“My son—my little child!” he cried, in a choked, trembling voice, and that was all. And Otto pressed his cheek against his father’s and began crying.
Suddenly the Baron gave a sharp, fierce cry. “Dear Heaven!” he cried; “what have they done to thee?” But poor little Otto could not answer.
“Oh!” gasped the Baron, in a strangled voice, “my little child! my little child!” And therewith he broke down, and his whole body shook with fierce, dry sobs; for men in those days did not seek to hide their grief as they do now, but were fierce and strong in the expression of that as of all else.
“Never mind, dear father,” whispered Otto; “it did not hurt me so very much,” and he pressed his lips against his father’s cheek.
Little Otto had but one hand.
XII. A Ride For Life.
But not yet was Otto safe, and all danger past and gone by. Suddenly, as they stood there, the harsh clangor of a bell broke the silence of the starry night above their heads, and as they raised their faces and looked up, they saw lights flashing from window to window. Presently came the sound of a hoarse voice shouting something that, from the distance, they could not understand.
One-eyed Hans smote his hand upon his thigh. “Look,” said he, “here is what comes of having a soft heart in one’s bosom. I overcame and bound a watchman up yonder, and forced him to tell me where our young Baron lay. It was on my mind to run my knife into him after he had told me every thing, but then, bethinking how the young Baron hated the thought of bloodshed, I said to myself, ‘No, Hans, I will spare the villain’s life.’ See now what comes of being merciful; here, by hook or by crook, the fellow has loosed himself from his bonds, and brings the whole castle about our ears like a nest of wasps.”
“We must fly,” said the Baron; “for nothing else in the world is left me, now that all have deserted me in this black time of trouble, excepting these six faithful ones.”