persisted in what she had once decided upon. She called her husband and
a servant, and sent them up into the Judge's sleeping-room to bring
down the chest, and in a few minutes, against the long bare wall of my
room there stood a large, old-fashioned bureau, not elegant, indeed,
but painted black, and with four drawers which gave abundant room for
my requirements.

"There is the old chest," Frau Franzka said with satisfaction. "The
Herr Professor need not fear; I will take it upon myself to settle
matters with the Judge; but I must see if he has left anything in the
drawers. I don't think so, but if it should be the case, I can easily
transfer them to his new chest."

She tried to draw out the topmost drawer by its metal handles, but it
would not open.

"That is strange," she said. "The wood must have swelled so that the
drawer sticks."

"Perhaps it is locked," I remarked.

"Oh, no, certainly not. The Judge never locks his chests; he always
leaves them open, and, besides, I do not know whether he had any
key, but we can soon see. There is just such another chest in our
sleeping-room; my husband has the key and we can see if it will open
it."

She said several words in Slavonic to her husband, and he took a queer
little key out of his pocket and handed it to her.

The key fitted in the lock and turned. Frau Franzka then opened the
topmost drawer without difficulty. She glanced inside it and recoiled
with a slight scream.

"Oh, Holy Virgin!" she cried, clasping her hands. "What is all this? A
shirt, a summer suit, a silk pocket handkerchief, all spotted with
blood, and oh, blessed Maria, who would have thought that Herr Foligno
had so much money hid away in this old chest!"

Instantly I was possessed by a strange foreboding. There lay the money
which the murderer had stolen from his victim. I sprang up from the
sofa without thinking of my sprained ankle and walked hastily across
the room, never heeding the pain.

Yes, there lay the stolen money. Several packages of banknotes of a
hundred gulden each, and beside them a bundle of papers of value, the
topmost of these showing the same dark spots, traces of the blood from
the wounded hand of the murderer, who had taken no care to avoid
staining them. Here, hidden away in the old chest, were the proofs of
the murderer's guilt; the bloodstained clothing which he had worn when
he committed the deed; and the handkerchief which I had given to him
was there also. If there had been any doubt until now as to the
identity of the criminal, it vanished on the instant. Link by link in
an indestructible chain the proofs were clearly here for the conviction
of the District Judge. In fancy I saw him contemplating his murderous
scheme, walking up the rocky path towards the Lonely House. He knew
that he should find the old man alone there; he had been told this on
the day before. Anna had thoughtlessly informed him that her father
would be alone in the afternoon. Her account of the considerable amount
of money which the old man had received by the morning's post had
begotten the murderous scheme. He reaches the house, no one having seen
him on the rocky pathway. He looks about him. No human being is near
who could observe him. He does not dream that Anna has seen him. He
knocks. The old man opens the door and conducts him to his room, where
a struggle ensues, a struggle in which the murderer wounds his hand,
but from which he comes forth victorious. The crime is committed. The
murderer with his bleeding hand has taken the banknotes and papers from
the desk which he knew so well; in his excitement he has hardly noticed
that he was wounded. He is suddenly conscious of pain in his hand, and
the thought occurs to him that his wound might betray him. With terror
he perceives that his dress, his shirt, his waistcoat and trousers, all
wear bloody traces of the struggle. He tries to remove them with his
handkerchief, but in vain. How can he explain these stains when he
returns to Luttach? He devises one means--to declare that he fell among
the rocks and wounded his hand. Every one knows that he frequently
climbs about among the rocks and how easily such an accident might
occur. If he can bring back to the old naturalist a rare plant which
usually grows upon almost inaccessible rocks, his story of a fall will
be all the more credible. The _Ophrys Bertolini_ grows in the
neighbourhood; except himself no one knows the locality. It is easily
reached; he hastily plucks the beautiful flowers, losing his
handkerchief as he does so, but without noticing it he hurries away
from the neighbourhood of the Lonely House.

