CHAPTER XXXVII.
After an hour the forester woke the sleeper. Anton started up and looked round, stupefied at the unfamiliar scene.
"It is almost a sin to disturb you," said the good old man; "all is quiet outside, only the enemy's cavalry have gone off to Rosmin."
"Gone off!" cried Anton; "then we are free."
"Except for the foot-folks," said the forester, "and they are still two to one of us. They hold us fast. And I have something else to say. There is no more water in the butt. Our men have drunk half of it, the rest was thrown on the fire. For my part, I can do without it, but the castle is full of men, and they will hardly get through the day without a drink."
Anton sprang up. "This is a melancholy good-morning, my old friend."
"The well is broken," continued the old man; "but how if we were to send some of the women to the brook? The sentinels would not do much to the women; perhaps they would not prevent them from getting a few bucketfuls of water."
"A few buckets would not do much for us," replied Anton.
"They would raise the spirits," said the old man; "they would have to be shared. Were Rebecca here, she would get us the water. We must try what we can do with the others. Those confounded fellows are not bad to women, if they be but bold. If you approve, I will see what I can make of some of our girls."
The forester called down to the kitchen—"Suska!" The young Pole sprang up stairs.
"Listen to me, Suska," said the forester, anxiously; "when, the baron awakes, he will call for his hot water; all the water in the castle is done; we have beer and schnapps enough, indeed, but what Christian can wash his hands in beer? so take the buckets, and get us water. Run down to the brook; you will get on very well with your countrymen. Don't stay too long chattering, or we shall get a scolding. And, I say, just ask our neighbors why they stand there still with their lances; their horsemen have gone away; we have no objection to their moving off too."
The girl willingly caught up the buckets, the forester opening the yard door for her, and down she went to the water. Anton watched her in anxious suspense. She got to the brook without any hinderance, and without troubling herself about the sentinels, who were some twenty yards off, and who looked with much curiosity at her. At length one of the men with scythes went up to her. The girl put down her buckets, crossed her arms, and both began a peaceful conversation. Then the Pole took up the buckets, filled them with water, and gave them to the girl, who slowly returned to the castle, the forester opening the gate for her, and saying, in a caressing tone, "Bravo, Susan! what did the sentinel say to you?"
"Stupid things," replied she, blushing. "He told me that I must open the door for him and his comrades when they return to the castle."
"As if that were all?" said the forester, slyly. "So they mean to return to the castle?"
"To be sure they do," said the girl. "Their horsemen are gone to meet the soldiers from Rosmin. When they return, the man said they would all run together to the castle."
"We shall hardly admit them," replied the forester. "None shall enter the gate but your sweetheart yonder. You have, I suppose, promised him admittance, if he comes alone and late?"
"No!" answered Susan, indignantly; "but I dared not be uncivil."
"Perhaps we may try it once more," suggested the forester, glancing at Anton.
"I don't think it," replied the latter. "An officer is riding round the posts, and the poor fellow will get a rough return for his gallantry. Come, and let us divide our little store. Half of this first bucket for the family—half for us men; let the other make a breakfast for the women and children."
Anton himself poured the water into the different vessels, and appointed the smith to guard it. While so doing, he said to the forester, "This is the hardest task that we have had as yet. I do not know how we are to hold out during the day."
"Many things may happen," replied the forester, consolingly.
A bright spring day now began; the sun rose cloudlessly behind the farm-yard, and soon warmed the mist that hung around the walls; the people sought out the sunny corner of the court; the men sat in little groups with their wives and children, and all seemed in good heart. Anton went in and out among them. "We must have patience till noon—perhaps till the afternoon; then our troops will come."
"If those fellows yonder do no more than at present," replied the smith, "we may be easy enough. They stand there like so many wooden posts."
"They lost their courage yesterday," said another, contemptuously.
"It was a mere straw-fire; the smith threw it down, and they have nothing to follow it up with," cried a third.
The smith folded his arms and smiled proudly, his wife looking at him with delight.
Next the upper story began to show symptoms of life. The baron rang and demanded a report. Anton went up to give it him, then entered Fink's room and woke his friend, who was still fast asleep.
"Good-morning, Tony," cried Fink, comfortably stretching himself. "I shall be down in a moment. If you can send me a little water through some of your connections, I shall be very grateful to you."
"I will get you a bottle of wine from the cellar," replied Anton; "you must wash in wine to-day."
"Ha!" cried Fink, "is it come to that? At all events, it is not Port wine, I hope."
"We have but a few bottles of either kind," continued Anton.
