he purpose.

Katterle brought one from the top of the chest. Eva wound it swiftly
around the little roll, and the maid hastily left the room, sure of the
gratitude of the true and steadfast Biberli.

When Eva was again alone, she at first thought that she might rejoice
over her hasty act; but on asking herself what Els would say, she felt
certain that she would disapprove of it and, becoming disconcerted, began
to imagine what consequences it might entail.

The advice which her father had recently given Wolff, never to let any
important letter pass out of his hands until at least one night had
elapsed, returned to her memory, and from that instant the little note
burdened her soul like a hundred-pound weight.

She would fain have started up to get it back again, and a strong
attraction drew her towards the window to ascertain whether Heinz
Schorlin had really come and was awaiting her greeting.

Perhaps Katterle had not yet delivered the note. What if she were still
standing at the door of the house to wait for Biberli? If, to be
absolutely certain, she should just glance out, that would not be looking
for the knight, and she availed herself of the excuse without delay.

In an instant she sprang from her bed and gently drew the curtain aside.
The street was perfectly still. The linden and the neighbouring houses
cast dark, sharply outlined shadows upon the light pavement, and from the
convent garden the song of the nightingale echoed down the quiet moonlit
street.

Katterle had probably already given the note to Heinz Schorlin who,
obedient to his lady's command, as beseemed a knight, had gone away. This
soothed her anxiety, and with a sigh she went back to bed.

But the longing to look out into the street again was so strong that she
yielded to the temptation; yet, ere she reached the window, she summoned
the strength of will which was peculiar to her and, lying down, once more
closed her lids, with the firm resolve to see and hear nothing. As she
had not shut her eyes the night before and, from dread of the ball, had
slept very little during the preceding one, she soon, though the moon was
shining in through the parted curtains, lapsed into a condition midway
between sleep and waking. Extreme fatigue had deadened consciousness, yet
she fancied that at times she heard the sound of footsteps on the
pavement outside, and the deep voices of men.

Nor was what she heard in her half-dozing state, which was soon fol