"Saints forbid!" said the host, turning pale. "If Jerome heard of it, I might be shot."
"Nay," said Geiger-Hans, cheerfully, "you may take my word for it; the days are counted within which there will be either decorations or executions in the name of Jerome. But, meanwhile, to our duty! Never look so disgusted, little comrade. This is a vile beast, as you said; but in a minute we shall have him purified."
* * * * *
It was, indeed, a purified courier, a chastened and subdued mail-bearer, who trotted his way on through the forest, astride that self-same horse that had dragged him forth in his reeking prison the night before. He had the great bag on his back (undiminished save for two warrants and one private missive—one, indeed, that had already reached its proper destination), a gold piece in his pocket, and a plausible tale of violence and rescue to tell, should it ever be required of him.
... the great bag on his back, undiminished, save for two warrants and one private missive....
CHAPTER XXIV
PORTENTS
"Hüt bich, mein Freund, vor schwarzen, alten Kasen,
Doch schlimmer sind die weissen, jungen Käschen....!"
HEINE.
There was brilliant sunshine as Steven rode in at the gate of Cassel. The fiddler walked beside him; but, once within the town, he halted, waved his hand, and called out: