"A half-dozen to each of us, or so," I said, and laughed; but I was very far from a mirthful feeling as we closed the door after us, and Caro, whom we had left behind, broke out into a dismal howling and whining. Poor Caro, he was in the right that morning when he reminded me with his woebegone looks that we should never praise the day until the evening.
CHAPTER XVII.
It was four o'clock when we set out, and already it was growing dusk as we took the foot-path through the stubble-field to Zehrendorf. No clear judgment of the weather was to be drawn from the appearance of the sky and clouds, as the whole atmosphere was filled with watery mist, through which every object took a singularly strange and unnatural appearance. We pushed on rapidly, sometimes side by side and sometimes in single file, for the path was narrow and very slippery from the incessant rains. We were just deliberating what we should say to Constance, in case we should unfortunately meet her, when we saw upon the road bordered with willows, which was but a few hundred paces distant from the foot-path, a carriage drawn by two horses coming from the castle in such haste that in less than half a minute it had vanished in the mist, and we could only hear the trampling of the galloping horses and the rattling of the carriage over the broken causeway. Hans and I looked at each other in astonishment.
"Who can that be?" he asked.
"It is the steuerrath," I answered.
"What can bring him here?" he asked again.
I did not answer. I could not tell Hans of the letter that proved the direct or indirect complicity of the steuerrath, nor explain how likely it was that he would attempt to warn his brother that the affair had taken a wrong turn. What information could he have brought? Might it still be of service to the unfortunate man whose movements were dogged by treachery?
"Let us hasten all we can," I cried, pressing on without waiting for Hans's answer, and Hans, who was a capital runner, followed closely upon my heels.
In a few minutes we had reached the gate which opened on this side into the court. At the gate was a stone-bench for the accommodation of persons waiting until the gate was opened, and upon this bench sat or rather lay old Christian, with blood trickling down his wrinkled face from a fresh wound in the forehead. As we came up he seemed to be recovering from a partial swoon, and stared at us with a confused look. We raised him up, and Hans caught some water in his hollow hand from a neighboring rain-spout and sprinkled it in his face. The wound was not deep, and seemed to have been inflicted with some blunt instrument.
"What has happened, Christian?" I had already asked half-a-dozen times, before the old man had recovered his senses sufficiently to answer feebly: