for whatever she earnestly desired she accomplished, and whilst Els often
closed her eyes, she remained wide awake. When sleep threatened to
overpower her she thought of her mother's last words, especially one
phrase, "the forge fire of life," which seemed specially pregnant with
meaning. Yet, ere she had reached any definite understanding of its
true significance, the cocks began to crow, the song of the nightingale
ceased, and the twittering of the other birds in the trees and bushes in
the garden greeted the dawning day.

Then she rose and, smiling, kissed Els, who was sleeping, on the
forehead, told Sister Renata that she would go to rest, and lay down on
her bed in the darkened chamber.

Whilst praying and reflecting she had thought constantly of her mother.
Now she dreamed that Heinz Schorlin had borne her in his strong arms out
of the burning convent, as Sir Boemund Altrosen had saved the Countess
von Montfort, and carried her to the dead woman, who looked as fresh and
well as in the days before her sickness.

When, three hours before noon, she awoke, she returned greatly refreshed
to her dead mother. How mild and gentle her face was even now; yet the
dear, silent lips could never again give her a morning greeting and,
overwhelmed by grief, she threw herself on her knees before the coffin.

But she soon rose again. Her recent slumber had transformed the
passionate anguish into quiet sorrow.

Now, too, she could think of external things. There was little to be
done in the last arrangement of the dead, but she could place the
delicate, pale hands in a more natural position, and the flowers which