“And never was a more peaceful home. Up under the roof it is; but that gives us fresh air, and into our dormer windows the sunshine comes sooner than into any other windows on the street.” “And you have the sweetest of all birds to sing for you,” observed Conrad. “Yes, indeed. But I sometimes think of giving my pet his freedom. Moida laughs at me for it. Moida is——” “Not in the least sentimental,” interrupted the other, with a smile. “Well, true, she is not. But my bird is now a prisoner, and I am sure he must feel lonesome where he is.” “Oh! believe me, he is far happier as your prisoner than if he were enjoying the freedom of all the woods in Bavaria,” said Conrad, with a faint tremor in his voice. “Indeed!” exclaimed Walburga, answering his emotion by a crimson spot on her cheek. “Well, you may be right,” he added presently. “Your kind heart may tell you that your nightingale sighs for some other little bird to love.” At these words the sweet, pink blush spread itself with the quickness of light over Walburga’s whole cheek, and she answered: “I declare, ’tis just what I told Moida.” “And what did she say?” “Moida said—and no harm in repeating it—she said Ulrich was her nightingale.” “Her nightingale! Well, really, your friend _is_ sentimental; and I envy your brother. It must be the greatest of earthly joys to be happily wedded, as they soon will be.” Here Walburga’s countenance grew suddenly pensive, and she murmured to herself: “Ay, the greatest of earthly joys.” Conrad noticed the change in her expression and wondered at it. Then he thought to himself: “’Tis time for me to withdraw; I may be wearying her.” But ere he retired he said: “May I come again, gracious lady, tomorrow or the day after? I sometimes have melancholy moods, but these lovely pictures bring the sunshine back to my heart; and the loveliest picture of all is in this part of the gallery.” “You may, sir, if it pleases you,” was the answer he received. Then, making an obeisance, Conrad went away, leaving Walburga hardly in a fit state to continue her work; and she inwardly repeated the words which he had uttered about her nightingale: “Far happier as your prisoner than enjoying the freedom of all the woods in Bavaria.” “What did he mean?” she asked herself. “What did he mean?” A few minutes later the girl rose and went away too, still murmuring the question: “What did he mean?” TO BE CONTINUED. Footnote 43: The narrowest street in Munich; hence the name. Footnote 44: The name of the park in Munich. Footnote 45: Valley of the Inn. Footnote 46: These are made afresh every year on the feast of the Epiphany. Footnote 47: An instrument not unlike a guitar. ROSARY STANZAS. SORROWFUL MYSTERIES. I. _Luke_ xxii. 44.