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 to deny Els admittance, but the countess called eagerly to her, and then ordered the windows to be opened, because she never felt comfortable unless it was light around her and she could breathe God’s pure air.

The morning breeze bore the smoke which still rose from the fire in another direction, and thus a refreshing air really entered the room from the garden, for the thunderstorm had refreshed all nature, and flower beds and grass, bush and tree, exhaled a fresh odour of earth and leafage which it was a delight to breathe.

The leech Otto, to whom the severely wounded Ulrich Vorchtel had been carried, had just left the countess.  The burns on her hands and arms had been bandaged—­nay, the old gentleman had cut out the scorched portions of her tresses with his own hand.  Cordula’s energetic action had made the famous surgeon deem her worthy of such care.  He had also advised her to seek the nursing of the oldest daughter of her host, whose invalid wife he was attending, and she had gladly assented; for Els had attracted her from their first meeting, and she was accustomed to begin the day at sunrise.

“How does it happen that you neither weep nor even hang your head after all the sorrow which last night brought you?” asked Cordula, as the Nuremberg maiden sat down beside her bed.  “You are a stranger to the Swiss knight, and when we surprised you with him you had not come to a meeting—­I know that full well.  But if so true and warm a love unites you to young Eysvogel, how does it happen that your joyous courage is so little damped by his father’s denial and his own unhappy deed, which at this time could scarcely escape punishment?  You do not seem frivolous, and yet—­”

“Yet,” replied Els with a pleasant smile, “many things have made a deeper impression.  We are not all alike, Countess, yet there is much in your nature which must render it easy for you to understand me; for, Countess——­”

“Call me Cordula,” interrupted the girl in a tone of friendly entreaty.  “Why should I deny that I am fond of you? and at the risk of making you vain, I will betray——­”

“Well?” asked Els eagerly.

“That the splendid old leech described you to me exactly as I had imagined you,” was the reply.  You were one of those, he said, whose mere presence beside a sick-bed was as good as medicine, and so you are; and, dear Jungfrau Els, this salutary medicine benefits me.”

“If I am to dispense with the ‘Countess,’” replied the other, “you must spare me the ‘Jungfrau.’  Nursing you will give me all the more pleasure on account of the warm gratitude——­”