e this day is immortal in the
annals of Denmark. In the house, where there now were only the mother,
Louise, and Eva, all was quiet. Through the whole winter Eva had become
weaker; yet she did not resemble the flowers which wither; there was no
expression of illness about her--it was much more as if the spiritual
nature overpowered the bodily; she resembled an astral lamp which,
filled with light, seems almost resembled be an ethereal existence. The
dark-blue eyes had an expression of soul and feeling which attracted
even the simple domestics at the hall. The physician assured them that
her chest was sound, and that her malady was to him a riddle. A
beautiful summer, he thought, would work beneficially upon her.

Wilhelm and Otto wrote alternately. It was a festival-day whenever a
letter came; then were maps and plans of the great cities fetched out,
and Louise and Eva made the journey with them.

"To-day they are here, to-morrow they will be there," cried they.

"How I envy them both, to see all these glorious things!" said Louise.

"The charming Switzerland!" sighed Eva. "How refreshing the air must be
to breathe! How well one must feel one's self there!"

"If you could only go there, Eva," said Louise, "then you would
certainly get better."

"Here all are so kind to me; here I am so happy!" answered she. "I am
right thankful to God for it. How could I have hoped for such a home as
this? God reward you and your good mother for your kindness to me.
Once I was so unhappy; but now I have had a double repayment for all
my sorrow, and all the neglect I have suffered. I am so happy, and
therefore I would so willingly live!"

"Yes, and you shall live!" said Louise. "How came you now to think about
dying? In the summer you will perfectly recover, the physician says. Can
you hide from me any sorrow? Eva, I know that my brother loves you!"

"He will forget that abroad!" said Eva. "He must forget it! Could I
be ungrateful? But we are not suited for each other!" She spoke of her
childhood, of long-passed, sorrowful days. Louise laid her arm upon
her shoulder: they talked till late in the evening, and tears stood in
Louise's eyes.

"Only to you could I tell it!" said Eva. "It is to me like a sin, and
yet I am innocent. My mother was so too--my poor mother! Her sin was
love. She sacrificed all; more than a woman should sacrifice. The old
Colonel was stern and violent. His wrath often became a sort of frenzy,
in which he k