All the officers, Kurt with the rest, retired early on this evening, Kurt imagining that the fatigue and excitement of the day would insure him instant repose. But this was not so; he lay awake hour after hour; sleep fled his eyelids. In vain did he woo her by all familiar means, counting slowly to one hundred, reciting mentally verses learned in childhood; he could not banish from his mind his last conversation with his captain.
At last he sprang out of bed. Better to pace his room to and fro for an hour than toss restlessly there. The moon was at the full. Kurt went to the window, whence he had a clear view of the spacious court-yard of the castle. Opposite lay the farm-buildings in which a part of the Uhlans were quartered, the stalls being appropriated to their horses, and back of those Kurt could in the brilliant moonlight get a view of a portion of the broad road leading to the village. The court-yard was empty; the two sentinels posted in front of the stables were slowly pacing to and fro, their sabres resting negligently in their arms, and one of them, as Kurt was looking, so far forgot his duty in his sense of security as to lean against the house and rest. This was a culpable want of the vigilance which the captain had enjoined upon the guards on the previous evening. The lives of many might depend upon the watchfulness of any one of the sentinels posted in the court-yard.
Kurt left the window and dressed, not hastily, but quite leisurely; he would himself go down to the court-yard and make an example of any soldier not vigilant at his post. He needed no light; the moonlight was all that he required. When quite dressed he sat for a moment, his head resting on his hand, reflecting whether it were not perhaps best to visit the sentries placed in the park, when he was suddenly startled by a shot; another and another came in quick succession, and then followed a sharp rattle of musketry, apparently in the very court-yard.
Kurt rushed to the window. Where was the scene of repose and security upon which he had looked out little more than a quarter of an hour previously? A disorderly crowd of armed men, some hundreds strong, was pouring in at the court-yard gates and rushing towards the farm buildings and stables, while along the road from the village a dark mass was moving quickly, the moonlight glinting here and there upon polished rifle-barrels. In a few moments the assailants had attained their end; the two sentinels were shot down, the doors of the farm buildings and stables were forced; there were but a few scattered carbine-shots in answer to the continuous rattle of musketry; victory over the Uhlans quartered there was easy for such overpowering numbers.
One glance sufficed to show Kurt the danger threatening the entire squadron. All in the farm buildings were lost; it might still be possible, however, to save the officers in the castle and the men in the village, but not a moment must be wasted, for already about thirty franctireurs had turned from the farm buildings and were advancing towards the castle. Kurt's presence of mind stood him in stead now as it had done formerly in America. He saw plainly that there was but one course by which death or capture could be evaded,--flight. Resistance to such an overwhelming force would be madness. He could not even rouse his brother officers on the ground-floor of the castle; the franctireurs would be there before him. The captain he could rouse, and together they might escape into the side wing of the castle, through the room explored so short a time since by Kurt, and thence into the park. If they could succeed in reaching the stables behind the gardener's house, where they had seen the horses, they might perhaps be able to ride by roundabout ways to the village in time to save the Uhlans quartered there. In an instant Kurt had girded on his sabre and armed himself with a revolver; then opening the door of the captain's room, he found Von Säben just about to step out of it. He had been unwilling, after his conversation with Kurt, to go to bed, but had determined to inspect the various posts after midnight, and had thrown himself into an arm-chair, where, however, he had slept soundly until awakened by the noise of the struggle in the court-yard. He, too, had recognized from his window, as Kurt had done, the folly of resistance to so numerous a foe, but he was nevertheless about to go down to the court-yard when Kurt rushed into his room. "You were right, Herr von Poseneck," he said; "that villain Sorr has betrayed us! All is lost! There is nothing for us but to die with our brave fellows; our place is down there among them."
He spoke as quietly as though he were inviting Kurt to walk with him in the park; he awaited no reply, but was striding on to the head of the grand staircase when Karl detained him. "There is nothing to be done down there captain," he said; "the castle is lost, but we may escape to the village and muster our men."
"How? In one minute the rogues will be in the castle; the maire of the village and Gervais--I recognized them both--are leading the band that is evidently resolved upon capturing us in our rooms."
"Still there is no need to throw away our lives,--we must make an attempt to save our fellows in the village; perhaps escape is possible through the side-wing."
"Go on; I will follow you!"
