The complaint he was about to utter, died upon his lips. Woman's wit had planned with better forethought, than manly wisdom. In less than a minute the end of the rope struck his head,--another minute, and the first nun stood beside him. "Creep carefully forward," he directed the trembling girl, "I will receive the others." Again the screech-owl shrieked. No other sound was heard, save the creaking of the branches in the wind. In wild haste the nuns slipped down, and crept along the wall. Koppe followed. When they came to the breach, he sprang down and assisted them to ascend. A suppressed cry of delight was heard, but Koppe angrily checked the guilty one. "The time for rejoicing has not yet come! Make haste, and follow!" The wagon was soon reached, and the merchant hid the nuns between the barrels, covering them with straw, until not a sign of them was visible. Then he hastened to relieve his companion from his post. They climbed into the wagon, and the horses were urged forward. Dark and shadowy, like a gigantic sarcophagus, the convent lay behind them. Not a light gleamed from the windows, even that of the abbess being dark. The effect of the screech-owl's voice had not been miscalculated, and the old woman had doubtless sought refuge beneath her covers from the gruesome cries of the bird of death. The nuns crouched motionless in their hiding place--afraid to utter a sound. Like a mill-stone the reaction from the past dangers, and the fear of new ones weighed upon their spirits. Thus they journeyed for more than an hour. Suddenly the wagon stopped, and a harsh voice called to the driver: "What have you here?" "Herring barrels," was Koppe's short and decided answer. "Do not detain me unnecessarily, friend--my limbs are stiff with the cold." The man climbed up at the side of the wagon, and gropingly examined its contents. "Pass on!" he cried, and the horses hurried forward at a more rapid pace. Suddenly there was a stirring and a whispering among the straw, Koppe and Tommitzsch now and then adding a word of caution. The nuns would fain have risen from their stifling shelter, and thanked the men who had dared so much for their deliverance, but they forbade it. After a few hours, when the sky grew rosy in the east, and the first fiery ray of the Easter sun broke upon the earth, new life stirred the nuns with irresistible force, and as with one voice, the exultant strain burst forth from their lips: "Christ the Lord is risen From His martyr prison, Let us all rejoice in this, Christ our joy and solace is, Kyrie eleison." Leonhard had lifted his hand with a warning gesture, but it sank at his side. His eyes filled with tears as he listened; the pure voices had a heavenly ring. Nor did he resist, when the nuns pressed around him, took his hands, and overwhelmed him and his companions with their gratitude.