"Our princess!" he wailed, "she will not survive it, neither will the Countess Wanda."
"Did you not overtake the prince?" asked Waldemar.
"Yes," replied Paul, in a faltering voice; "I reached him in season, and gave him your warning. At first he would not listen; he was determined to cross the border at all hazards. He thought the denseness of the forest would protect him. I entreated, I fell upon my knees, and asked if he would allow himself to be shot down like a hunted deer. This at length moved him; he consented to wait until evening. We were just considering whether we could venture to seek admittance to the forest-house, when we were met--"
"By whom? A patrol?"
"No, by the tenant of Janowo, whom we could trust implicitly, as he has always belonged to our party. He told us that there was fighting at W----, that the battle was still in progress, and that the Morynskian corps was struggling desperately and against great odds. Our young prince now lost all reason and discretion; but one idea possessed him,--to reach W----, and plunge into the thick of the fight. We could not restrain him; he would not listen to us. Shortly after he left us, we heard shots; at first there were two in quick succession, then half a dozen all at once, and then--" The old man could not go on; his voice choked, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
"I have brought back his body," he resumed, after a pause. "The colonel who visited you at the castle yesterday gave me permission and assistance. But I dared not take him to the castle. He lies in there."
He pointed to the opposite room. Waldemar entered the chamber of death alone. The last gray beams of the departing day faintly lighted the room and revealed the lifeless form of the young prince. The landlord of Villica stood in silence by his brother's corpse. The handsome face, once glowing with animation and happiness, was rigid and cold; the dark, flashing eyes were closed, and the breast which had swelled so high with dreams, of freedom and a glorious future bore the death-wound. Whatever wrong this fiery, impulsive temperament had committed was now expiated by the blood that welled from his riddled breast, coloring his apparel with dark and fatal stains.
Only a few hours before, all the passions of youth had stormed within this lifeless frame,--hatred and love, jealousy and revenge, despair over the deed he had unwittingly committed and its frightful consequences. Now all was over, chilled in the icy repose of death. Yet upon that still, white face was stamped, as if for all eternity, that expression of bitter agony which had quivered around the lips of the son when his mother refused him a last adieu, when she let him go from her bolted door without her forgiveness, without one parting word. All else had vanished with life, but the young prince had taken this anguish with him, even into the throes of dissolution: the veil of the tomb itself would not hide it.
Waldemar left the room speechless and sad as he had entered it. As he approached those who were awaiting him without, his pallid face and trembling voice attested that he had loved his brother.
"Bring the body to the castle," he said; "I will go on before, and break the tidings to my mother."