gift and verse, and invited her to share the great happiness which so brightly illumined the darkness of her grief.  Eva, who was so weary that she could scarcely stand thought, like her sister, as Els read Wolff’s lines aloud, of her mother’s last words.  But the forge fire of life must not transform her into a rose; she would become harder, firmer, and she knew why and for whose sake.  Only yesterday, had she been so exhausted, nothing would have kept her, after a few brief words to prevent Els’s disappointment, from lying down, arranging her pillows comfortably, and refreshing herself with some cooling drink; but now she not only succeeded in appearing attentive, but in sympathising with all her heart in her sister’s happiness.  How delightful it was, too, to be able to give something to the person from whom hitherto she had only received.

She succeeded so fully in concealing the struggle against the claims of her wearied body that Els, after joyously perceiving how faithfully her sister sympathised with her own delight, continued to relate what she had just heard.  Eva forced herself to listen and behave as if her account of Heinz Schorlin’s wonderful escape and desire to enter a monastery was news to her.

Not until Els had narrated the last detail did she admit that she needed rest; and when the former, startled by her own want of perception, urged her to lie down, she would not do so until she had put the flowers she had brought home into water.  At last she stretched herself on the couch beside her sister, who had so long needed sleep and rest, and a few minutes after the deep dreamless slumber of youth chained both, until Katterle, at the end of an hour, woke them.

Both used the favourable moments which follow the awakening from a sound sleep to cherish the best thoughts and most healthful resolutions.  When Eva left her chamber she had clearly perceived what the last hours had taken and bestowed, and found a positive answer to the important question which she must now confront.

Els, like her lover, would cling fast to her love, and strive with tireless patience to conquer whatever obstacles it might encounter, especially from the Eysvogel family.

Before leaving home Eva adorned the beloved dead with the flowers, leaves, and vines which the gardener had brought and she herself had gathered, and at the church she put the last touches to this work so dear to her heart.  She gave the preference to the flowers which had been her mother’s favourites, but the others were also used.  With a light hand and a delicate appreciation of harmony and beauty she interwove the children of the forest with those of the garden.  She could not be satisfied till every one was in the right place.

Countess Cordula had insisted upon attending the consecration, but she had not known who cared for its adornment.  Yet when she stood in the church by the side of the open coffin she gazed long at the gentle face of the quiet sufferer, charming even in death, who on her bright couch seemed dreaming in a light slumber.  At last she whispered to Els:  “How wonderfully beautiful!  Did you arrange it?”