A Vulgate from Dr. Faustus's own press, a
mass book and breviary, Thomas a Kempis's Imitation and the Nuremburg
Chronicle all in Latin, and the poetry of the gentle Minnesinger and
bird lover, Walther von Vogelweide, in the vernacular: these were
her stock, which Hausfrau Johanna had viewed as a foolish
encumbrance, and Hugh Sorel would never have transported to the
castle unless they had been so well concealed in Christina's kirtles
that he had taken them for parts of her wardrobe.
Most precious were they now, when, out of the reach of all teaching
save her own, she had to infuse into the sinking girl's mind the
great mysteries of life and death, that so she might not leave the
world without more hope or faith than her heathen forefathers. For
that Ermentrude would live Christina had never hoped, since that
fleeting improvement had been cut short by the fever of the wine-cup;
the look, voice, and tone had become so completely the same as those
of Regina Grundt's little sister who had pined and died. She knew
she could not cure, but she could, she felt she could, comfort,
cheer, and soften, and she no longer repined at her enforced sojourn
at Adlerstein.
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