d how she could ever have disliked her. Eva, with her up
lifted eyes, seemed to be gazing directly into the open heavens.

Cordula paid little attention to the sacred service, but watched the Es,
as she liked to call the sisters, all the more closely. The elder, though
so overwhelmed with grief that she could not help sobbing aloud, did not
cease to think of her dear ones, and from time to time gazed with tender
sympathy at her father or with quiet sorrow at her sister. Eva, on the
contrary, was completely absorbed by her own anguish and the memory of
her to whom it was due. The others appeared to have no existence for her.
Whilst the large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, she sometimes gazed
tenderly at the face of the beloved dead; sometimes, with fervent
entreaty, at the image of the Virgin. The pleading expression of the
large blue eyes seemed to the countess to express such childlike need of
help that the impetuous girl would fain have clasped her to her heart and
exclaimed:

"Wait, you lovely, obstinate little orphan; Cordula, whom you dislike, is
here, and though you don't wish to receive any kindness from her, you
must submit. What do I care for all the worshippers of a very poor idol
who call themselves my 'adorers'? I need only detain wandering pilgrims,
or invite minnesingers to the castle, to shorten the hours. And he for
whom yonder child-angel's heart yearns--would he not be a fool to prefer
a Will-o'-the-wisp like me? Besides, it is easy for the peasant to give
his neighbour the cloud which hangs over his field. True, before the
dance----But the past is past. Boemund Altrosen is the only person who is
always the same. One can rely upon him, but I really need neither. If I
could only do without the open air, the forest, horses, and hunting, I
should suit convent walls far better than this Eva, whom Heaven itself
seems to have created to be the delight of every man's heart. We will see
what she herself decides."

Then she recognised Sir Boemund Altrosen in the congregation and pursued
her train of thought. "He is a noble man, and whoever thus makes himself
miserable about me I ought to try to cure. Perhaps I will yet do so."

Similar reflections occupied her mind until she saw Heinz Schorlin
kneeling, half concealed by a pillar, behind Boemund Altrosen. He had
learned from Biberli at what hour the consecration would take place, and
his honest heart bade him attend the service for the dead woman who ha