Katterle silently hurried to obey this order, but Eva pressed her hand upon her heaving bosom, and gazed silently into vacancy.

The manservant and the maid whom Heinz Schorlin had made his messengers certainly could have no conception of the bond that united her to him; even her own sister had misunderstood it.  He should now learn that Eva Ortlieb knew what beseemed her!  But she, too, longed for another meeting, and this conduct rendered it necessary.

The sooner they two had a conversation, the better.  She could confidently venture to invite him to the meeting which she had in view; her aunt, the abbess, had promised to stand by her side, if she needed her, in her intercourse with the knight.

But her colour?

Katterle had long since laid the paper and writing materials before her, but she still pondered.  At last, with a smile of satisfaction, she seized the pen.  The manner in which she intended to mention the colour should show him the nature of the bond which united them.

She was mistress of the pen, for in the convent she had copied the gospels, the psalms, and other portions of the Scriptures, yet her hand trembled as she committed the following lines to the paper: 

“I am angered—­nay, even grieved—­that you, a godly knight, who knows the reverence due to a lady, have ventured to await my greeting in front of my father’s house.  If you are a true knight, you must be aware that you voluntarily promised to obey my every glance.  I can rely upon this pledge, and since I find it necessary to talk with you, I invite you to an interview—­when and where, my maid, who is betrothed to your servant, shall inform him.  A friend, who has your welfare at heart as well as mine, will be with me.  It must be soon, with the permission of St. Clare, who, since you have chosen her for your patron saint, looks down upon you as well as on me.

“As for my colour, I know not what to name; the baubles associated with earthly love are unfamiliar to me.  But blue is the colour of the pure heaven and its noble queen, the gracious Virgin.  If you make this colour yours and fight for it, I shall rejoice, and am willing to name it mine.”

At the bottom of the little note she wrote only her Christian name “Eva,” and when she read it over she found that it contained, in apt and seemly phrases, everything that she desired to say to the knight.

While folding the paper and considering how she could fasten it, as there was no wax at hand, she thought of the narrow ribbons with which Els tied together, in sets of half a dozen, the fine kerchiefs worn over the neck and bosom, when they came from the wash.  They were sky-blue, and nothing could be more suitable for the purpose.

Katterle brought one from the top of the chest.  Eva wound it swiftly around the little roll, and the maid hastily left the room, sure of the gratitude of the true and steadfast Biberli.