Not another word was spoken; Kurt hurried on, revolver in hand, the captain close upon his heels. When the two officers had reached the blue room they could plainly hear the blows of the franctireurs upon the doors of the rooms on the ground-floor; in another instant the two men had entered the room, closed the door behind them, and hurried through the other apartments towards the side-wing.
"Saved," whispered Kurt; "no one is quartered in this wing, we shall encounter no enemy here." He was right; neither the Baron de Nouart nor Gervais had dreamed that the German officers could escape through this unknown wing and no precautions had been taken to prevent their doing so. The wing was deserted and silent; the din of the struggle in the court-yard sounded indistinct and muffled. Kurt, followed by his captain, rushed down the winding staircase to the passage on the ground-floor. By this the captain would have gained the park; but Kurt again detained him. "That door can be seen from the court-yard," he said, "and if we are perceived we shall have the whole rabble about our ears. We must find a way into the park through the window of some one of these rooms." He tried the first door they came to; it opened and admitted the two officers to a lighter apartment. Here an unexpected sight met their eyes. In an arm-chair before a table, upon which stood his beloved brandy-flask, sat the Baron de Nouart. He had had recourse to his favourite stimulant to steady his nerves while he sat in terrified expectation of the attack. A revolver lay upon the table ready, if he should be forced to take any part in the fray.
When the door was suddenly opened and he saw before him the two Prussian officers, Kurt with a revolver, the captain with a drawn sabre, the Baron sprang to his feet and glared at the intruders with lack-lustre eyes. He was half intoxicated, he could hardly stand upright, but he still had sense enough to clutch at his revolver to defend himself.
But his hand never touched the weapon; before he could grasp it the captain stretched him on the floor with a tremendous blow, delivered with all his force, of his drawn sabre. He fell without a sound.
"Is he dead?" the captain asked.
"We cannot wait to see," Kurt replied; "at all events he cannot betray us!" And he hurried to the window. The lawn between the wing and the forest lay quiet in the moon light; not a man was to be seen. He listened,--only the distant noise in the court-yard fell upon his ear.
He opened the window and lightly sprang out; the captain followed him, confiding himself blindly to Kurt's guidance. They ran with lightning speed across the lawn, and then in the shadow of the forest to the gardener's house. All here was quiet,--every one had hurried to the court-yard; the stable-door was open; there stood the two noble horses, their saddles and bridles hanging upon the wall.
In less time than it takes to tell it the two cavalry officers were in the saddle and galloping furiously by a back-road to the village.
A savage yell resounded from the castle. From one of the lighted windows of the wing several shots were fired, but the bullets whistled harmlessly past the riders' ears; the bewildering moonlight prevented the marksmen from aiming truly.
"Our flight is discovered. The forest is our only chance. This way!" Kurt cried, as he drove the spurs into his horse's sides and turned towards a narrow forest road that led by a longer roundabout way to the village.
The captain followed; but just as he entered the woods several shots again flashed from the castle window; he wavered in his saddle: a bullet had struck him in the side; he grasped his horse's mane with his right hand, and managed to keep his seat and continue his furious gallop after Kurt.
The fugitives succeeded at last in gaining the open beyond the wood, but here Kurt first noticed his companion's convulsive grip of his horse's mane and his failing exertions to keep himself upright in the saddle. "Are you wounded?" he asked, anxiously.
There was no reply. Loss of blood had produced unconsciousness, and Kurt caught his captain in his arms just in time to prevent him from falling from his horse. He dismounted with his lifeless burden, and, laying it upon the grass beneath a tree, looked about for help. He remembered that a mounted sentinel had been stationed here, where the forest road ended in the open; but there was no horseman to be seen. He could not have deserted his post; a brief inspection of the surrounding field in the moonlight showed him that the soldier had been true to his duty; he was lying dead in a pool of blood at a little distance; his horse was nowhere to be seen, probably his murderers had carried it off.
What was to be done? Every moment of delay was ruin. The enemy had discovered the flight of the two officers, there were horses enough to be had for pursuit, and, although Kurt's short experience of his steed had convinced him that he need not dread this for himself, he could not desert his captain; how was he to be carried to a place of safety? Duty called Kurt to Assais, where, as a few straggling shots informed him, the fray had already begun, and duty forbade his abandoning his wounded captain to the pursuing franctireurs. He could not delay, the moments were priceless. "To Assais!" he exclaimed to himself. The outnumbered Uhlans there needed a leader, who might perhaps save some few from captivity and death; the captain himself would never have hesitated to sacrifice his life for his men; had he been conscious he would surely have ordered his lieutenant to leave him to his fate.
