He rushed to his brother and encircled him in his arms. All that had just now troubled him so dreadfully is forgotten. Now come what will, it is worth while to live, and also, if it must be, to die.
"Are they coming, Conrad?"
"In one hour they will be here!"
CHAPTER XV
The certainty that now the decisive moment had come, and the joy that the same moment had brought back his brother, again gave Lambert a touch of the peculiarities on account of which young and old valued and praised him--calmness, circumspection, confidence. Without hesitating a moment as to what was next to be done, and calling to his brother to notify those in the house, he hastened across the plank over the creek to the hill yonder, where the signal pile had been erected, which from there could be clearly seen from Ditmar's house away from the creek. A minute later there rose from the lofty, ingeniously constructed wood-pile a dark column of smoke, pushing its way up like the stem of a mighty palm, and spreading out above in the still air like an immense crown. Then, a quarter of a mile down the creek, there came up a dark cloud of smoke. Uncle Ditmar has kept good watch. The signal has been answered and carried farther. In a quarter of an hour they will also know on the Mohawk, six miles farther, that here on the creek the enemy has broken in. Then back over the creek--a strong push--the fastening is broken off. The plank floats away.
"Are you here yet, Conrad? How the rest will rejoice! Come!"
Lambert hastened ahead. Conrad followed with slow, lingering steps. Was it fatigue after the dreadful running? Had the blood with which his leathern jacket was dotted spurted from his veins?
So asked Lambert, but received no answer. And now they had reached the temporary bridge, where the friends who stood on the wall received them with loud cheers. Lambert hastened up and shook the hand of each brave youth with heartfelt joy. Conrad still lingered at the foot of the bridge. His face was pale, and as if emaciated with bodily pain, or an inward conflict. He had sworn with a terrible oath that he would not again cross the door-sill of his father's house, or his blood should pay the forfeit. The strong, wild heart shrunk together in his breast. His blood--why should this trouble him? He had not spared it. He had, a quarter of an hour ago in a battle which he alone could take up--which he alone could bring to a happy issue--put it at hazard. But his word! his word! that he had never yet broken--which he now shall break--must break, as his clearer soul tells him--as his noble heart bids him, in spite of all.
As he still lingered, Catherine was suddenly standing among his cheering companions. On her account had he renounced his father's house. As if blinded by lightning he turned away his gaze. But she is already at his side, has seized his hand with a soft pressure that he cannot withstand, leads him with gentle force, that he must follow, up the bridge, over the wall, down into the inner yard, where his comrades, jubilant, press around him, and at the same time, with a sudden impulse, seize him, raise him up on high, and with jubilation and noise carry the fugitive--the returned one--into the house, as though they would with bantering cunning drive from their prey the demons lurking about the door-sill.
So it also seemed to him. Conrad is back, the best rifle in the colony. They had resolved without Conrad to do their duty. But the quick looks, the short words which they interchanged, the faces illuminated with joy, these said plainly, "It is far better so." If only Aunt Ursul and Christian Ditmar were here the dance might begin at once. "They could be here already," thought Catherine. "Hurrah! there they come!" cried Richard Herkimer, who had gone up on the gallery to see better; "and there are three. The third is the minister. Hurrah! and again, hurrah! and once more, hurrah!"