'That depends upon the nature and result of the strife, my good uncle. But my whole life has been nothing but a long chain of frustrated wishes and abortive plans. The myrtle-wreath was torn from my brow, the laurel withers even while I grasp it, and I have failed to obtain the cypress crown.'
'Is the war over?' asked the uncle.
'For the present, yes,' answered Arwed, 'until it may please our enemies to recommence it--for there is no talk of peace either with the Danes or Russians.'
'Not with the nearest and most powerful of our enemies?' indignantly cried the governor. 'Woman's rule is everywhere the same--too weak for resistance, too wilful for reconciliation. Poor Sweden!'
'Rhenskioeld,' said Arwed, 'was already in full retreat before the Danes, when I joined him. I went also to the army which covered Stockholm; but when I arrived the Russians were drawing off their forces. Desolation and pillage was the object of their landing, and most fully and fearfully was it accomplished. We indeed followed the retiring enemy and had some trifling contests with the rear guard, but when the English fleet under Norris approached our coasts, the barbarians quickly embarked and left the country with immense booty.'
'To have had the desire and to have made an effort to save your country, is deserving of honor!' cried the uncle, extending his hand. 'Therefore once again welcome, my young hero.'
Arwed gave him his left hand, and the awkwardness with which he did it, drew the attention of his uncle to the fact.
'Why do you withhold from me the hand which has wielded the sword in defence of Sweden?' he asked with surprise.
'The impossibility of using it must be my excuse,' answered Arwed with a sorrowful glance towards his right arm, which was concealed under his coat.
'What is this?' cried the governor aghast. 'Are you wounded in the arm?'