Two girls sit within it; Blanden has recognised Eva.
How can she, who has barely recovered from a fever, venture out on the evening tide?
And how she sits there, pale, deadly pale, her hands folded, staring into the waves.
Then the sun suddenly breaks through the clouds once more, and sheds a bright rosy radiance upon her features.
Ave Maria! She resembles the Virgin in the picture, gliding in a boat over the silent mountain lake, and while the bells are pealing in the churches on the coast, folds her hands.
But here no bells are ringing--here no Ave Maria is sounded--half-witted Kätchen rows them out to sea.
Does she not perceive the stormy clouds on the horizon?
But the voice from the heights above can still reach the women sailors, and with all his might Blanden cries--
"Eva!" and, in a warning tone, he calls it once again.
She has heard it; she turns to the other side of the boat, she stretches her arms out towards that summit, and then presses them firmly upon her heart; her looks hang as if spell-bound upon the tall oaks, and upon the figure of that friend who stands beneath them.