"Ja—ha—hai! it is me, master," said a voice, accompanied by a chattering of teeth.
Vendel looked round. Hanzli stood before him, his face of a livid green, his knees knocking together, and his hair standing on end.
Vendel thought he beheld a spectre. He tried to cry out, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he could not articulate a syllable.
"Master!" exclaimed the youth with upturned eyes; and, trembling violently, he fell upon both knees, and seized the collar of Vendel's night-dress so tightly, that the latter thought he was going to choke him, but he did not—no, he did not; on the contrary, Hanzli began to weep bitterly, and to kiss his master's huge hand, while he could only exclaim in a voice choked with sobs, "Master, master!"
"I hear, my lad; but what is the matter with you?"
"Oh, nothing the matter with me; but my master is ruined for ever; they are going to seize him and carry him off, and make a terrible job of him!"
"What are you talking of, Hanzli, my lad?" exclaimed the amazed brewer; "what do you mean?"
"Well, do you know, master, what the enemy, this terrible, vitriol-drinking enemy, has come for?"
"Not I."
"Nor did I know it before, but now I know it all. Oh! to think that it was for that they have come across kingdoms and worlds with fire and sword! to think that they have been searching governments and realms for that!"