He swung himself into the saddle again and rode towards the village, but reined in his horse as he reached the top of a small eminence, whence he had a full moonlit view of Assais. A dark mass of combatants was heaving to and fro between him and the nearest houses of the village, whence came a sharp rattle of firearms; the crowd parted, and a portion of it approached him rapidly. His heart beat high as he recognized it to be a detachment of Uhlans that had escaped from the village and was now galloping towards him. There were but a dozen of them, and as he rode to meet them with a thundering "Halt!" they obeyed instantly, and an old sergeant, who recognized the lieutenant, gave him an account of an attack upon the village, which had taken place almost simultaneously with that upon the castle. The outlying guard must have been fallen upon unawares and murdered by the villagers, as not one shot had been heard from them. The Uhlans had been surprised in their quarters by an overwhelming force of franctireurs,--ten Frenchmen to one Prussian,--but in the general confusion this little band had managed to get to horse and cut their way through the enemy. "If the cursed Frenchman had only known how to handle their chassepots better," the old man added, "not an Uhlan would have escaped." He did not fear pursuit, "for the bumpkins had no idea of managing an Uhlan horse."
The sergeant's tale convinced Kurt of the tragic fate of the squadron,--probably for the most part surprised in their beds, murdered or taken prisoner; all thought of rescuing them was vain. And yet the young officer was sorely tempted to make one dash into Assais at the head of the fugitives to rescue any of their comrades who might be prisoners there. It cost him a hard struggle to decide to leave Assais without one blow struck at the foe; but he knew that duty called him to Nontron. He ordered three men to ride on before as quickly as their horses could carry them to announce the fate of the squadron, and with the rest he rode back to where the captain was lying, that he also might be safely transported thither.
There was savage revelry in Assais. It was the first victory that these men, but lately mustered into service, had gained over the dreaded Prussians,--a victory all the more brilliant since it had been won at so little loss. Only two franctireurs had fallen in the short conflict,--five or six had been wounded, and the Baron de Nouart had been found dead in his room with his skull cloven.
This was the entire loss suffered by the fortunate victors, who had almost annihilated an entire squadron of those Uhlans of whose ferocity such fearful stories were told.
The light-hearted conquerors paid no heed to the fact that a couple of dozen of the enemy and several officers had escaped; they had no fear of the fugitives, they had not even attempted to pursue them.
Intoxicated with victory, the exultant franctireurs rushed through the village; the slight bonds of discipline that had restrained them at the beginning of the attack were rent asunder, and Count Repuin, their commander, with two or three French officers, attempted in vain to stem the torrent; all commands were unheeded.
The franctireurs associated the villagers with them in a search for any Prussians that might still be concealed in the village, murdering any such when found, and dragging their corpses through the mud with savage yells, that made night hideous. Even women, drunk with the desire for revenge, aided their husbands and sons in this ferocious work, mutilating the dead in their fury and inciting others to the same horrors. But there were exceptions; here and there a wife or maiden of Assais risked her life to conceal some Prussian fugitive from the fury of husband or lover.
Count Repuin looked on aghast at the savagery of the insane mob, who had thus thrown aside all law and order. He hated the Prussians from his soul, he was their implacable foe; but this wholesale murder, this cowardly mutilation of the dead, aroused his indignation; he felt that he had conjured up spirits that he lacked the power to control.
Again and again he attempted to restore some degree of order, but his commands were received with shouts of derision, and he owed it to the interference of some of his officers that the rage of the franctireurs was not turned against himself. There were scowling looks accompanying muttered curses of the foreigner who dared to intercede for Prussians, and he was obliged to look on inactive at the murderous work.
He was perhaps the only one of the victors who felt no joy whatever in the victory. His plan had been to inspire his raw troops with courage and confidence by an easy conquest, and he had intended to withdraw in good order with his prisoners as soon as the victory was won. He now withdrew, after a last vain attempt to restore order, to the dining-hall of the castle, where, with one of his young officers, he paced restlessly to and fro. At each outburst of exultation that reached his ears from without he vented savage curses upon the canaille, who did not deserve that a man of honour should command them. He knew only too well that each hour as it sped past increased the danger that the easy-won victory would be converted into a disgraceful defeat.
