"You shall have one of a different kind," said Weidmann. "You shall be received with your brother and friend, the Herr Captain, into our Order. Strictly speaking, you are too young; but we will show you how much we honor you."
In the evening, it rained steadily; and as Weidmann lay beside the window, gazing out upon the landscape, he called Roland to his side, and said,—
"These are pleasant hours, my son, in which we can look out of the window, and know that the rain is quickening and refreshing all things. A spirit who has awakened and refreshed the souls of many men, a benefactor who has renovated the being of numbers of his fellow-creatures, must experience in tranquil and elevated hours a similar joy. Rejoice that this happiness may be yours also. If I am not here to welcome you back from the war, know that I feel this on your behalf, and be thankful for it."
"Is the crisis, then, so near?"
"Yes. I have by me a letter from my nephew, and I tell you that the time has come."
Roland shuddered. He seized Weidmann's arm, and held it fast.
Weidmann continued,—
"My nephew writes, it is true, that they think the war will not last long; and that those who have enlisted hope to return to their homes in a few weeks. I think otherwise. You will be quite early enough for the great struggle. Rejoice that you are prepared for it beforehand."
Roland hastened to Eric; and the latter said,—
"Give me your hand, Roland: I go with you!"