"You are a bird of ill omen," said Fink, looking for his boots. "You have doubtless the more beer in your cellars."
"Just enough to give the garrison one draught. A small cask of brandy is our chief treasure."
Fink whistled the Hessian march. "You will own, my son, that your tenderness for the women and children was somewhat sentimental. I already see you, in my mind's eye, with your shirt sleeves tucked up, killing the lean cow, and, with your old conscientiousness, administering mouthfuls to the famished household—you in the middle—fifty gaping mouths around you. Be sure that you prepare a dozen birch rods; in a few hours the screams of the hungry children will rise to heaven, and, in spite of your philanthropy, you will be obliged to scourge the whole troop of them. Otherwise, I think we managed pretty well yesterday. I have had a famous sleep, and so things must take their chance another day. Now let's go and have a look at the enemy."
The two friends mounted to the tower. Anton reported what he had heard. Fink carefully explored the sentries' posts and the line of road till lost in the wood. "Our situation is too quiet to be comfortable," said he, shutting up the glass.
"They mean to starve us out," said Anton, gravely.
"I give them credit for that clever notion; and they do not judge ill, for, between ourselves, I have strong doubts whether we have any relief to hope for."
"We may depend upon Karl," said Anton.
"And upon my bay too," replied Fink; "but it is very possible that my poor Blackfoot may have the misfortune to be carrying the carcass of one of the insurgents at this very moment; and whether the youth Karl may not have fallen into the hands of one of the bands who, no doubt, swarm throughout the country; whether he ever found our soldiers; whether they chose to march to our aid; whether, in short, they will have the sense to come in time; and whether they are strong enough, after all, to disperse the troop gone out to meet them—these, my boy, are all questions which may reasonably be put, and I, for one, dare not answer them hopefully."
"We might attempt a sally, but it would be bloody work," said Anton.
"Pooh!" said Fink; "it would be useless, which is worse. We might disperse one set of them, and another would be there in an hour; nothing but having a strong party to relieve us can get us out of the scrape. As long as we keep within these walls we are strong; on the open field, encumbered with women and children, a dozen horsemen might ride us down."
"We must wait, then," said Anton, gloomily.
"Well said, after all. The whole of human wisdom consists in never putting to one's self or to others questions which nobody can answer. The affair threatens to be tedious."
The friends came down again, and hour after hour passed—weary hours of leaden inactivity. First Anton, then Fink, looked through the glass at the opening into the wood. There was little to be seen; patrols came and went; armed peasants entered the village, and were dispatched in different directions; the sentinels were regularly inspected and relieved every two hours; the besiegers were busy in searching and disarming the surrounding villages, in order to make a more vigorous assault than ever on the castle.
The Germans were pent up in their fortress like a wild beast in his lair, and the huntsmen waited with calm confidence for the time when hunger, or else fire, should complete their conquest.
Meanwhile Fink tried to employ his people; made the men clean and brighten their arms, and himself inspected them all; next, powder and lead were given out, bullets cast, and cartridges made. Anton showed the women how to clean the house and the court, as well as they could, without water. All this had the good effect of keeping the prisoners occupied for a few hours.
The sun rose higher, and the breeze wafted the peaceful chime of bells from the nearest village.
"Our breakfast will be sparing enough," said Anton to his comrades. "The potatoes are roasted in the ashes, meat and bacon are finished; the cook can not bake, for we are again without water."
"As long as we have the milch-cow in the stable," replied Fink, "we still possess a treasure which we can display to the hungry ones. Next, we have the mice in the castle, and, finally, our boots. He who has been condemned to eat beefsteaks in this country ought not to find boot-leather a tough diet."
The forester interrupted them. "A single horseman is coming from the farm-yard to the castle with a woman behind him. I lay any thing it is Rebecca."
The horseman approached the front door, waving a white handkerchief, halting near the burnt fragments of the great wagon, and looking at the windows of the upper story. It was the envoy of the preceding day.
"We will not be so unpolite as to keep the gentleman waiting," said Fink, pushing back the bolts, and appearing unarmed on the threshold. The Pole silently bowed; Fink raised his cap.
"I told you yesterday evening," began the former, "that I should have the pleasure of seeing you again."
"Ah!" replied Fink; "you, then, were the gentleman who occasioned all that smoke? It was a pity to spoil the wagon."
"You prevented your men from firing on me yesterday," continued the Pole, in German, spoken with a hard foreign accent. "I am grateful to you for it, and anxious to prove myself so. I hear that there are ladies in the castle; this girl brings them milk. We know that you are without water, and I should not wish the ladies to be inconvenienced by our conflict."