Fortune favours him. No one meets him; no one sees him when he reaches
the inn and hastens to his chamber. There he locks himself in; he must
change his clothes; but what shall he do with his bloodstained apparel?
Suddenly the old bureau occurs to him; it stands unused in his
sleeping-room. He could not have a better, a more secure hiding place.
He conceals the clothes and his plunder in the top drawer, locks it,
and puts the key in his pocket. Now he is safe; no suspicion can
possibly fall upon him, the Judge, the most prominent official in the
town. There can be no searching of his room. He himself would
superintend whatever search there might be. The bloodstained clothing,
the banknotes and the papers could be nowhere more safe from discovery
than in the locked drawer of the old bureau. He breathes more freely.
There is a knock at the door. The old Professor asks for admission. He
is obliged to receive him. This will give him an opportunity of
relating the story of his fall among the rocks. He is dismayed at
learning that the murder has been discovered sooner than he
anticipated, but he composes himself, and when he hears that Franz
Schorn has been seen in the vicinity of the Lonely House, he devises a
plan for throwing suspicion upon him, his mortal enemy, and with
vindictive cunning proceeds to carry it out, using every circumstance
that could lead step by step to the consummation of the crime without
exposing himself at any point. Thus he feels perfectly safe, when
suddenly he makes the terrible discovery that there exists a witness
against him. The old Professor has found his bloody handkerchief near
the Lonely House. He finds it easy to deceive the unsuspicious old man.
He succeeds in convincing him that Franz Schorn is the murderer, but as
long as the Professor lives, the danger of detection hangs over his
head. He induces the foolish old man to undertake expeditions among the
most dangerous rocks, in the hope of his falling a victim to some
accident, but when this scheme fails, he determines to efface all trace
of the first murder by a second. The exploration of the cave, in which
he asks to join, furnishes a means to do so. The Professor must die,
but before his death he must send the official deposition which is so
essential for Schorn's conviction.

Here also his murderous design fails, but he manages to cast suspicion
upon Franz Schorn in the matter of cutting the rope, and the young man
is arrested. The murderer triumphs.

Then by a marvellous chance the old chest is opened during his absence
from home, and the clear proofs of his guilt are discovered by the very
man whom he wished, as the only witness against him, to remove from his
path.

I stood paralyzed before the open drawer. All the past, which it has
taken minutes to relate, flashed upon my mind with the speed of
lightning. The proofs of the murderer's guilt which the doctor had been
so anxious to obtain were now before me. Chance had placed them in my
hands. What was I to make of this chance was the next question.

"We must not touch these things," I said to Frau Franzka, who with her
old husband stood speechless with astonishment, gazing at the money in
the drawer. They had never in their lives seen so much at a time. "The
Judge might suspect us of having taken some of his heap of money. Lock
the drawer again, Frau Franzka; we will give the key to the Clerk, and
the doctor shall be witness that we do so. We three, you, your husband
and I, will stay here until Mizka fetches the doctor and the Clerk, and
we can each testify that none of the money has been taken."

"So much money! And he owes me over five hundred gulden, with all that
pile in his drawer!" exclaimed Frau Franzka, who was reluctant to lose
sight of the banknotes, but on my reiterated request, she locked it up,
and then called Mizka, telling her to go immediately for the Herr
Einern and the doctor, begging them to come as quick as possible to the
Herr Professor in the "Golden Vine."

We had not long to wait. The doctor came first. Mizka met him in the
street near the house. I drew him aside and told him in a whisper of
the contents of the upper drawer of the bureau. He was beside himself
with joy.

"We have him! We have him!" he exclaimed aloud, with what was almost a
leap in the air. Only when he saw the stare with which Frau Franzka and
her husband regarded him--they might well have supposed he had lost his
wits--he grew calmer, and I told him that I had sent also for the
Clerk.

"Quite right," he said. "We must tell him everything. Now that we have
such positive proof of the Judge's guilt, he can act, and he must act.
He is a brave and honourable man. He will fulfil the promise he once
made to our little Anna. Here he comes. I hear his step on the stair."

The Clerk entered the room. He seemed surprised on finding the doctor
and my host and hostess. Frau Franzka hurried towards him. She had been
silent so long that she was eager to pour out her heart. In a burst of
Slavonic, of which I did not understand one syllable, she talked away
to the Clerk, who listened with the deepest attention. I would not
interrupt her, for I could easily perceive from her gestures what she
was relating. The Clerk's face grew darker and darker as Frau Franzka
continued. At last she paused and delivered to him the key of the
bureau. He then turned to me and said very gravely:

"Frau Franzka has told me of the remarkable discovery which she has
made in that bureau. Before I examine its contents I wish to hear what
you have to say, Herr Professor. I assume that you have summoned me
hither, not as your friend of the evenings about the round table, but
as the Clerk, the only representative of the law in the Judge's
absence. I shall therefore receive what you have to say, not as the
testimony of a friend, but officially. Frau Franzka, you will retire to
another room with your husband, while I hear what the Herr Professor
has to tell. I warn you to say not one word to any one--I repeat, to
_any one_--of what you have discovered in the drawer there. You will
expose yourself to grave penalties if you should refuse to follow my
direction. Wait quietly until I send for you. Very shortly I will
summon you and your husband to swear to whatever you have to say. Now
go. Do you desire, Herr Professor, that the doctor should withdraw
also?"