The officers of the squadron had escaped; the two lieutenants on the ground-floor had probably been awakened by the first shots and had fled into the forest, leaving their uniforms behind them; from these there was not much to fear, but the captain and his companion, who had slain the Baron de Nouart when he had probably attempted to impede their flight, had also escaped, and upon two fleet horses. The shots fired after them had been unavailing; they could reach Nontron in a short time and summon the colonel, Count Schlichting, to the rescue.
And then? Repuin cast a glance at the stiffened corpse of the Baron de Nouart, which had been brought into the dining-hall and lay there on the floor in a corner half covered with a piece of carpet. He thought of his last conversation with him, of how he had been warned by him not to attempt an attack upon a foe so much the stronger. "Count Schlichting knows no mercy!" had been Sorr's words. Then the Count had received them with a sneer; now, as he thought of the near future, they filled him with horror. The colonel had already heard of the struggle in Assais; he was even now at the head of his regiment on the way hither from Nontron to rescue and to avenge.
Repuin was innately brave; he could laugh danger and death to scorn in the heat of battle, but the idea of being taken prisoner and shot in cold blood by the hated Germans drove the blood from his cheek. He turned to the young officer at his side and confided his fears to him, commissioning him to make one more attempt with a few experienced soldiers to assemble the men in some degree of order.
The officer promised to do his best, but his efforts were fruitless until it was too late.
The franctireurs, scattered through the village, refused to obey the bugle-call; they were engaged in a wild orgie with some of the country-people. Wine flowed in streams, and there were loud shouts of "Vive la France! vive la victoire!" that never ceased until a breathless messenger spread the news through the village with the speed of lightning that a German host was marching upon Assais along the roads from Nontron and Chalus, and that it would be upon them in less than half an hour. This intelligence sobered in an instant those drunk with wine and conquest. Now they hurried to obey the bugle-call, but it was too late! An orderly retreat was no longer possible. This Repuin perceived, as from the castle he marked the close ranks of the approaching enemy, who, thanks to the mad neglect and want of discipline of the franctireurs, was so near that he would reach the village before the scattered Frenchmen could assemble together. Were not fugitives already scouring the fields upon the horses of the slain Uhlans? Should a panic ensue, rescue would be impossible; there might be something, an honorable death at least, gained from a stubborn defence of both castle and village.
The bitter conflict lasted several hours; the Frenchmen, so lately taken from the plough and work-bench, the franctireurs, so despised by the Germans, defended every house in the village, and last of all the castle itself, with a courage and heroism worthy of better success.
The same franctireurs who, scorning all discipline, had been converted into a mob of murderous savages by victory over defenceless Uhlans surprised in sleep, returned instantly to their duty when a hard battle was imminent. The example of a few cowards who escaped upon the Uhlan horses found no followers. The young men with the villagers fought with desperate courage; even the wounded refused to yield, and fell fighting to the last in a hopeless struggle against the superior organization and numbers of the Saxons, who, although at heavy loss, stormed every house in the village, and finally gained possession of the castle itself.
Only a very few of the French succeeded in escaping to the forest, where they scattered; the rest atoned with their lives for their brief period of conquest, and the crimes committed in Assais.
The conflict had been terrible, crushing for the conquered, and tragic enough for the victors, who had sustained heavy losses. If the franctireurs had been better marksmen and had not suffered from the death of their leader, Count Repuin, early in the fray, they would have prolonged the struggle, and the German losses would have been greater still, for the French had the advantage of a sheltered position.
The village of Assais, when the battle was over, presented a ghastly spectacle. Among the dead and dying that cumbered its streets the Saxon soldiers were searching diligently for wounded comrades, who were carried to the castle, where the regimental surgeons had their hands full.
The wounded officers, of whom there were not a few, were carried into the dining-hall, where pallets had been arranged, upon which they might rest for the brief space of time that the regiment could remain in Assais. Its work of vengeance completed, it must immediately fall back again upon Nontron.
The colonel's face was grimly sad as he entered the hall for a personal inspection of the wounded. "We have suffered heavily," he said to Count Styrum, who, with his arm in a sling, approached him. "Much noble blood has been shed, and I take blame to myself for it."
"What possible blame can attach to you, colonel?"
"I might have nipped the treachery here in the bud. From the first I mistrusted that Baron de Nouart and his tool Gervais. But for my weakness they would both have been brought to a court-martial, and then all their villainous schemes would have come to light, your arm, Styrum, would have been free from a sling, and your best friends, Hohenwald and Poseneck, would not be lying there severely wounded. How is it with Arno? What does the surgeon say?"
"He gives us good hope. The wound is serious; he is still unconscious, but the surgeon says that he thinks careful nursing will bring him round."
"Careful nursing!" said the colonel. "And where is he to get careful nursing in this God-forgotten corner of France? In two hours at the latest we must take up our march for Nontron, and even there our wounded cannot rest. I must send them on farther. What nursing can they have in the nearest hospital? They are all over-crowded. And can Hohenwald bear the transportation to a hospital?"
"He can bear a farther journey than that if taken carefully. I believe, colonel, that I can save Hohenwald's life if you will allow of my undertaking his transportation to the only place where he will find health for both body and soul."
"I do not understand you, Count."
"Upon a charming estate on the Rhine, near S----, a lady has established a private hospital; beneath her care Arno will, I am sure, recover."
"Aha! I see, an affair of the heart. Who would have suspected it of our misogynist? But S---- on the Rhine is far from here."
"I will undertake to deliver him there safely with your permission, colonel. My wound makes me incapable of service for some weeks, but I have strength enough to superintend the transportation of poor Hohenwald and of my cousin, Kurt von Poseneck, to S----. Your permission is all that is needed, colonel."
"That you shall have. All that I can do for your friends shall be done. How is Poseneck?"
"Doing fairly well. He has recovered his consciousness and can answer for himself. His bed is the last; Arno's is next to the last."
The colonel walked down the row of beds, accompanied by Styrum, saying a few kind words to each of the wounded officers. He paused for some minutes beside Arno's couch, gazing sadly at the pale, unconscious figure stretched there. "My poor old friend!" he murmured. "It will be a hard blow for him to learn that his darling son is severely wounded. I must write to him. Better hear it from me than from the papers. It ought to console him to know how his son has distinguished himself to-day."
"It will console him still further, colonel," Styrum observed, "if you will add in your letter that by your permission I have taken Arno and my cousin Kurt to Kaltenborn, near S----. He will be quite satisfied that Arno will be preserved to him if he knows that he is to be tended and nursed by one whom the old Baron honours and loves as he does Frau von Sorr."
The colonel turned hastily and looked in surprise at Styrum. "What name did you say?" he asked, eagerly.
"Fran von Sorr is the lady who has instituted a private hospital on her father's estate of Kaltenborn."
"And you wish to take Arno to her; you would confide him to Frau von Sorr's care?"
"Yes, colonel; Frau von Sorr lived at Castle Hohenwald for some time as governess to Arno's sister; she is warmly attached to the family, and I know that the old Freiherr holds her in high esteem."
"And Arno?"
"Esteems her no less than does his father."
"Hm! After a different fashion, perhaps," the colonel said, with a smile. "Be assured I will do all that I can to further your wishes. And, by the way, what has become of that scoundrel Sorr? Has Poseneck's suspicion been confirmed? Is the Baron de Nouart, whom Captain von Säben laid low with a sabre-stroke, found to be one and the same person with Herr von Sorr?"
"There he lies," Styrum gravely replied! "I have no doubt upon the subject, although the features seem greatly altered. I saw Sorr only once at a ball, but I remember him perfectly, and recognized the dead man's face, although it is disguised by a huge false beard."
The colonel turned and looked at the corpse of the supposed Baron. A compassionate maid had washed the blood from the face, and in so doing had loosened the false beard, which the colonel now tossed aside, and all doubt as to the man's identity instantly vanished from the minds of the two officers.
"It is indeed he," said Schlichting; "he has reaped the reward of his treachery, as has also Repuin, who was shot dead early in the engagement. I think, Styrum, that both you and Herr von Poseneck will agree with me that it is best so; we are spared the dealing out to them the death of traitors."