"Jackanapes!" muttered the forester.
"If you will permit me to give you a few bottles of wine in exchange for your milk," replied Fink, "I will accept your present with thanks. I presume you have no superfluity of this commodity at your command."
"Very good," said the Pole, smiling. Rebecca hurried with her pitcher to the yard gate, gave in the milk, and received the wine from the growling forester. The Pole continued: "Even if you be well supplied with wine, it can not serve instead of water. Your garrison is numerous, and we hear that you have many women and children in the house."
"I should consider it no hardship," replied Fink, "for these women and children to drink wine, as well as we men, till you do us the favor which I yesterday requested, of leaving this estate and the brook yonder altogether."
"Do not hope it, sir," said the Pole, gravely; "we shall employ all our strength to disarm you; we know now that you have no artillery, and it would be at any time in our power to force an entrance. But you have held out like brave men, and we do not wish to go further than is absolutely necessary."
"Prudent and sensible," replied Fink.
"Therefore I make you a proposal which need not offend your self-respect. You have no relief to hope for. Between your soldiers and this village there is a strong body of our troops. A collision of the armies is expected in the course of the next few days at no great distance from here, and your generals are, therefore, unable to detach any number of men. I am telling you no news; you know this as well as I; therefore I promise to you and to all within these walls a safe-conduct, if you will give up the castle and your fire-arms. We are ready to escort you and the ladies in any direction that you may wish, as far as our occupation of the country extends."
Fink replied more seriously than he had hitherto done, "May I ask who it is whose word of honor would be pledged to me?"
"Colonel Zlotowsky," replied the horseman, with a slight bow.
"Your offer, sir," returned Fink, "demands our thanks. I have no doubt of its sincerity, and will assume that you have influence enough over your companions to carry it out. But, as I am not the master of this house, I must communicate your proposal to him."
"I will wait," replied the Pole, retreating to a distance of about thirty yards, and stopping opposite the door.
Fink closed it, and said to Anton, "Let us go to the baron at once. What should you think best?"
"To hold out," replied Anton.
They found the baron in his room, his head resting on his hands, his face distorted, a picture of distress and nervous agitation. Fink told him of the Pole's offer, and begged for his decision.
The baron replied, "I have perhaps suffered more hitherto than any of the brave men who have risked their lives in this house. It is a horrible feeling to be obliged to sit still when honor summons one to the foremost ranks. But, for this very reason, I have no right to dictate to you. He who is incapable of fighting has no right to decide when the fighting shall cease; nay, I have hardly a right to tell you my views, because I fear that they may influence your high-hearted minds; besides which, unfortunately, I do not know the men who defend me; I can not judge of their mood or of their strength. I confidently leave every thing to you, and place the fate of my nearest and dearest in your hands. May Heaven reward you for what you do for me. Yet not for me—for God's sake, not for me—the sacrifice would be too great," cried he, in utmost excitement, raising his folded hands and sightless eyes to heaven; "think of nothing but the cause that we defend."
"Since you repose so generous a trust in us," said Fink, with chivalrous bearing, "we are resolved to hold your castle so long as we have the very least hope of relief. Meanwhile there are serious contingencies to be anticipated; our men may refuse to fight longer, or the enemy may force an entrance."
"My wife and daughter beg, as I do also, that you will not consider them at a time like this. Go, gentlemen," cried the baron, with outstretched arms; "the honor of an old soldier is in your hands."
Both bowed low before the blind man, and left the room. "After all, there is honor in the man," said Fink, nodding as he went along. Then he opened the door and the officer rode up.
"The Baron Rothsattel thanks you for your proposal; but he is resolved to defend his house, and the property of those who have trusted to him, to the very utmost. We can not accept your offer."
"Take, then, the consequences," cried the officer, "and the responsibility of all that must ensue."
"I will take the responsibility," said Fink; "but I have still one request to make from you. Besides the wives and children of the country people, there are two ladies in the castle, the wife and daughter of the Baron Rothsattel; if an accident should enable you to occupy this house, I recommend these defenseless ones to the protection of your honor."
"I am a Pole!" cried the officer, proudly rising in his stirrups. Then taking off his hat, he galloped back to the farm-yard.
"He looks a bold fellow," said Fink, turning to the men who had gathered round him from the guard-room; "but, my friends, when one has the choice of trusting to an enemy's promises or to this little iron barrel, I always think it best to rely upon what we have in our hand."
