Maria could not account for the nervous fever that consumed him. His wounds were well dressed, and she thought he ought to be doing better than he was.
The next morning, after a dreamy, light-headed night, Speckbacher, in a half stupor, heard, or seemed to hear, a voice, a little way from the cottage, somewhere about the stables, say cheerily—
"Hallo! here I am!"
"So I see," grumbled, or seemed to grumble, Zoppel, in return; "what account hast thou to give of thyself?"
"I've been taken prisoner, and run away. Does any one know anything of father?"
"Ay, surely; he's ill in bed, as bad as can be."
"Oh, how glad I am that he's at home! I left him all in a bath of blood. Zoppel!" (in an eager, under-voice,) "has mother fretted much about me?"
"How should she? She never wist harm had come nigh thee."
"Heaven be praised! Father, then, did not tell her! then, I'll not, Zoppel. I'm so hungry."