A faint mist hovered above the parched surface of the lawn. It was as
if an unseen presence wandered along the silent walks and amid the
motionless trees, at whose approach the slumbering leaves and blossoms
softly trembled. The sunset still flamed in the west behind the river
which flowed in shining curves through the dark meadows. At the edge of
the stream sat Lida. Her graceful figure bending forward above the
water seemed like that of some mournful spirit in the dusk. The sense
of confidence inspired by the voice of her brother forsook her as
quickly as it had come, and once more shame and fear overwhelmed her.
She was obsessed by the thought that she had no right to happiness, nor
yet to live. She spent whole days in the garden, book in hand, unable
to look her mother in the face. A thousand times she said to herself
that her mother's anguish would be as nothing to what she herself was
now suffering, yet whenever she approached her parent her voice
faltered, and in her eyes there was a guilty look. Her blushes and
strange confusion of manner at last aroused her mother's suspicion, to
avoid whose searching glances and anxious questionings Lida preferred
to spend her days in solitude.
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