He shook his rifle as he spoke.
"The Pole promises safe-conduct," continued Fink, "because he knows that in a couple of hours his band will be dispersed by our soldiers. We should be a good bite for him with our thirty guns. And then, if our cavalry came, and instead of us, who sent for them, found the house full of that rabble yonder, they would send a rattling curse after us, and we should be disgraced forever."
"I wonder whether he meant fair?" inquired one of the men, doubtingly.
Fink took him confidentially by the lappet of his coat. "I do believe, my boy, that he meant fair; but I ask you how far one could calculate upon the discipline of those men? We should not get much beyond the wood yonder before another party would overtake us, and the women and our property would be maltreated before our eyes; and so I calculate we shall do the best to show them our teeth."
Warm approbation followed this speech, and a few hurrahs were raised for the young gentlemen in the castle.
"We thank you," said Fink; "and now all of you to your posts, my men, for it may chance that you will get a few cracks on your heads again. That will keep them quiet for an hour or two," said he, turning to Anton. "I don't expect an attack by day, but it is better for them to stand at their posts than to be putting their heads together. It was unlucky that they should have heard the negotiations."
But even the severe discipline which Fink maintained did not avail to ward off the depression which fell upon the little garrison as the day wore on. The Pole's proposal had been heard by many; even the women had in their curiosity opened their door and pushed into the hall. Quietly, gradually, fear began to take possession of the men's hearts, and, contagious as a disease, it spread from one to the other. It broke out, too, in the women's apartments. Suddenly some of them felt a great desire for water, complaining of thirst, first timidly, then louder, pressing against the door of the kitchen, and beginning to sob aloud. Not long after, all the children took to screaming for water, and many who, under other circumstances, would not have thought about drinking at all, now felt themselves unspeakably wretched.
Anton had the last bottle of wine brought out of the cellar, cut the last loaf and soaked it in the wine, giving a piece to each, assuring them that it was the best remedy against thirst, and that if one held it in the mouth, he would be quite unable to drink water, even if paid for it. This expedient answered for a time, but terror found other avenues by which to enter. Many began to consider whether they would have lost any thing in giving up an old gun, and gaining thereby their liberty, and the right to go where they would. This view of things was loudly combated by the forester, who placed himself in the midst of the guard-room, and resolutely replied: "I tell you, Gottlieb Fitzner, and you, you stout Bökel, that the giving away our guns would be a mere trifle to any of us; the only thing is, that any one of you to whom this vile thought could occur would be a low, mean, cowardly scoundrel, who would make me sick whenever I saw him." To which proposition Fitzner and Bökel eagerly acceded, and Bökel declared that, for his part, he could stand such a fellow just as little as the forester himself; so that danger was averted. But the unemployed sentinels were engaged in anxious conversation. The castle forces were contrasted with those of the enemy, and finally the slight nature of the palings in the yard became the leading object of a searching criticism. It was clear that the next attack would be directed against them, and the most stout-hearted admitted that they could offer little resistance. Even the faithful smith shook them with his strong hand, and by no means admired the manner in which they were nailed together.
In the middle of the day these attacks of timidity were not actually dangerous, for the greatest portion of the men were waiting ready armed for the enemy's approach. But as the sun began to decline without any attack, and without the sentinels on the top of the tower announcing any prospect of relief, inactivity and exhaustion combined to increase the universal distress. Their dinner had been unsatisfying: potatoes burnt to a cinder, and a little salt; no wonder that they should again begin to be thirsty, and that the women should return and complain to Anton that his expedient had only availed for a very short time. Among the men, too, fear, hunger, and thirst spread fast from one story to another. Anton had served out a double ration of brandy, but that did not avail. Several of the men became, not rebellious, but weaker and more depressed. Fink looked with contemptuous smile at these symptoms of a condition of which his elastic spirit and iron nerves had no experience; but Anton, to whom all came with petitions and laments, felt the whole distress of these hours. Something must be done to help efficiently, or all was lost. Accordingly, he went into the court-yard, determined to sacrifice the cow. He walked up to her, stroked her neck: "Lizzie, my poor beast, you must go," said he. As he led her out, his eye fell upon the empty water-butt, and a happy thought flashed across him. The yard was only raised a few feet above the brook. The whole district was full of springs; it was probable that, if dug for here, water might be found, and it would be an easy thing for the garrison to dig a well. If the earth excavated were pushed up against the palings, their strength would be considerably increased, and, what was the chief thing, the work would set all idle hands going, and might last for hours, nay, days. He knew, indeed, from former attempts, that the water immediately about the castle was muddy, and in ordinary times undrinkable, but that did not signify to-day. Anton looked up at the sun; there was not a minute to be lost. He called the superintendent into the court, and the latter joyfully agreeing to the proposal—all the unoccupied hands about the castle, and the women and children too—the laborers' implements were produced, and in a few minutes ten men with spades and rakes were occupied in digging a large hole in the middle of the court, while the women and children heaped the thrown-up earth against the palings. Some men, and such of the women as were to be had, were summoned by Anton to the slaughter of the poor cow, who was once more exhibited before she fell a victim to the exigencies of the day. Soon all were in full employment. The well-mouth, which was far wider than would have been required for an ordinary shaft, deepened visibly, and a wall rose inside the palings, which seemed the work of friendly underground gnomes. The people worked as they had never in their life done before; the men's spades emulated each other; little bare legs sprang actively over the ground; wooden shoes and slippers left deep traces in the mound of earth. Each wanted to work; there were more hands than space in which to move them. All sadness and anxiety were over and gone. Jests were bandied about. Even Fink came to look on, and said to Anton, "You are a missionary, and you know how to promote the spiritual good of your people."
"They work!" replied Anton, with greater cheerfulness than he had felt for the last four-and-twenty hours.
The well had now become so deep that it became necessary to have a ladder to descend by; the ground got damper and damper, till the men worked in a perfect swamp. The mud had to be taken out in buckets; but the people were more eager than ever, and the buckets flew from hand to hand, while all laughed like little children at the mud-sprinkling their impatience got. The mud wall rose rapidly above the palings, and wood and stones were thrown in to consolidate it. Anton could hardly get the little doorway kept open. Meanwhile there was restless agitation among the enemy. Horsemen rode rapidly along the line of sentries, and watched the progress of the new fortification: from time to time, one would venture nearer than the rest, then withdraw as soon as the forester raised his gun above the wall. Thus hour after hour passed; the sun sank down, and the red light of evening suffused the sky. But those in the court-yard took no heed of it, for at the bottom of the well the men were standing up to their waists in water. It was a yellow, dirty liquid enough; but the people stared down the hole as though streams of gold were flowing there. At last, when the twilight shadows lay dark on its mouth, Anton ordered the diggers to leave the well. A coarse sheet was brought, and laid over the water-butt, and the water strained through it.
"My horses first," cried one of the servants, snatching a bucketful for the thirsting animals.
"When it has settled a little, it will be as good as river-water," exclaimed the smith, in delight.
As for the diggers, they were never tired of tasting, and each triumphantly corroborated the worthy man's assertion. Meanwhile, Anton had fresh palings driven into the mud rampart, and the strong planks of the potato-carts securely fastened to them. At nightfall all was finished. The women kept straining water into the butt. Great joints of meat were taken to the kitchen, where a brisk fire was crackling away, and the cheerful hopes of an excellent supper rose in the hearts of the besieged.
Then the drums of the enemy were again heard, and the shrill call of Fink's whistle vibrated through the castle. For a moment the men in the court-yard stood still; they had, during the last few hours, thought little about the foe; then all rushed into the guard-room and caught up their arms. The lower story was doubly occupied. The forester hurried off with a strong detachment to the court-yard, and clambered up the new wall.
"The crisis approaches," whispered Fink to Anton; "in the course of the last few hours strong parties have come into the village, and just now a troop of horsemen has joined them. We shall not be able to hold out for a second night. They will attack on both sides at once, and with the help of short ladders they will soon make their way into the castle. And that they know, for you may see that every band that leaves the village is armed with axes and ladders. Let us meet our inevitable doom with spirit; the praise is yours if we are beaten like men and not like cowards. I have been with the baron; he and the ladies are prepared; they will all remain together in his room. If you have a few words to spare when one of the Messieurs of the party walks in over you, remind him of the ladies. God willing, Anton, I'll take the court-yard side—you the front."
"It seems to me impossible," cried Anton, "that we should be beaten. I have never had so good a hope as in this very hour."
"Hope of relief!" said Fink, shrugging his shoulders, and pointing through the window at the enemy. "If it comes in an hour's time it comes too late. Since Rebecca's cannon exploded, we are in the hands of the foe as soon as they choose to storm in earnest. And they will choose. One must not indulge in illusions that glow no longer than a cigar. Give me your hand, my dear fellow, and farewell."
