The rain still continued. It had ceased indeed in the morning, but only to begin again with double energy. The laborers had gone early to the field, but they soon returned. They were now sitting silently in the guard-room of the castle, drying their wet garments at the stove.
The baron sat in the arm-chair, listening to old John, who read him the newspaper that had reached the castle on the previous day. The monotonous voice of the domestic announced nothing but unwelcome news; the rain-drops rattled on the panes, and the wind rushed howling round the corner of the house in discordant accompaniment.
Anton was busy at his desk. Before him lay a letter from Commissary Horn, announcing that the judicial sale of the family estate was fixed for the middle of next winter; and that, since the advertisement of this definite period, several mortgages on the property had passed from one hand to another, bought up, as he feared, by one speculator, who disguised himself under different names. Accordingly, Anton reflected in gloomy mood upon the hazardous position of the baron.
In the neighboring room Fink was keeping the ladies company, the baroness lying back on the sofa cushions, covered by a shawl of Lenore's. She gazed in silence straight before her, but when her daughter came up with some tender inquiry, she nodded smilingly at her, and spoke a few cheering words. Lenore was sitting in the window occupied with some light work, and listening with rapture to the jests by which Fink brightened the otherwise mournful room. To-day, in spite of the rain, he was in the wildest spirits. From time to time Lenore's ringing laugh reached Anton through the massive door, and then he forgot sale and mortgage, looked with clouded brow at the door, and felt, not without bitterness, that a new struggle was approaching both for the family and for himself.
Without, as we have already said, the rain poured and the storm raged. The wind from the forest wailed to the castle. The old firs creaked, and ceaselessly bent down their branches toward the building. Around the pear-trees in the meadows leaves and white blossoms fluttered timidly to earth. The storm angrily stripped them off, and crushed them, low with his rain, howling the while. "Down with your smiling pomp! to-day all belonging to the castle shall wear mourning." Then the fierce spirit flew from the trees to the castle walls; it shook the flag-staff on the tower; it hurled the rain in slanting torrents against the windows; it groaned in the chimneys and thundered at the doors. It took advantage of every opening to cry, "Guard your house!" And this it did for hours together, but those within understood not its speech.
Neither did any one heed the horseman who was urging his weary horse through the village to the castle. At last the knocker outside the gate was heard, the strokes sounded impatient, and loud voices resounded in the court-yard and on the stairs. Anton opened the door; an armed man, dripping with wet and stained with mud, entered the room.
"It is you!" cried Anton, in amazement.
"They are coming," said Karl, looking cautiously round; "prepare for it; this time it is our turn."
"The enemy?" rapidly asked Anton. "How strong is the band?"
"It was not a band that I saw," replied Karl, seriously; "it was an army of about a thousand scythe-bearers, and at least a hundred horsemen at their head. I hear that they have orders to enlist all Poles and disarm all Germans."