As he spoke he went up to Kurt's couch, and the young man was quite able to express his thanks for the colonel's promised aid in transporting him to Kaltenborn. The surgeon, however, at this moment made his appearance and forbade further conversation, as Kurt's wound was in the chest and he had suffered from loss of blood. Count Schlichting therefore gave his hand a farewell pressure and left the hall.
Several months have elapsed; how, during this time, those who have played principal parts in our story have prospered may be gathered from the following communications from the widowed Frau von Sorr to her dearest friend:
"Kaltenborn, December 18, 1870.
"Dearest Adèle,--What weeks of suspense have passed since I last wrote you!--passed amid hopes and fears, terrible distress, and yet happiness unspeakable. I could not write; every moment that was not spent in care of him seemed wasted in disloyal neglect.
"At last the staff surgeon came to me yesterday with a beaming face and the delicious words, 'Out of all danger!' Since then I have been in a dream of happiness, and my first thought is to make you the sharer of my joy.
"That Arno is spared to me I owe entirely to the self-devotion of your Karl. He has, I know, written to you how he obtained permission to bring Arno and Kurt von Poseneck across half France to be nursed here by me. But he has not, I am sure, told you at what an expense of trouble and strength he with his wound did this. I never shall forget the moment, now just six weeks ago, when he came to meet me below in the hall. A messenger on horseback, from S----, had brought word that three wounded officers, among whom was Lieutenant Kurt von Poseneck, had been by their desire transferred to Kaltenborn for lodgment and nursing, and that they would arrive in an hour at the latest. I was ready to receive them, too glad to take charge of Kurt, and little dreaming how near the other two were to my heart. I never can tell you, dear Adèle, of all that I suffered during those first few days. Count Styrum's exertions in bringing his charge to this place had been superhuman; his own wound, not serious at first, had been greatly aggravated, and for a time he was utterly prostrated. But now the dreadful days are all past when the angel of death lingered beside the two so near to me, Arno and Kurt. As soon as your Karl recovered from the disastrous effects of his journey he joined me in care of them, and never shall I forget the consolation of his presence and his words. When I gave up all hope of Arno's recovery, Count Styrum was always ready to tell me how, in '66, he had recovered from a worse wound, and to bid me rely upon his vigorous constitution. And during the long hours when together we watched beside Arno's or Kurt's couch. Count Styrum recounted to me the terrible events of which he was an eye-witness at Assais. From him I learned the fate of my unhappy husband,--that death had dissolved the tie that bound me to him.
"It would be hypocrisy, dearest Adèle, to attempt to conceal from you that this knowledge brought with it a sense of relief to which I had long been an utter stranger, and that I breathed still more freely when I learned that I need no longer dread the persecutions of Count Repuin, who also fell fighting at Assais. As to Herr von Sorr, I forgive his sins against me, and when I think of him in future I will recall the time when he certainly did not inspire me with terror."
"December 26.
"Arno is making rapid strides towards recovery. To-day he was able to sit up for an hour; his voice is clear and strong, and when he looks at me his eyes sparkle, as they did once at Castle Hohenwald."
"December 30.
"You see, dear, I write oftener. Kurt is nearly well; he took a walk in the garden yesterday, and the doctor says he will be able to return to his regiment in two weeks, when your betrothed also leaves us. I am glad to know them so far recovered, and yet how we shall miss them!
"Arno will chafe at being obliged to take no share in the glorious termination of the war, but he must submit; the doctor says he cannot possibly be fit for service for some months yet. I will confess to you, dear Adèle, that when the old doctor uttered this verdict I could have kissed him. Arno had been so much pleased at his increasing strength that he had entertained hopes of leaving Kaltenborn with your Karl and Kurt, and of course he was disappointed at first. Then he looked at me; I suppose my joy was evident in my face, for his brow cleared instantly, and he said no more about leaving."
"Kaltenborn, January 15, 1871.
"Adèle, my darling Adèle, I am the happiest woman in the world! I am betrothed! Ah, how fair life is! You must hear all about it, although no one else is to know of it for some time to come. Listen, I will tell you all. Early this afternoon I was seated in my little drawing-room at my writing-table, when I heard the door open behind me and some one say, 'Excuse me, madame, I would not intrude. Modesty is a gift of nature; I do not boast, but I possess it----'
"Of course there was no need to turn round to recognize the good Assessor von Hahn, my former admirer. Yes, there he was, and the oddest figure imaginable. Had not the red cross on his left arm informed me in what capacity he had come to the Rhine, I should have supposed him dressed as a brigand for a masquerade; his costume, with a huge sabre dragging at his heels, was so comical.