"No. On the contrary, I desire his presence during my deposition, which
I must make to you. He can complete what I have to say."

I waited until the host and hostess had obediently withdrawn, and then
I addressed the Clerk.

"On the day on which the miserable old Pollenz was murdered, it was to
you that his daughter turned, enjoining upon you the duty of
discovering the murderer and delivering him to justice. I heard the
young girl's moving appeal and was a witness of your silent promise to
her. I now desire from you the fulfilment of that promise."

"I will fulfil my duty. The guilty man, whosoever he may be, shall not
escape punishment if proof sufficient can be adduced of his guilt."

"This proof I am prepared to give, and so clearly that no doubt can
remain in your mind. Listen."

I had imposed a hard task upon myself--that of succinctly informing the
Clerk of all the facts which sufficed to weld a chain of proof against
the murderer; the part he had played towards me, arousing in me
suspicions not only of Franz Schorn, but of the lovely Anna, in order
to procure my signature to the deposition which he made out and sent to
Laibach. I recalled as well as I could the words which the murderer had
dictated to me; every one of those words seemed to form a link in the
chain of proof; and, in conclusion, I described to him the contents of
the old bureau, saying:

"This is the accumulated evidence which I hand over to you, and I
demand that in virtue of your office the true criminal shall be
delivered to the authorities in Laibach, so that an innocent man may
not wear disgraceful fetters an hour longer than is absolutely
necessary."

"You impose a fearful responsibility upon me, but I shall not refuse to
accept it," the Clerk replied with a profound sigh. "What you have just
told me confirms a horrible suspicion which I have had ever since the
day of the murder. I never believed in Schorn's guilt. I always had a
secret doubt of the Judge, but I dared not give expression to it; it
was impossible to gather the smallest evidence against him. I take upon
myself great responsibility in proceeding against my chief, in
arresting him, and transferring him to Laibach, but it must be
done as soon as he returns from Görz. I will employ this day in
examining all the testimony you have here given me, as well as the
witnesses--yourself, Fräulein Anna Pollenz, Frau Franzka and her
husband--and then I will send to Laibach all the material I have
collected, with the bloodstained clothing and the banknotes. The
Attorney General there will do his duty. I transcend my powers perhaps
in thus forestalling my chief. I will----" he paused, listening.

A vehicle rolled through the narrow street and stopped before the
house. The doctor hurried to the window.

"The Judge," he cried, "has just descended from the carriage and has
entered the house."

The Clerk started and grew pale.

"He comes too early," he said. "I have no officially confirmed evidence
against him. I have no right to arrest him."

"Will you give him time to escape?" cried the doctor. "If he goes to
his chamber and misses the old bureau, he will know that he is found
out."

"You are right. I will dare all. Let me have paper, pen and ink, Herr
Professor, as quickly as possible, for at this moment I am the
representative of the law in Luttach. The Judge has not yet exhausted
his leave of absence; he has not yet resumed the duties of his office."
He wrote a few lines hurriedly. "This order must go immediately to the
captain of the gendarmes. Will you undertake to carry it, Herr Doctor?"

"With all the pleasure in life. In five minutes I will be here again
with the gendarmes. The bird shall not escape," cried the doctor, as he
snatched the order from the Clerk's hand and rushed away without a
moment's delay. He could hardly have reached the front door, when from
above came the voice of the Judge, calling:

"Mizka! Mizka!"

Mizka replied from below in a few Slavonic words, and a loud, brief
conversation ensued in that language.

"He has missed the bureau and Mizka is telling him that it has been
taken down to your room because you needed it, Herr Professor," the
Clerk whispered to me.

The Judge overhead uttered a wild Slavonic curse. We heard his
resounding tread as he rushed down the stairs and then, without
knocking, threw open the door of my room and entered. When he found
that I was not alone, but that the Clerk was with me, he started back,
and remained for a moment on the threshold gazing at the Clerk and
myself with a keen, searching look, which afterwards flashed round the
room as if in quest of something. When it rested on the blackened, old
bureau, he fell into a rage, and, coming up to me, demanded in a
furious tone:

"How dared you have my furniture removed from my room in my absence and
placed here for your own use?"

