There she gathered rosemary, and, like Ophelia, began to deck herself with it; she thought of her buried love, and her whole former life seemed so sad to her, so worthy of tears! Her mother's picture, who weeping had once left her, rose before her, for the Frau Räthin was not her mother, the Kalzows were her adopted parents, who never spoke of her real mother, never! No token of the latter's existence ever reached the daughter; she must tarry in some far-off place, must have to suffer, to atone for something; never was her name mentioned in society, and little Eva, herself, for eight years, had been Fräulein Kalzow in the eyes of God and man, and this had all been carried out correctly, and according to the universal law of the country as the Regierungsrath always said, when he wished to denote that anything was particularly excellent and admirable. But Eva still saw her mother before her! it was indeed a touching picture; the pale lady with those large, enthusiastic eyes, which the daughter had inherited; for the small, sparkling coal black eyes of her adopted mother had nothing in common with that heritage, and she saw these orbs veiled in tears, as she had seen them at the last farewell, and thus this picture accompanied her through life. And again the weeping willows rustled! How gloomy was the boarding school, were the classes! Eva was no light-hearted girl, and was avoided by the other pupils; questions were upon her lips that did not stand in the catechism, nor in her school books; these queries displeased her teachers, all the more so, because often they could not give an answer to the enquiries; the best meaning one amongst the governesses jokingly called Eva the little philosopher; but in the school she was universally called the girl with the inquiring eyes. Her eyes did indeed speak many questions of her heart to which life alone could impart a reply. Yet Eva was not happy! Her heart thirsted after love; but she did not possess the art of winning it easily by ready acquiescence. Once, it might be in her twelfth year, she had found a little friend, an innocent girl with merry eyes, who attached herself to Eva like a burr. The latter even became merry in her company, beginning to jest, to play, to dance with the child. This continued throughout one whole winter; when the little one returned after the Easter holidays, she was distant and shy towards Eva, and withdrew entirely from her. For long Eva bore this unmerited estrangement silently, at last she enquired its cause. "I am not to associate with you," replied the little one, with downcast eyes, "on account of your mother--"