"I could not but smile as I welcomed him to Kaltenborn, and told him how glad I was to see by his red cross to what service he had devoted himself.
"'Yes, madame,' he said, twisting his moustache after his old familiar fashion, 'I serve the fatherland; this very evening I must take up my journey to France; duty demands it, and I am a slave to duty; I do not boast, but I am so. I have stolen a moment on the way to assure you of my devotion to you, and to bring you some news which will, I am sure, surprise you. I have the honour of being in charge of supplies for some of our hospitals in France. Early this morning, as my train was about to leave the station at Minden, as I stood upon the platform, my attention was attracted by an old gentleman who was berating a railway official in no measured terms. The official had just informed him that this was a train bearing supplies, and that no places could be procured on it for passengers, and the old man's anger found vent in a good round oath; he was ready to pay any price for places, and have them he must and would. He was supported on the arm of an old servant in livery, and beside him stood a young girl. I could not see her face, but her figure was charming. I passed around her and recognized--but surely, madame, you have guessed whom I recognized----'
"I tried in vain to solve the riddle, mentioning the names of several ladies known to each of us, but in vain.
"'Wrong, madame; I am sure your astonishment will equal mine when I tell you that I recognized in the young lady with the charming figure my lovely cousin, Celia von Hohenwald.'
"My astonishment was indeed great; the Assessor was delighted. 'Yes, Celia von Hohenwald; she was with her father, my respected relative, the Freiherr von Hohenwald. Fortunately, I met them upon the railway platform at Minden, and was able to be of service to them.'
"'The Freiherr von Hohenwald!' I exclaimed, now amazed indeed. I could hardly believe that my dear old friend had left his forest castle, where he had so long been confined to his rolling-chair, but the Assessor eagerly went on to explain it all to me.
"The Freiherr's health had improved wonderfully during the past summer, as I knew from Celia's letters, but she had not told me that he had for some time been able to walk in his beloved garden supported by old Franz, and she herself had never dreamed that he would think of undertaking a journey. He had heard first from Count Schlichting and then from Kurt, as he told the Assessor, of his son's wound, and had determined not to await his recovery, but to go himself to Kaltenborn, that he might be near him. So, accompanied by Celia and old Franz, he had set out, and felt better and stronger than he had done for years. His desire to see his son again was intense, and hence his angry outbreak when told that he could not leave Minden by this train. The Assessor instantly offered both Celia and himself seats in his own coupé, while old Franz was accommodated in a freight-wagon. The good little man fairly glowed with enthusiasm as he described his delightful journey and the charms of his fair cousin, to whom he has evidently lost his too susceptible heart.
"Arrived at S----, the Assessor instantly came by extra post to Kaltenborn to announce the arrival of the Baron and his daughter, that Arno might be prepared to meet them. They were, the Assessor concluded, awaiting his return at S----, whither he was to carry intelligence of Arno's condition and my father's permission to visit Kaltenborn.
"You may imagine, dear, how happy the good Assessor's news made me. To think of seeing once more my dear old friend and Celia! My heart beat quickly as I went with the Assessor to Arno's room, where the little man contrived with great tact to announce to him the arrival of such dear friends.
"My father was out walking, but I sent in his name a cordial invitation to the Freiherr, and the Assessor took leave of all of us in a state of the most amiable self-complacency.
"After his departure I had too much to do in preparing for the reception of my dear guests to leave time for reflection. I had just finished arranging flowers in their rooms when their carriage stopped at the hall-door. I really do not know how I got down-stairs, but I found myself at the carriage-door. I felt Celia's ardent kisses, and the next instant I was in the carriage and in the Freiherr's arms. He kissed my forehead tenderly, and then, clasping both my hands in his, held me off from him with a smile of perfect content on his dear old face. 'You never thought, my dear child,' he said, 'that your old adorer would leave his rolling-chair and come to look for you. I could not help it; a longing for the sight of you and anxiety for my boy have brought me here. No, not anxiety, for even when the Poseneck fellow wrote me word that he was very ill I knew that my dear child's tender nursing would preserve him to me; and so it was. I owe my Arno's life to you.'
