But the effort was vain.  The motherless child, whom the captive father probably believed to be in safety with her sensible sister, was at a post of danger, and only a woman’s eye could judge whether it would do to yield to Eva’s wish, which the housekeeper had just told her mistress, and allow her—­it was already past midnight-to remain longer at the hospital.

She would not have hesitated to require her niece’s return home had not maternal solicitude urged her to deprive her of nothing which could aid her troubled soul to regain its poise.  If possible at all, it would be through devotion to an arduous work of charity that she would understand her own nature, and find an answer to the question whether, when the slanderers were silenced, she would take the veil or cling firmly to the hopeless love which had mastered her young heart.

If she succeeded in remaining steadfast here and, in spite of the glad consciousness of having conquered by the sign of the cross, was still loyal to her worldly love, then the latter was genuine and strong, and Eva did not belong to the convent; then her sister, the abbess, was mistaken in the girl whose soul she had guided from early childhood.

Frau Christine, who usually formed an opinion quickly and resolutely, had not dared to give Eva a positive answer the previous evening.

With sympathising emotion the matron had heard her confess that during her nocturnal wanderings a new feeling, which she could no longer still, had awakened in her breast.  When she also told her the image of true love which she had formed, she could not bring herself to undeceive her.

The abbess had made a somewhat similar confession to her, the older sister, when her young heart—­how long ago it seemed!—­had also been mastered by love.  The object of its ardent passion was no less a personage than the Burgrave von Zollern.

Frau Christine had seen his marriage with the Hapsburg princess awaken her sister’s desire to renounce the world.  Kunigunde was then a maiden of rare, majestic beauty, and only the Burgrave’s exalted station had prevented his wedding “Eva,” as she was called before she took the veil.

As a husband and father, he had found deep happiness in the love of the Countess Elizabeth, the future Emperor Rudolph’s sister, yet he had remained a warm friend of the abbess; and when he treated Eva with such marked distinction at the dance, she owed it not only to her own charms but also to the circumstance that, like the girl whom he had loved in his youth, she bore the name of “Eva Ortlieb,” and the expression of her eyes vividly recalled the happiest time in his life.