As he spoke these words he was ghastly to look upon; his pale lips
quivered, his dark eyes glittered in his sallow face, and were again
riveted with an indescribable expression upon the old bureau.

His insolence aroused my indignation, but I forced myself to reply to
him calmly.

"I must beg you to speak more courteously," I answered, suppressing my
detestation. "If you conceive that there has been an infringement of
your rights, it is not to me that you must appeal, but to Frau Franzka.
She told me that this old bureau was never used by you, and that you
would be glad to have so superfluous a piece of furniture removed from
your room. Only upon her assurance that this was the case did I consent
to have it brought hither."

My reply seemed to quiet him somewhat. He lowered his voice as he
continued:

"You see that I do use it. The upper drawer is locked."

He went up to the bureau and pulled the metal handles of the upper
drawer. Upon finding that it would not open, he breathed more freely
and turned to me again, with a wholly different expression of
countenance.

"Excuse my rude manner," he suddenly said, in a very friendly way; "I
was angry. It irritated me that the furniture of my room should be
meddled with. The old bureau serves me as a receptacle for old clothes.
I must therefore beg that it be returned to me."

"It was delivered to me by its owner, Frau Franzka. I have no authority
over its removal."

"You refuse?" he said, flaming up again; but he mastered himself, only
giving me a sinister look, as he opened the door and called loudly into
the hall:

"Frau Franzka! Frau Franzka!"

The host and hostess had been waiting in another room for the summons
of the Clerk. They now appeared, Frau Franzka with a very embarrassed
countenance, where the consciousness of guilt was openly to be seen.
Now that the Judge was present, any command of the Clerk would avail
nothing with her. She must reply to whatever the Judge should ask.

"How dare you have that chest taken from my room! It must be carried up
again immediately."

Shyly and trembling with fear Frau Franzka gazed at the angry man.

"Do not be so angry, Herr Foligno," she said. "I thought the chest was
quite empty. I should not have brought it down here if I had known that
you had so much money in it. But we did not touch it. Herr von Einern
has the key."

The effect of these words upon the man was terrible. He staggered back
as if struck by a sudden blow, staring from Frau Franzka to the Clerk.
He bit his lips without feeling that he drew blood and that a drop
trickled down his chin. Frau Franzka's simple words had revealed all;
his secret was betrayed; his guilt discovered.

Only for a second did terror paralyze him. He quickly collected
himself, seeing that the only possibility of escape lay in maintaining
absolute calmness, and with wonderful self-control he said in a
menacing tone:

"You presumed to open the chest with a master key, and you, Herr von
Einern, have this master key in your possession. I demand that it be
instantly delivered to me."

Hitherto the Clerk had stood with folded arms, a motionless spectator
of the scene before him. A contemptuous smile played about his lips. He
made no reply to the Judge's demand.

"You do not answer me. You refuse to obey my orders?" the Judge
continued. "I shall hold you accountable for this. Do not forget, sir,
that this forcible breaking open of my property with a master key is a
crime for which I hold you responsible. I leave you now to take instant
steps for the enforcement of my right."

He turned towards the door, but before he had advanced a step the Clerk
laid his hand upon his shoulder and said with grave decision:

"You can leave this room only as a prisoner, Herr Foligno. You are
arrested."

[Illustration: Then Began a Struggle, a Fight for Life and Death]

The Judge's eyes flashed fire. His right hand sought his breast pocket
and he drew from it a knife, but before he could use it the Clerk had
seized him by the wrist, and then began a struggle, a fight for life
and death between these two powerful men.

Frau Franzka screamed with terror; her husband stood trembling beside
her, not venturing to come to the help of the wrestling pair; but I
summoned all the physical force that I possessed--my foot pained me
terribly as I sprang up, but I did not heed the pain--and I was just in
the nick of time; the Judge had torn his hand loose and had raised it
for a deadly lunge with the knife. I seized his wrist from behind; the
Clerk clutched him by the throat, and our united strength succeeded in
overpowering him, throwing him on the ground, and holding tight his
right hand, which still held the knife. It was a terrible moment; my
strength was all but gone, for the desperate wretch made frantic
efforts to tear himself loose, but help was at hand. The doctor rushed
into the room with three gendarmes following him. Without a thought the
active little man threw himself upon the Judge, kneeled upon his chest
and helped me to hold down the hand that held the knife.

