ands 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 Ortlieb mansion the faster her
heart beat, for that very day, probably within the next few hours, the
abbess would