He had taken a few noiseless steps within the church, and now pausing, gazed around the narrow space. The sun, already low in the horizon, cast through the round, leaden-cased panes of the lofty narrow windows a mysterious light, which brightened or faded as the soft breeze raised or lowered the branches of the ancient linden-trees outside the walls. And thus, now clear now dim, but always sorrowful, the memories of his early years swept through the stranger's mind as he stood motionless, his eyes wandering over the massive white-washed walls, the few dusky pictures hung here and there at far too great a height, the little oaken font black with age, the altar with its two large brass sconces, and the pulpit, whose desk was covered with a tattered cloth. Everything was just as it used to be; he even remembered the holes in the cover, only it was all very much smaller, more poverty-stricken and tasteless than memory had pictured it. Yet this was the most favorable light,--what must it be in the broad glare of day! And his gloomy, sorrowful childhood,--what was it when he extinguished the magical light of memory, when he saw it as it really was, as a cold fanatical father had made it to the child so early bereft of a mother's love. The traveller started from his revery as a sharp sound suddenly echoed through the quiet church as if something had burst asunder. It was the clock, which had just begun to strike. He passed his hand over his brow, mechanically counted the strokes and listened to the rumbling echo till the last sound died away. "Seven o' clock," said he; "it is time for me to set out again." He walked around behind the benches, up a side aisle, on the right of the pulpit, until he reached the large iron door of the crypt. It was fastened, but on both sides, affixed to the wall, were the mural tablets of the pastors of Rammin, who had preached the gospel over the coffins of their predecessors whom they were some day to join. He went to the last stone and read the inscription, that here rested in God, Gotthold Ephraim Weber, D.D., installed in 1805 as Pastor of St. Mary's church in Rammin, born August 3d, 1780, died June 15th, 1833. "Gotthold Ephraim Weber," murmured the stranger, "that is my name too, and I am also a Doctor of Theology. That I would not remain where my father placed me, but insisted upon taking the profession for which, according to my best knowledge and belief, I was born, separated him who now lies here from me forever. No, no, not that, at least that was not the true cause! I never understood in your sense what is written here: 'Blessed are those who die in the Lord.' We were never one, had been separated long before we parted. Well, father, at least let there be peace between us now. I wish with all my heart that you may have the bliss in which you believed; and say: 'blessed are the--dead,' so you certainly have the happiness in which I believe."