When the Prince's arm was sufficiently bandaged so as to stop the flow of blood, the Count assisted him to mount, jumped on his own horse, and the two cantered off, leaving the innkeeper, Hillars' head propped up on his knee, staring after them with a dull rage in his faded blue eyes. The remaining horse was grazing a short distance away. Now and then he lifted his head and gazed inquiringly at the two figures in the road.
"Is it bad, Herr?" the innkeeper asked.
"Very. Get back to the inn. I don't want to peter out here." Then he fainted.
It required some time and all the innkeeper's strength to put Hillars on the horse. When this was accomplished he turned the horse's head toward the inn. And that was all.
"Dan?" said I.
The lids of his eyes rolled wearily back.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Bury me."
It was very sad. "Where?" I asked.
"Did you see the little cemetery on the hill, across the valley? Put me there. It is a wild, forgotten place. 'Tis only my body. Who cares what becomes of that? As for the other, the soul, who can say? I have never been a good man; still, I believe in God. I am tired, tired and cold. What fancies a man has in death! A moment back I saw my father. There was a wan, sweet-faced woman standing close beside him; perhaps my mother. I never saw her before. Ah, me! these chimeras we set our hearts upon, these worldly hopes! Well, Jack, it's curtain and no encore. But I am not afraid to die. I have wronged no man or woman; I have been my own enemy. What shall I say, Jack? Ah, yes! God have mercy on my soul. And this sudden coldness, this sudden ease from pain—is death!"