"I would have disclaimed his praise, but he would not let me speak. 'I know better about it than you do, child; his heart needed healing, and I knew his body would follow suit. You alone could be his true physician. But never blush about it; postpone that, dear child, until you and I have had a private talk together. Thunder and lightning! The will-o'-the-wisp has rushed directly into the Poseneck fellow's arms! Here's a pretty business!'
"The tone in which this outburst was uttered was far from grim, and the words themselves were contradicted by the sparkle in the old man's eyes as he looked out of the carriage. Kurt stood in the doorway with Celia clinging to him. Clasped in each other's arms, for the moment the world about the happy pair was forgotten; the Freiherr's exclamation recalled Kurt to a sense of the present. He would have hurried out to the carriage, but Celia only clasped him the closer, crying, amid tears and laughter, 'No, no, Kurt, my dearest, I have you now, and you shall not go; papa is not so angry as he pretends. Look how glad he is that we are all happy together at last!'
"'Let go the Poseneck fellow, you romp!' the Freiherr called from the carriage. 'Let him come here, I want to look at him.'
"Kurt sprang forward to offer his arm; before the Baron took it, however, he scanned the young man with keen scrutiny. The result of it must have been satisfactory, for he nodded complacently at Kurt, and then, with his help and with Franz's support, descended heavily from the carriage.
"When I handed him his crutch-handled cane from the carriage, he let go of Kurt's arm. 'You would, of course, rather conduct the will-o'-the-wisp than the old father,' he said to Kurt, with a laugh. 'Give your arm to your Celia, then, for she is yours; I can't prevent that. My child here will take me to Arno,' he added, nodding towards me.
"I was by his side in a moment; he put his arm in mine and, leaning over me, whispered, 'Will you not promise, my darling, to support your old father thus as long he lives?'
"I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I could not speak; but he needed no reply, as he looked at me with a happy smile.
"Thus we walked slowly through the hall, and were received at the door of his room by Arno himself, leaning upon your Karl's arm, so strong that he hardly needed its support.
"As the old man embraced his darling son the tears rolled down his withered cheeks; he held him clasped in his arms for a moment, and then turning to me, said, with profound emotion, 'We owe this happy moment to our Anna. She has been the guardian angel of those two,' pointing to Kurt and Celia; 'softening my old heart until I gladly receive Kurt as a son. She has restored you to life, Arno. The dark cloud that divided you has vanished, serene skies smile above your future. Have you nothing to ask at her hands, Arno?'
"What Arno replied I cannot tell you. I felt his arm about me, his lips upon mine, and heard the ecstasy in his whispered words, 'Mine,--mine for all eternity!'
"This was our betrothal. My dearest father joyfully gave us his blessing, and Kurt and Celia, Arno and I have just passed the happiest evening of our lives, in the circle of those dearest to us, where only you, my own faithful Adèle, were wanting. Count Styrum recounted to the Freiherr his adventures in the castle of Assais, and the old Baron told in his turn of how the danger that had threatened the Finanzrath had fortunately been averted by the kind interference of influential friends. Upon Werner's promise, made in writing, never to return to Germany, the warrants out against him on a charge of high treason have been withdrawn, and he is living in Vienna in great seclusion. The thought of Werner, so different from his father, brother, and sister in his whole character and nature, disturbed my happiness for a moment, but only for a moment. One glance at Arno was enough to dissipate any cloud called up in my mind by the remembrance of his unworthy brother.
"Darling Adèle, my heart is full. The shadows of the past lie behind me, the future is brilliant with glorious sunshine. Farewell, my own true friend; I know how you will rejoice with and for yourLucie."
Spring had again returned, and with it the blessings of peace to the fatherland. In the latter days of May there was joy indeed at Castle Hohenwald, where a double marriage was celebrated. Of course Lucie and Arno, Celia and Kurt, were the happy pairs, and Count Styrum, with his charming young wife, was present on the auspicious occasion.
Footnote 1: Councillor of finance. It is best to give these titles in German; they must always be awkward in English. A. L. W.
Footnote 2: Forest-depths.
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A dramatic and adventurous love-story of to-day, told by the author of the famous "Sign of the Cross."
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