In war time she knew that spies were
necessary, that brave men took perilous hazards, without reward, without
renown; but in times of peace nothing but opprobrium covered the word. A
political scavenger, the man she loved? No; there was some mistake. The
bit of newspaper cutting did not worry her. Anybody might have been
curious about the doings of the king of Jugendheit and his uncle the
prince regent. Because the king hunted in Bavaria with the crown
prince, and his uncle conferred with the king of Prussia in Berlin, it
did not necessarily follow that Leopold Dietrich was a spy. Gretchen was
just. She would hear his defense before she judged him.
Marking the first crook in the Krumerweg was an ancient lamp hanging
from the side of the wall. The candle in this lamp burned night and day,
through winter's storms and summer's balms. The flame dimmed and glowed,
a kindly reminder in the gloom. It was a shrine to the Virgin Mary; and
before this Gretchen paused, offering a silent prayer that the Holy
Mother preserve this dream of hers.
A footstep from behind caused her to start. The vintner took her roughly
in his arms and kissed her many times.
Her heart shook within her, but she did not surrender her purpose under
these caresses. She freed herself energetically and stood a little away
from him, panting and star-eyed.
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