fort
home severely burned, and there were all sorts of things for the maid to
do.

Eva clung shuddering to the back of the prie dieu, for the certainty
that the unfortunate girl had really fled was like strewing salt on her
wounds.

When Martsche left her and Els entered, her excitement had risen to such
a pitch that she flung herself before her, as if frantic and, clinging
to her knees, heaping self-accusations upon herself with passionate
impetuosity, she pleaded, amid her sobs, for pardon and mercy.

Meanwhile Els had been informed by her father of her lover's fatal deed,
and as soon as she perceived what tortured her sister she relieved her,
with loving words of explanation, from the reproach of being the cause
of this misfortune also, for the quarrel had taken place so early that
no tidings of the meeting in the entry could have reached young Vorchtel
when he became involved in the fray with Wolff.

Nor was it solely to soothe Eva that she assured her that, deeply as she
mourned the death of the hapless Ulrich and his parents' grief, Wolff's
deed could not diminish either her love or her hope of becoming his.

Eva listened to this statement with sparkling eyes. The love in her
sister's heart was as immovably firm as the ancient stones of her native
stronghold, which defied every storm, and on which even the destroying,
kindling lightning could inflict no injury. This made her doubly
dear, and from the depths of dull despair her soul, ever prone to soar
upwards, rose swiftly to the heights of hopeful exaltation.

When Els at last entreated her to go to rest without her, she willingly
consented, for her mother was comfortable, and Sister Renata was
watching at her bedside.

Eva kept her promise, after Els, who wanted to see the Countess von
Montfort, had satisfied her concerning the welfare of the nuns and
promised to go to rest herself as soon as possible.

The stopping of the alarm bells proved that the fire was under control.
Even its reflection had disappeared, but the eastern sky was beginning
to be suffused with a faint tinge of rose colour.

When her sister left her Eva herself drew the curtains before the
window, and sleep soon ended her thoughts and yearnings, her grief and
her hope.

CHAPTER XIV.

Countess Cordula von Montfort's room faced the east and looked out into
the garden. The sun of the June morning had just risen, filling it with
cheerful light.

The invalid's maid had wished