herself with the evidence of her eyes. But Eva stopped her, and learned
that she was searching for Katterle, who could neither be found in her
room, or anywhere else. Herr Ortlieb had brought Countess von Montfort
home severely burned, and there were all sorts of things for the maid to
do.

Eva clung shuddering to the back of the prie dieu, for the certainty that
the unfortunate girl had really fled was like strewing salt on her
wounds.

When Martsche left her and Els entered, her excitement had risen to such
a pitch that she flung herself before her, as if frantic and, clinging to
her knees, heaping self-accusations upon herself with passionate
impetuosity, she pleaded, amid her sobs, for pardon and mercy.

Meanwhile Els had been informed by her father of her lover's fatal deed,
and as soon as she perceived what tortured her sister she relieved her,
with loving words of explanation, from the reproach of being the cause of
this misfortune also, for the quarrel had taken place so early that no
tidings of the meeting in the entry could have reached young Vorchtel
when he became involved in the fray with Wolff.

Nor was it solely to soothe Eva that she assured her that, deeply as she
mourned the death of the hapless Ulrich and his parents' grief, Wolff's
deed could not diminish either her love or her hope of becoming his.

Eva listened to this statement with sparkling eyes. The love in her
sister's heart was as immovably firm as the ancient stones of her native
stronghold, which defied every storm, and on which even the destroying,
kindling lightning could inflict no injury. This made her doubly dear,