CHAPTER XIV.
The four hastened forth together. A sharp wind whistled over the market, while a raven, scared by the wanderers, arose with loud croakings from its snowy bed and with its heavy flapping wings slowly moved away. The shivering youth wrapped his mantle more closely about him and followed the corporal without troubling himself respecting the soldiers; these last soon fell into the rear, and, dexterously turning into another street, disappeared.
'Here we are,' said the corporal, suddenly turning to Oswald. The latter, startled from his death-dream, looked wildly about him. He was standing among the graves in a parish churchyard.
'Is this indeed to be my last resting place?' he asked, throwing off his mantle. 'Only direct me where to kneel, and be sure you take good aim.'
'Kneel, indeed, you must, my worthy youngster,' cried the corporal, with joyful emotion, and thank God for your rescue, as soon as you are in safety; but with the death shot we have now nothing to do. You are free.'
'Free!' cried Oswald, now for the first time missing the two soldiers.
'Have you really forgotten your old friend Florian?' asked the corporal, throwing the light of the lantern upon his face, of which Oswald soon recognized the well known lineaments.
'Thou true friend!' cried Oswald, embracing the good old man with grateful affection. 'Thou, who once so carefully guarded the boy against the trifling dangers of youth, wouldst thou now save the life of the man! I dare not accept the freedom you offer me,' he thoughtfully added. 'According to martial law you forfeit your life by this act. Rather than expose you to such consequences, I would prefer to resume my chains.'
'Do not trouble yourself,' answered the corporal. 'The two soldiers who accompanied me are secretly Lutherans, and had previously determined to desert this night. Your father supposes I am already gone. I have my discharge in my pocket. Although I am a good catholic christian, I cannot bring myself to approve of his method of making people blessed, and prefer quitting the service before I have wholly unlearned to be a man. As soon as the gates open in the morning I shall leave this wretched city for my peaceful home. If you are willing to accompany me, I will provide you with other clothes and pass you off as my son.'
'No, my old friend,' said Oswald. 'I am bound to these walls by strong ties. They enclose what is dearest to me on earth; and I must remain here to watch over and protect, until I succeed in rescuing her, or fall in the attempt.'
'Of course you will act your pleasure,' said the corporal. 'Besides, they will not seek for you very earnestly, for captain Hurka is by no means dead.'
'How, Hurka living?' asked Oswald with mingled regret and joy.
'It is harder to root out weeds than wholesome plants,' said the old man. 'Your blow was right well intended, but did not penetrate very deeply, and the long swoon which they mistook for death was only stupefaction.'
'Ha, how furiously will the fiend rage again!' cried Oswald with anxiety and indignation.
'Make yourself easy upon that score!' said the old man consolingly. 'He is now disabled by his wound, and your father has caused a lecture to be read to him, that may well satisfy him for the present. Besides, the merchant Fessel has been released from his imprisonment, together with his children.'
'How stands it with his wife?' asked Oswald.
'Indeed, she is to be buried the day after tomorrow,' slowly answered the old man.
'Eternal God!' shrieked Oswald in the wildest sorrow. 'Vice saved and virtue in the grave, and shall we yet believe in thy providence?'
'Yes, my son, we must!' said the old man, reprovingly. 'We must believe in the Father's guiding hand, not merely in the sunshine before the gathered sheaves, but also in the tempest which scatters the harvest. Else have we not the true faith. Treasure up this sentiment, even though it comes from the lips of an unlettered catholic. It has been a friendly light to me upon life's weary road, and will continue to cheer me onward to the grave. Now farewell. The morning wind already blows across the graves, and I have yet many preparations to make for my journey. Farewell, and remember me kindly. Should I never see you again upon earth, God grant that we may hereafter meet where the true Shepherd shall gather all his lambs, even those who have here strayed from the flock, into one fold.'
He once more shook the youth most cordially by the hand, and then with hasty and vigorous strides left the church-yard.