He pressed Anton's hand, and a proud smile beamed again over his face. So stood the friends, each looking affectionately at the face of the other, uncertain whether he should ever behold it again. "Farewell!" cried Fink, taking up his rifle as their hands parted; but all at once he seemed rooted to the ground, and intently listened, for above the drums of the foe and the tramp of their approach a clear sound rang through the night air, a merry pealing fanfare, and in reply to it there came from the village the regular beat of a drum of the line, then a loud discharge of artillery, and a distant hurrah.
"They come!" was the cry on all sides; "our soldiers come!"
The forester rushed into the hall. "The red-caps!" he screamed out. "They are riding up along the brook to the bridge, and the infantry are storming the village from behind."
"Now our side!" cried Fink; "prepare for a sally!"
The bolts were shot back; the whole garrison was out in a moment; and Anton could hardly get the superintendent and a few of the servants to return and take care of the house. The forester rapidly marshaled the men into order while Fink looked at the position of the combatants. The columns of infantry advanced through the village. The ceaseless discharges showed how inveterate the fight was; but the soldiery slowly approached, the enemy yielded, a few fugitives had already run out of the farm-yard. Meanwhile a detachment of hussars crossed the brook opposite the castle, driving small parties of the besiegers before them. Fink led his men round the house, and stationed them at the corner that lay nearest to the village. "Patience!" cried he; "and when I lead you on, don't forget your password, or you will be ridden and trodden down in the dark like the others."
It was with the greatest difficulty that the men were kept in rank, such was their impatience.
A single horseman now came riding toward them. "Hurrah! Rothsattel!" cried he, while still at a distance.
"Sturm!" called out a dozen voices; and Anton sprang forward to greet his ally.
"We have them," said Karl. "They had occupied the Rosmin high road, but I led our men by by-paths through the woods."
A dark mass was visible at the end of the village, with riders in advance. The enemy halted and assembled in the farm-yard.
"Now for it!" cried Fink.
The garrison marched at a quick pace over the meadow, placed themselves sideways near the first barn, and a salvo from five-and-twenty guns burst upon the flank of the enemy, who fell into confusion and fled across the plain. Again the trumpet sounded, behind them the hussars came galloping up, and cut down those that still kept their ground. Karl joined them, and vanished in the fray. The enemy were thus driven into the fields.
The Polish cavalry now sprang forward from the village, at their head the spokesman of the morning, who with loud shouts urged his men against the hussars.
"Rothsattel!" cried a youthful voice close to Anton, and, heading a detachment of hussars, a tall, slight officer rushed against the Poles. Fink raised his rifle and aimed at the Polish colonel.
"Thanks!" cried he, reeling on his horse, firing his pistol with his last breath at the breast of the hussar who was riding him down. The hussar fell from his horse, and the Pole's charger galloped away with his master's lifeless body.
In a few minutes more the vicinity of the castle was cleared of all foes. Night concealed the fugitives, and the trees of the forest spread their sheltering branches over the sons of the soil. In small detachments, the conquerors followed the last remnant of the enemy's troops.
Before the castle, Anton knelt on the ground and supported the head of the prostrate horseman on his arm. With tears in his eyes, he looked from the dying man up to his friend, who stood on one side with a group of sympathizing officers. Their triumph was rendered a mute one, the peasants surrounding the spot in solemn silence. The motionless form was slowly carried on their crossed hands to the castle.
The baron stood on the hall steps with his daughter, ready to greet the welcome guests. As soon as Lenore saw the wounded officer, she rushed down among the bearers, by whom the body was silently laid at the baron's feet, and sank to the ground with a scream.
"Who is it?" groaned the blind man, groping in the air. No one answered him; all drew back in terror.
"Father!" murmured the wounded youth, and a stream of blood gushed from his mouth.
"My son! my son!" cried the baron, in agony, and his knees sank under him.
The youth had left his garrison to join the troops which were to be stationed near his parents. He had succeeded in exchanging into another regiment, and in accompanying the squadron sent to his father's assistance. He wished to give his father a happy surprise, and, with the raising of the siege, he brought them his bleeding breast into their house, and death into their hearts.
A mournful silence lay upon the high Slavonic castle. The storm had raged itself to rest; the white blossoms floated silently down from the great fruit-trees in the fields, and lay pure and spotless on the ground like a white shroud. Where are ye, airy schemes of the blind man, which he has so striven, suffered, and sinned to realize? Listen, poor father; hold your breath and listen. All is still in the castle, still in the forest, and yet you can not hear the one sound of which you ever thought amid your parchments and your plans—the heart-throb of your only son, the first heir of the house of Rothsattel!