I was called to the front of the house. Martella and Rothfuss stood before me. Martella, breathless, told me that Ernst's company had again been in the fight, many were missing, and, among them, Ernst; he ought to be hunted up.
Rothfuss desired that I should stay behind; but Martella exclaimed, seizing my arm, "What do you mean? Father goes with us!"
She had made a wreath to take to Ernst, and she held it in her trembling hands. She carried Ernst's prize-cup and a bottle of wine in a basket on her arm.
We went through the village towards the hill. Four men approached with a litter.
"Ernst! Ernst!" cried Martella.
The two men stopped, and one asked, "Who's there? Who calls?" It was Ikwarte's voice.
"Set it down!" commanded the other. "Isn't that Martella?" It was Wolfgang who spoke.
We stepped nearer. They carried a man who had been shot in the leg. The man raised his head, and said, "That is his father." It was the son of the owner of the saw-mill down in the valley. "He commissioned me to carry his love to you. He made himself known to me."
"Where is he? Is he dead?"
"He must be lying up there. Oh! he has done great things."