"Seize and bind the monster!" he cried to the gendarmes, "or he will do
more mischief with his knife."

The Judge could not but see that all further resistance was vain. He
dropped the knife, which I seized and hurled to the end of the room.

"Let me go," he said sullenly. "You see that I can no longer defend
myself."

We arose; first the Clerk, then I; I limped back in positive agony to
my sofa; my help was no longer required. The Judge, too, arose, and,
panting, stood between the Clerk and the doctor. He had given up all
hope of escape, for the three gendarmes blocked all egress from the
room, but his feverishly active mind devised new food for hope.

"Captain," he cried to the captain of the gendarmes, "captain, I call
you to bear witness to the maltreatment I have received from these
madmen, who have attacked me. I command you to stand by me--me, the
District Judge. I order you to arrest these people, the Clerk, the
doctor and the German Professor. I take all the responsibility upon
myself."

The captain's martial countenance betrayed embarrassment. He looked
dubiously, first at the Judge, then at the Clerk.

"I do not know what I ought to do," he said, turning to the Clerk. "You
command me to arrest Herr Foligno; he commands me to arrest you. After
all, he is the District Judge."

The Clerk hastily approached the old, dingy bureau, took a key from his
pocket and opened the upper drawer.

"I command you to arrest a murderer," he said. "He, and not Franz
Schorn, committed the murder in the Lonely House. Here are the
proofs--his bloodstained clothing and the banknotes which he stole. The
responsibility is yours if the murderer escapes and you disobey my
commands."

One look into the drawer, and the captain hesitated no longer. An hour
afterwards, between two gendarmes, the murderer was driven to Laibach.
Half the entire population of Luttach crowded about the court house to
see him driven away. The report had circulated throughout the little
town with incredible swiftness that not Franz Schorn, but the District
Judge was the criminal. When the prisoner was led from the court house
to the carriage a fierce shout of rage greeted him. The gendarmes were
obliged with their weapons to keep off the indignant populace in order
to shield the prisoner from their violence. He, on his part, was now
pale and trembling with cowardly fear; curses and execrations followed
him as the carriage drove through the crowd.

But at that moment the lovely little Anna was seated on my sofa,
thanking me over and over again, her eyes shining with joy--and what,
after all, had I done to deserve her thanks?

                              CHAPTER XIV.
                  THE END OF THE PROFESSOR'S HOLIDAY.

The doctor, the Burgomaster and the Captain had driven to Laibach to
require personally the instant liberation of Franz Schorn, whose
innocence no one longer doubted. The doctor had promised to inform me
by letter of the result of his efforts, and he kept his word. On the
second day I received a long letter from him. There had been a
tremendous commotion in Laibach when the District Judge of Luttach,
manacled like a common criminal, had been received at the prison. The
ultra Slavonic newspapers had hitherto triumphed in the announcement
that the only German agitator in Luttach was nothing more or less than
a miserable, ordinary criminal, and now they suffered a terrible blow
in that the German agitator was no murderer; the criminal was a man
who, although of Italian descent, had always laboured in the Slavonic
cause. The Slav party, on the other hand, were half-inclined to swear
to the innocence of the Judge and to stake all on the guilt of the
hated German. But the doctor took good care that every scrap of
evidence against the true murderer should be well known; he was himself
a zealous Slav, but so conscientious and honest a man, and so well
known as prizing justice far above national prejudice, that he forced
the newspapers of his party, by his truthful declarations, to advocate
the cause of Franz Schorn, which they reluctantly did, although not
very enthusiastically. They, as well as the doctor, found consolation,
however, in the fact that District Judge Foligno was no true Slav, but
in fact an Italian. Of course all national prejudices were powerless to
influence the court at Laibach. The doctor wrote with real enthusiasm
in regard to his reception by the investigating Judge, who had frankly
informed him that suspicion of the District Judge had arisen in his
mind while he was investigating the matter in Luttach, suspicion which
was now substantiated by the admirable report of the Clerk, and that
the evidence had created conviction. A most disagreeable task lay
before him in having to investigate the actions of his superior in
office, but he would unflinchingly follow his duty. The Attorney
General, who had hitherto been firmly convinced of Schorn's guilt,
could not but admit the evidence of his innocence and the proof of the
Judge's criminality, and the honourable liberation of Schorn from
imprisonment must take place immediately. It depended only upon certain
formalities. If the Judge could be brought to confess, Schorn's freedom
would be on the instant.

