aped her notice. She had
accustomed herself from childhood to indulge in reflections and emotions
apart from the demands of the world. Whatever occupied her mind or soul
absorbed her completely; here she had been wholly engrossed in this
silent intercourse with the departed, and a single glance at the group
assembled in the church had showed her everything which she desired to
know of her surroundings.

Heinz had gone to the field the day before yesterday. Her silent colloquy
concerned him also. How difficult he made it for her to maintain the
resolution which she had formed during the mass for the dead, since he
remained aloof, without giving even the slightest token of remembrance.
True, an inward voice constantly repeated that he could not part from her
any more easily than she from him; but her maidenly pride rebelled
against the neglect with which he grieved her. The defiant desire to
punish him for departing without a word of farewell urged her back to the
convent. She had spent many hours there daily, and in its atmosphere of
peace felt better and happier than in her father's house or any other
spot which she visited. The close association with her aunt, the abbess,
was renewed. True, she had not urged Eva to a definite statement by so
much as a single word, yet she had made her feel plainly how deeply it
would wound her if her pupil should resolve to disappoint the hopes which
she herself had fostered. If Eva refused to take the veil, would not her
kind friend be justified in charging her with unequalled ingratitude? and
whose opinion did she value even half as much, if she excepted her
lover's, whose approval was more to her than that of all the rest of the
world?

He was better than she, and who could tell what important motive kept him
away? Countless worldly wishes had blended with the devotion which she
felt in the convent; and had not the abbess herself taught her to obey,
without regard to individuals or their opinion, the demands of her own
nature, which were in harmony with the will of the Most High? and how
loudly every voice within commanded her to be loyal to her love! She had
made her decision, but offended pride, the memory of the happy, peaceful
hours in the convent and, above all, the fear of grieving the beloved
guide of her childhood, withheld her from the firm and irrevocable
statement to which her nature, averse to hesitation and delay, impelled
her.

The nearer the sedan-chair came to the