The flush in the western sky suddenly deepened to a vivid crimson. The clouds above the horizon, which a moment before had shone like waves of gold, became a sea of flame. The ruddy glow illumined the old cathedral, touching rich carving and lace-like tracery with a new splendor, while far over sculptured dome and stately tower rose the lofty spire, bathed from finial to base in the radiant light. The boy made a step forward, and, slipping back the little cap from his locks, stretched out his clasped hands toward the sky. "O Mary, tender mother!" he cried, "plead thou for me in my time of need to-morrow! O Jesu! be near to help and save!" He replaced the cap, and hurried across the Platz to the crowded thoroughfare beyond. At the end of three blocks he turned into a narrow street, and stopped in front of a high house with steep, tiled roof. The lamp in the swinging iron bracket above the door gave such a feeble light that he was obliged to grope his way through the hall to the stairs. At the second landing he paused for a moment, fancying that he heard a light footfall behind him, but all was still, and he hastened on to the next floor. Again he stopped, thinking that he caught the sound of a stealthy, cat-like tread on the steps below. "Who's there?" he called out boldly, but the lingering echo of his own voice was the only answer. "How foolish I am!" he exclaimed. "It is but the clatter of my shoes on the stone stairs." Up another flight and down the long, narrow entry he went, and still he could not shake off the feeling that he was being followed. At that moment a door opened and a woman peered out, holding a candle high above her head. "Is that you, Franz?" she said. "My brother has been expecting you this half hour." By the flickering light of the candle Franz could see that there was no one in the entry. He turned, impelled by a strong desire to search the tall cupboard near the stairs and see if any one had concealed himself within, but the dread of being laughed at kept him back, and he followed the woman into a room where a gray-haired man sat, leaning wearily against the back of his chair. "You may go now, Katrina," said the man, motioning to an adjoining room; and when the door closed he turned to Franz, trembling with eagerness. "Well, have you decided?" "I will try, Master Wirtig." The old sexton wrung his thin hands nervously. "But if you should fail?" "In God is my trust," answered the boy, calmly. "But one 'if' is as good as another. Why not say, if you succeed? It sounds more cheery." "God grant it!" answered the man, sinking back in his chair. "I had thought that it would be some hardy young sprig who should accept my offer--some sailor or stone-mason, whose calling had taught him to carry a steady head. I never dreamed that it would be a mere lad like thyself, and worn out, too, with the care of thy sick mother! Even now I feel I do thee a grievous wrong to listen to thy entreaties."