A tear-bedimmed eye rested upon him, a slight form, wrapped in a cloak, bent over him.
They were the eyes, it was the figure of Giulia; with a loud cry of joy she welcomed his awaking.
But it was yet the day, the same day of the battle. Vollies rattled round the iron fort; where at other times the wheels of machinery revolved, now revolved the wheel of death.
A gun-boat still lay upon the strand, the otters had moved nearer to Flensburg, but that one did not cease from its work of devastation. A cartridge rattled and fell into the beech and struck down a branch, which fell upon Giulia and cut her brow. She had bent over Blanden to shelter him.
"Where am I? You here?" said he, half unconsciously.
"Do not ask how."
"Who brings you here?"
"Charity and longing for death, but now there is not a moment to lose."
She beckoned to two peasants, who stood close by with a little cart, and lifted Blanden into it, beside a wounded man who already lay there. Giulia seated herself upon the hard straw sack. They went along back streets to the inn of a neighbouring village, where several surgeons were in full employment.
It was a long time before Blanden recovered from his wounds, which left him slightly lame for life. Giulia was once more his faithful nurse, she also followed him to the Danish captivity, into which he, with the other wounded men, had fallen.