This hope, however, of bringing the criminal to an open confession was
not destined to be fulfilled. He maintained his innocence with brazen
effrontery until his hearing before the court, asserting that he was
the victim of shameful intrigue. All the evidence which I, the German
Professor, had brought against him was founded, he declared, partly on
lies, partly on prejudice. It was not true that I had found his
bloodstained handkerchief in the neighbourhood of the Lonely House, for
the handkerchief found in the drawer he had never lost. The blood on
his handkerchief, his waistcoat, and his trousers came from the wound
in his hand due to a fall among the rocks on the morning of the day of
the murder, and of which he had innocently informed the Professor. He
declared that I had found him changing his dress when I came to inform
him of the discovery of the murdered man in the Lonely House. He had
locked up the bloody clothing in the upper drawer of the chest in his
sleeping apartment in my presence, and, of course, I knew where it was.
How the money and banknotes came in the drawer he did not know, but he
suspected that during his absence I had placed them there myself, or
had bribed Frau Franzka to put them into the chest in order that the
farce might be played of the removal of the chest to my room and the
discovery of the bloody articles, which would clear Franz Schorn of the
guilt of the murder and throw it upon himself, the District Judge. He
would not venture to assert that I was Schorn's accomplice in the
crime, although it was possible, but I was certainly his accomplice in
the theft of the money. Either to be rid of this accomplice, or to
ensure his silence by saving his life, Schorn had cut the rope in the
cave.

When the investigating Judge pointed out to him the improbability, nay
the evident falsehood of this clumsy invention, the prisoner stoutly
maintained its truth, and even asserted that I had come to Luttach, on
the pretense of pursuing natural history researches in Ukraine, in the
interest of the German clique there, and to this end I had entered into
close relations with Schorn, having as their result this scheme to ruin
him. The Judge displayed an eloquence and keenness of intellect in
proving the truth of his statements which the investigating Judge could
not but admire; but, upon perceiving that he failed entirely in making
any impression upon the impartial official, who was himself a Slav, he
lost courage, and, declaring that he was too exhausted to endure
further questioning, begged to be again conducted to prison.

An hour later the investigating Judge was informed that the prisoner
had committed suicide in his cell. How he had contrived to procure the
knife with which he stabbed himself to the heart could not be
discovered. The bitter opponents of the government and of the court in
Laibach maintained that it had been conveyed to him for the purpose of
suicide, in order that the court might be relieved from the necessity
of presenting before a jury a Slavonic patriot and fellow-countryman as
a murderer.

"Since the Judge's suicide may be regarded as a confession," the
doctor wrote, "we are momentarily awaiting the liberation of our Franz.
We--the good Burgomaster, the Captain and myself--are burning with
eagerness to conduct the liberated man in triumph to Luttach. I will
tell you by telegram when we may be expected."

The lovely little Anna was paying me a visit when I received the
doctor's letter. We read it together. Tears of joy filled her eyes as
we came to the end.

"I would rather," she said, "have Franz come back quietly, without any
public demonstration; but the good doctor is right; there ought to be
some atonement for the unjust disgrace of his arrest, and this must be
made by an honourable reception."

All the men of the round table in the "Golden Vine" were of the same
opinion.

In the evening, more carried than supported by Mizka and Frau Franzka,
I ventured to leave my room and to take my place once more at the round
table. I was received with extravagant delight. When I read aloud to
the company there assembled the letter from the doctor, they declared
unanimously that all Luttach must combine in making brilliant amends to
Franz. It was remarkable how one single day had changed the mood of
every one. Mosic, Weber, Meyer, Gunther, and Dietrich, hitherto the
most violent opponents of "the German," were now the most zealous to
obliterate all remembrance of their opposition. They could not praise
Franz sufficiently, and gravely maintained that they never had believed
in his guilt.

The telegram arrived on the morning of the next day, announcing that
our friends would arrive in Luttach towards noon. I sent it to the
Vice-Burgomaster, who had begged me to give him the earliest
intelligence, that he might spread it through the town.

