thirty days in which to pay the debt; and if then you fail to do so, I shall take measures to collect it!” “Hard conditions truly, even supposing I owed you! But the sums you mention were used for our common benefit, and we are in the midst of our first edition of the Bible. I have no way of raising money save from its sale, which it will take months to effect.” “That is not to the point,” replied Faust. “I want the money, and the money I must have. My brother James advanced it.” “But how am I to procure it? Would you ruin me?” “Am I to devise means for you to pay your debts to me?” was the heartless rejoinder. “The money I must have; and if you are an honest man, you will pay it: understand me!” and Faust abruptly left. As he had entered, Peter was missing, and did not soon return. Gutenberg had only Martin and Hanau with him, and was too much overcome to speak. Was it for this that he had climbed almost to the pinnacle of his hopes? Martin was full of sympathy, and even Hanau’s vacillating heart was touched. Gutenberg saw that Faust and Schoeffer were leagued against him. The barbed iron had pierced his roul. Press-work and proof-reading were not to be thought of. He sought his room in the lethargy of despair. The prospect that the printing of the glorious Bible would be arrested, the fear that his beloved art would be torn from him, appalled him. Days passed, the darkness of affliction continued unbroken. Anna feared that he would sink under his load. True wife that she was, she intuitively understood, soothed, and offered him the comforts of faith and trust, and bore his burdens like a very heroine. She was his ministering angel, and at length he emerged from his gloom in a measure and returned to the printing rooms, still oppressed with the thought that he had been cruelly wounded in the house of his friends. Punctual to the day the Doctor appeared, accompanied by his brother, James Faust; the former having of late partly resumed goldsmithing, although still a member of the firm. “The month has expired, and I have come for the money!” said Faust. “I have not been able to raise it,” replied Gutenberg.