"Good-evening, Herr Johannes," she said in her calmest voice (she had called me so for some time because the "Candidate" seemed too formal, and she thought the name of Weissbrod ugly), "I am glad to see you. I have a favor to ask." I bowed silently. My heart was too full not to pour forth all its feelings if a single word overflowed, which I did not think seemly. "Our old pastor will preach again to-morrow," she continued, walking quietly on by my side. "You might do me a real favor if, after the close of the service, you would give a beautiful long organ concert in your very best style, like the first one we heard from you. I have a reason for making the request, which I can not tell you to-day. Will you do me this service, dear Herr Johannes?" Dear Herr Johannes! It was the first time she ever gave me that title. No matter how many unutterable things I had cherished in my heart against her, such an address would have won me to render the hardest service. "How can you doubt it!" I answered quickly. "I understand only too well that you need the consoling power of music. Oh, Fraeulein Luise, when I think how it affected me, a mere silent spectator, and how you must feel--" "No," she interrupted, "it is not as you suppose, but no matter; it is important to me for you to play both very well and very long. I will thank you for it in advance--" she gave me her hand, but without pausing in her walk--"and also for every other kindness you have showed me in your earnest, faithful way. Promise that you will always remain the same, and never, even in thought, agree with other people's silly gossip about me." I silently pressed her hand. A hundred questions were on my tongue, but I could not summon courage to ask even one. She, too, sank into a silence as unbroken as though she had forgotten that she had a companion. So, when we reached the elm avenue, we parted with a brief good-evening. The Canoness turned toward the farm-buildings, and I went to my room.