The time for festal preparation was short, but it was used diligently
in bringing loads of oaken boughs from the grove on the Rusina, in
making wreaths and garlands wherewith Schorn's house and the "Golden
Vine" were decorated, for Franz was to be conducted first to the
"Golden Vine," where in the garden a cask of the best wine was to be
broached, and the Vice-Burgomaster was to welcome him in the name of
his Luttach fellow-citizens and to express the joy that all felt in his
return, as they drank to his health and welfare. And thus it verily
happened. All Luttach was astir by ten o'clock. There were crowds on
the road to Adelsberg and on the square before the court house and
in the street before the "Golden Vine." When the carriages--two of
them--at last came in sight, Franz was sitting in the first with the
Burgomaster, while in the second the doctor drove with the Captain.
They were greeted with deafening applause and the crowd rushed towards
them, all striving to be the first to extend a welcome to Franz Schorn.
It was impossible for the carriage to proceed through the crowded
streets, when suddenly a stentorian voice exclaimed:

"Make way!"

It was the voice of the gigantic Rassak. He dextrously unharnessed the
horses, and, seizing the pole himself, assisted by two savage-looking
fellows--the very ones who, a couple of days before, would have been
willing to kill the "murderer" and the "German dog"--on they went to
the "Golden Vine." A dozen men helped to pull and push the vehicle,
while Franz kept bowing and smiling in grateful acknowledgment of the
shouts of welcome. The carriage stopped before the gateway of the
hotel. Franz would have descended, but strong arms lifted him to
Rassak's shoulders, and thus he was carried into the garden. The
doctor, the Burgomaster and the Captain followed, laughing. The festal
programme was carried out in the garden, except that the Burgomaster's
speech and one cask of wine did not suffice. Speech followed speech,
and I should have had a fine opportunity of admiring the Slavonic
eloquence, if I could have understood a word of it all, but,
unfortunately, the words were all Slavonic, even those in which Franz
thanked the assembly for its sympathetic welcome. I could only guess at
what he said from the shouts of applause. It was a stormy occasion and,
after a fashion, a brilliant one, but it was not exactly a comfortable
festival. This we had in the evening at the house of the doctor. My
presence there, pretty little Anna declared, was quite indispensable,
and so Rassak carried me thither on his burly shoulders. I could not
possibly have walked. The doctor had invited only the Burgomaster, the
Captain, the Clerk and myself to share in the joy of this first evening
of the reunion of the betrothed pair and to be the witnesses of their
happiness.

I certainly never passed a more delightful evening. It was a positive
delight to me, old man that I am. It warmed my heart to behold the
handsome couple so full of bright anticipations for the future. The
merriment in our small circle was not loud; we were all somewhat under
the influence of the very recent events, but we all quietly rejoiced in
being delivered from our depressing anxiety. The doctor himself
proposed the health of the young couple, and in a short speech
congratulated us all upon the happy chance which had terminated the
fearful episode. I noticed that as he spoke the beautiful young girl
shook her head as if in disapproval. The toast was drunk with
enthusiasm, and Anna joined in it; but, turning to the doctor and
looking at him very gravely, she said:

"It was no chance that saved my Franz. It was God's own doing. In order
to hide his first crime, the Judge attempted a second; he cut through
the rope in the cave and, as a result, Franz saved the Professor's
life. If Franz had not thus ventured his own life, he would have been
lost. The truth would never have come to light. If the Judge had not
cut the rope, the Herr Professor would not have sprained his foot, and
he would not have been forced thereby to keep his room, nor would Frau
Franzka have tried to procure him space for his collection. Was this
chance! No; it was an answer to my prayer. God ordained that Franz
should risk his life to find his life."

"There is logic in your words, child," the doctor said with a smile;
"it is the logic of pious, grateful faith, of which I would in nowise
deprive you. But you need not frown, little girl, if I speak of a
chance which we must all bless. Chance or Providence, the words express
the same idea, that of strangely combined circumstances leading to a
certain end. Was it chance or Providence that brought our dear Herr
Professor to Luttach to catch butterflies, and that the Captain sent
him on the very first day up to St. Nikolas, whence he returned,
thirsty, to the Lonely House? Keep your pious belief, child; it will be
a source of hope and happiness for you while life lasts."

                           *   *   *   *   *

Two weeks after this delightful evening, I left Luttach to return to my
northern home. I should have liked to have stayed longer in the
charming little town, with people who had grown so dear to me, but my
holidays were at an end, and the summer heat is so enervating at my
age, that I did not dare to stay longer. I took leave of my dear ones
there, but I have promised to return next spring, for I would not have
the marriage of the happy couple celebrated without me.

                                THE END.