ver, she believed she
had recognised something divine. The Credo closed and died away, the
resonant harmonies of the Sanctus filled the wide space, and the knight,
with the same devout attention, followed the sacred service in which, in
the imagination of believers, the bread and wine is transformed into the
body and blood of Christ, and a significant, painless ceremony represents
the Saviour's bloody death upon the cross.

Eva told herself that she ought to have followed with the same intentness
as Heinz the mass celebrated for the soul of her own mother, but she
could no longer succeed in doing so. Besides, she was denied the
privilege of looking freely and often at him upon whose movements
depended the fate of her life. Many glances were undoubtedly directed at
her, the daughter of the dead woman in whose memory so many citizens had
gathered; many, perhaps, had come solely to see the beautiful Es.
Therefore propriety and modesty forbade her to watch Heinz. She only
ventured to cast a stolen glance at him.

Every note of the Sanctus was familiar to her, and when it drew near the
end Heinz retained the same position. The fairest hope of her life must
be laid with the flowers in her mother's coffin.

Now the last bars of the Sanctus were commencing. He had scarcely had
time to change his attitude since her last secret glance at him, yet she
could not resist the temptation, though it was useless, of looking at him
once more. She felt like the prisoner who sees the judge rise and does
not know whether he intends to acquit or condemn him. The city
lute-player who led the choir was just raising his hands again to let
them fall finally at the close of the Sanctus, and as she turned her eyes
from him in the direction whence only too soon she was to be deprived of
the fairest of rights, a burning blush suddenly crimsoned her cheeks.
Heinz Schorlin's eyes had met hers with a full, clear gaze.

Eva pressed her clasped hands, as if beseeching aid, upon her bosom,
which rose and fell beneath them with passionate emotion; and No, she
could not be mistaken; he had understood her, for his look expressed a
wealth of sympathy, the ardent, sorrowful sympathy which only love knows.
Then the eyes of both fell. When their glances met again, the hosanna of
the choir rang out to both like a shout of welcome with which liberated
Nature exultingly greets the awakening spring; and to the deeply agitated
knight, who had resolved to fly from t