Els was standing at the head of the bed, supporting her mother with her strong young arms, while Sister Renata pushed the cushions between the sufferer's back and the bedstead.
The old difficulty of breathing had evidently attacked her again.
Yes, yes, the dim light of the lamp was shining on her pale face, and the large sunken eyes were gazing with imploring anguish at the image of the Virgin on the opposite wall.
How gladly Eva would have afforded her relief! She looked with a faint sense of envy at her sister, whose skilful, careful hands did everything to the satisfaction of the beloved sufferer, while in nursing she failed only too often in giving the right touch.

But she could pray--implore the aid of her saint very fervently; nay, she was more familiar with her, and might hope that she would fulfil a heartfelt wish of hers more quickly than for her sister.

It would not do to call Els to the window.
She closed the door gently, returned to her chamber, knelt and implored St.Clare, with all the fervour of her heart, to grant her mother a good night.

Then she again drew the curtains closely over the window, and went to call Katterle to help her undress.
But the maid was just entering with fresh water.

What was the matter with her?
Her hand trembled as she braided her young mistress's hair and sometimes, with a faint sigh, she stopped the movement of the comb.
Her silence could be easily explained; for Eva had often forbidden Katterle to talk, when she disturbed her meditation.