“God in heaven!” cried Wilhelm, and flung himself down before her. “Eva! Eva! O, she is dead! and thou art to blame for it, Sophie! Thou hast killed her!” Reproachfully he fixed his eyes on his sister. She burst into tears, and concealed her face in her hands.
Otto ran to the peasant’s cottage and brought water. Peter Cripple himself hopped like a mountain-elf behind him through the high nettles and burdocks, which closed above and behind him again.
The Kammerjunker took Eva in his strong arms and carried her to the cottage. Wilhelm did not leave hold of her hand. The others followed in silence.
“Try and get her home,” said Wilhelm; “I myself will fetch the physician!” He rushed forth, and hastened through the wood to the ball, where he ordered the men to bring out a sedan-chair for the invalid; then had horses put into one of the lightest carriages, seated himself in it as coachman, and drove away to Nyborg, the nearest town, which, however, was distant almost twenty miles.
Sophie was inconsolable. “It is my fault!” she said, and wept.
Otto found her sitting before the house, under an elder-tree. She could not endure to see Eva’s paleness.
“You are innocent,” said Otto. “Believe me, to-morrow Eva will be completely restored! She herself,” added he, in an assuaging tone, “behaved in an imprudent manner. I warned her not to run. Her own terror is to blame for all.”
“No, no,” returned Sophie; “my folly, my extravagance, has caused the whole misfortune!”
“Now it is much better,” said the Kammerjunker, coming out of the house. “She must be devilish tender to fly before a few calves! I really must laugh when I think of it, although it did come to such an end!”
The men now arrived whom Wilhelm had sent with the sedan-chair.