"Count of Carlstein, you are, like myself, a cavalier of fortune, and know that we have seldom other inheritance than our fathers' swords, and know assuredly that our honour is the very breath of our nostrils. While one Scottish musketeer can stand by my side, and while one stone of Stralsund remains upon another, I will never surrender, and Wallenstein can only have the city when the last soldier and the last stone have fallen together! You have your answer, gentlemen—Herald, you may go; but, Count of Carlstein, I beg one word with you."
At these words I felt my heart beat thick and fast. For me, I thought the sun would soon set in Stralsund.
"We have among us here your eldest daughter, who is, of course, most anxious to rejoin you, though we have treated her with every kindness and care, even as if she had been my ain bairn; but we cannot foresee what new dangers a day may bring forth, and a beleaguered city is assuredly no place for women, as we know well——"
"God bless and thank you, Sir Alexander Leslie!" said the count, with a thick voice, as a change, overspread his face; "if my daughters are in your charge, they could not be in better hands, and 'tis well, for receive them I cannot! Wallenstein has sworn, that until the city is surrendered, no man, woman, or child, shall leave its gates, alive or dead."
"Ye honour me, count," replied the marshal, whose native accent always waxed stronger when he became friendly or familiar; "but believe me, there are some buirdly Scottish chields here with me in Stralsund, who will deem it their greatest happiness to hae an opportunity o' shedding their best bluid in their defence."
"Bear my dearest blessing to my poor girls, and let us hope that happier times are in store for us all—adieu!" and, unwilling that his emotion should be visible before so many eyes, the count turned abruptly away, and, stepping into the boat, was rowed, with the herald, slowly back towards the Imperial lines.
"Girls?" I repeated, as Sir Alexander re-entered by the klinket; "then he knows not that one of his daughters is no more."
"I saw how the puir man's heart filled, and how his eyes dimmed at the thought of his bairns," replied the kind old marshal; "and I could not be a hard-hearted auld tyke, and bluntly tell how one had perished. Oh, no—ill news travel fast enough, gude kens!"
Such is the selfishness of love, that, notwithstanding the continued danger, privation, and discomfort; to which Ernestine was certain of being subjected, I now felt a glow of satisfaction in being assured that I could not yet be deprived of her society.