The mid-day meal was eaten in silence, for the strict fast permitted but scanty refreshment. During the afternoon the convent was silent as the grave. The nuns, weary in body and mind from the exertions of Holy Week, rested in their cells. Since Palm Sunday, they had spent but few hours in their beds, having been engaged day and night in praying, fasting, singing, confessing and hearing mass. Many may therefore have rejoiced in the blessed Easter day,--not only because our Lord was risen from the dead for the saving of the world, but also because the tired and enfeebled body might once more assert its rights, and the soul awaken from its spiritual weariness to a new life. Slowly the twilight fell upon the earth. Once more the bell called to prayers, and the stewardess summoned the nuns to the thin, gray, Lenten soup. Then the last sound died away in the convent. The tired devotees stretched their aching limbs upon their beds, to find in slumber a little strength for the last effort,--the Easter vigil,--that night service, which with mysterious premonition leads the soul upward, step by step, to the supreme moment, when the first ray of the rising sun startles the soft murmurs into jubilant praise, and frow the full choir, accompanied by trumpets and cymbals, the Easter hymn bursts forth: "Christ the Lord is risen From His martyr prison, Let us all rejoice in this, Christ our joy and solace is. Kyrie eleison." * * * * * * * * * * The night was damp and cold. A bitter wind drove the ragged clouds across the face of the moon, whose pale beams threw ghostly shadows upon the earth. In the forest the trees groaned and creaked, their branches tossed by the gale. A great wagon, loaded with barrels, moved slowly along the road leading from Torgau. When the clouds did not hide the moon, three muffled figures, sitting immovable upon the wagon, became visible. Near the convent they left the highway. One of the men sprang down and took the horses by the bridle. "Do you know the road, neighbor?" came a whisper from within. "Have no fear," was the answer. "I know every path. Follow me, until we reach the water. There we will leave the wagon among the alders. You, Caspar, stay with the horses and care for them." Caspar was Leonhard's nephew. When they reached the pond they stopped. Caspar fed and watered the horses, while the others carefully groped their way through the bushes, Koppe taking his friend's hand, to help him because of his uncertain eyesight, and because the pale rays of the moon, which flickered through the trees, threw but scant light upon their path.