Then gloomy days drew near, days of weeping and wailing. Eva wept too, she knew not wherefore, all was unquiet; everything moved around her as if in the flickering light of a scorching fire--but she could not tell whence the flames ascended. Cupboards were emptied, boxes packed; suddenly the hour of departure tolled--a never-to-be-forgotten hour filled with tears. How she rested upon her mother's heart, as though she could not tear herself away! All these pictures passed before her mind, as after a meeting which was even more terrible than once the parting had been, and equally inexplicable, she sat beside her mother's sick bed. But the fever appeared to diminish; she breathed more softly, more quietly; the lamp went out, the first streaks of early dawn peeped through the window panes. And with the first beams of morning, holy thoughts filled the daughter's breast; thoughts of the pleasures of sacrifice, such as in the dawn of history often filled the breasts of nations. Oh, could she make this beautiful unhappy mother happy; she would sacrifice her heart's blood for that mother, gladly meet death for her sake! She folded her hands; every thought, every emotion, was a blessing upon her mother, who had suffered, must still suffer so much. And in these thoughts she forgot herself; her own life appeared to her like an expiring light, and she did not lament it. And yet, she could not but again and again recollect that unheard of, that mysterious event which had taken place, for which with convulsive struggles she sought some elucidation. One thing she felt assured of--the happiness of her life was destroyed, and perhaps the darkness in which she was shipwrecked contained more consolation than an unnatural light which illumined the intricate paths of her doom. And he--how miserable must he be! It was the same flash of lightning that had struck them both. The mother stirred; did the first ray of the sun disturb her? Immediately, Eva hung a dark shawl before the window, whose light curtains did not shield them from the joyous light of morning. Then, with sonorous strokes, the clock on the wall struck five. Frau von Salden awoke. Her first glance rested upon her daughter; her mind was still half wrapped in dreams, in the twilight of consciousness, the bliss of purest maternal love was reflected in her features. She saw that daughter, of whom she had been so long deprived, before her in all her youthful beauty which was even enhanced by anguish; delusive dreams as they escaped formed a golden frame to this picture, or as light veils fluttered over it, and, enthralled by such a lovely present, her soul knew nothing of the past or future. Yet it was but for a moment; then a sudden ray of perfect consciousness enlightened her. She rubbed her eyes; the veils of her dreams fluttered to the ground, and with a loud cry she threw herself upon her child's bosom, whom she pressed closely to herself amidst scalding tears. "My poor, poor Eva!"