When all had entered the edifice, Leonhard went in and sat down near the door. It was but his third night in Spenersberg, yet he was not among strangers, and how his heart was moved by all he saw and heard! An influence prevailed in this place which was fast mastering him. As he sat down and looked upon the faces of the elders, the faces of the men and the women--of the people who had toiled, and whose toil had been blessed to them--who had suffered, and whose suffering had been sanctified to them--his heart was like wax. In the drive and hurry of life he had never seen such faces. When he watched the troop of children, dressed in white and walking hand in hand, he thought of his own lonely childhood, and sighed to think that he had come here too late. And the minister, whom Spener had spoken about with patronizing contempt--looking at him, Leonhard said to himself, "Here is a man who could counsel me. He has fought his fight, and for him there is a crown of victory and rejoicing." The impression he had received when he glanced toward the minister's place was deepened as the services went forward, and he saw Mr. Wenck stand looking down upon the coffin, and from it toward the people. The music for the congregation festival was sung. It was all as Benigna had arranged it: there was no omission of parts except her own and Elise's. Such voices, such trained voices, and such instrumental performances, Leonhard said to himself, and could say truly, he had never heard. He was dumb with wonder, and because he loved music he wept as though he had loved Benigna. It seemed indeed that the mourners--and the church was filled with mourners in spite of all the words of resignation and immortal hope upon their tongues--were all intent on doing honor to the woman whose life among them would never be forgotten.