familiar with every step and turning, and went on through the impluvium
into the library where, at this hour, the bishop was wont to be found.
But it was dark, and her gentle call met with no reply. In the next
room, to which she timidly felt her way, a slave lay snoring; beside him
were a wine jar and a hand-lamp. The sight somewhat reassured her.
Beyond was the bishop's bedroom, which she had never been into. A dim
light gleamed through the open door and she heard a low moaning and
gasping. She called the house-keeper by name once, twice; no answer.
The sleeping slave did not stir; but a familiar voice addressed her from
the bedroom, groaning rather than saying:

"Who is there? Is he come? Have you found him at last?"

The whole household had fled in fear of the pestilence; even the acolyte,
who had indeed a wife and children. The housekeeper had been forced to
leave the master to seek the physician, who had already been there once,
and the last remaining slave, a faithful, goodhearted, heedless sot, had
been left in charge; but he had brought a jar of wine up from the
unguarded cellar, had soon emptied it, and then, overcome by drink and
the heat of the night, he had fallen asleep.

Katharina at once spoke her name and the old man answered her, saying
kindly, but with difficulty: "Ah, it is you, you, my child!"

She took up the lamp and went close to the sick man. He put out his lean
arm to welcome her; but, as her approach brought the light near to him he
covered his eyes, crying out distressfully: "No, no; that hurts. Take
away the lamp."

Katharina set it down on a low chest behind the head of the bed; then she