"To-morrow, my daughter, to-morrow," said her mother, "to-day, I am ill, and will seek my room." Eva looked round, as if imploring aid; all were silent on every side, and looked upon the ground; Blanden, too, was mute; not one comforting word that the betrothal should still be promulgated. Was it then possible? Was it she herself--she--Eva Kalzow, the heroine of that day, the object of the congratulations, the fêted one, who must shrink away from this feast like a criminal, into whose face was cast the bridal wreath which had been snatched from her? What dishonourable deed had she committed? Did she not stand there as if in a pillory? Did they not smile scornfully, maliciously--the seven Fräuleins Baute--at the interrupted feast? Did not her other female friends whisper mysteriously with speaking glances? Impossible--it was a fevered dream, an agonising fevered dream--it could not be so. What then has happened? With convulsive terror she thought of possibility after possibility--nothing remained for her but the dull weight of dismal, fearful foreboding. Inquiringly she looked up at Kalzow; he shrugged his shoulders. It was true, then, she was disgraced before everybody. With a heartrending cry she sank into her mother's arms. "I shall follow you, mother!" cried she, in a tone of despairing resignation. She turned towards Blanden; he came up to her, pressed her hands--she saw a tear in his eye. "Good-night, Eva," said he, with overflowing emotion, in a suffocating voice. "Good-night"--she felt as in a dream, where, wandering through subterranean passages, one door is shut noisily after another, and the sneck closes clatteringly--ever farther on into the deep abyss of night. And no word of elucidation--all shared that secret--all kept silence, even he--was that his love? Pressing her hand upon her heart, she followed her mother; she looked round once more. There he stood, his tall figure drawn up erectly, his pale face seemed to quiver with some internal struggle. She forgot her own anguish in his. It was indeed impossible--he could not be lost to her. The Kalzows and Blanden remained behind, so as not to interrupt the entertainment by a general departure. Kuhl had declared upon his honour that sudden indisposition on the part of the bride's mother had called the former away. Thus people did not allow themselves to be disturbed in their enjoyment, the bride was soon forgotten, as she was merely the chance cause of the gay evening dance. Only the two poets went about in a melancholy frame of mind; the unspoken verses of their _carmina_ passed in pieces through their minds, and bitter regret for the laurels which the people of Neukuhren had turned for them, and of which they had been deprived, eat into their souls. "What does all this mean?" Kuhl asked his friend. "Follow me to my room, afterwards," replied Blanden.