himself. "Do you not see that it is a question of life or death to me?
I saw my father again that day at Rodeck, when he hastened to the
deathbed of Wallmoden. He crushed me with his contempt--with the awful
words he threw into my face. It was that which drove me away from
Germany, which chased me ceaselessly from place to place. His words
went with me and made life a hell to me. I have greeted the war cry as
a deliverance. I want to fight for the fatherland which I once cast
from me, and now the door which is open to every one is closed to me
alone. Egon, you turn from me! Oh--there is only one way left for me!"

With a sudden, passionate motion he turned to the table, where the
Prince's pistols were lying; but the Prince sprang at him and tore him
back.

"Hartmut, are you out of your senses?"

"Perhaps I shall be so. All of you torture me beyond endurance."

Boundless despair lay in those words.

Egon, too, had turned pale, and his voice trembled as he said: "Before
it goes so far--I will try to find an opening in a regiment for you."

"At last! I thank you."

"However, I cannot promise you anything, for the Duke has to be put
altogether aside now. Besides, he leaves to-morrow for the battlefield.
Should he learn later on that you serve in his corps, we shall then be
in the midst of the storm of war, and one does not ask 'How' and 'Why'
in the face of a completed fact. But it may take days before the
decision arrives. Will you be my guest?"

Formerly the Prince would have accepted that as only natural and would
have been exasperated if his friend had refused; now he made the
inquiry, and Hartmut felt what lay in the cold question.

"No, I shall not remain in town," he replied. "I shall go to the
Forester at Rodeck, and I beg that you will send your answer there. I
can return here in a few hours."

"As you wish. Then you will not go to the castle?"

Hartmut gazed at him with a long, sad look.

"No; to the Forester's. Farewell, Egon."

"Farewell."

They parted without a pressure of the hand, without a further word, and
when the door closed behind him, Hartmut knew that he had lost the
friend who had idolized him. Judged here, too--and cast out! He had to
atone terribly for the old guilt.

                               CHAPTER L.

Over the Wald hung a dark, cloudy sky, which, from time to time, sent
down showers of rain. Gray mists clung around the heights, and storms
raged through the crowns of the trees. It was a regular autumn day in
the middle of summer.

The mistress of Ostwalden was alone at her castle. She had received
news from her brother that he had already left, and that the meeting
planned between them could not take place. Therefore Adelaide had
postponed her departure to be present at the marriage of Willibald and
Marietta, which was quietly celebrated in the presence of the nearest
relatives.

The young couple had left for Berlin, where Willibald was to join his
regiment immediately. His young wife wished to remain near him the few
days before the order came to march. From there she was to go to
Burgsdorf, whither her mother-in-law had preceded her.

The morning hours had not yet passed when Prince Adelsberg drove up to
the castle of Ostwalden. He had asked for leave of absence to-day to
"arrange some important matters"; but the important matters did not
carry him to Rodeck, but to Ostwalden. He came to say farewell to
Adelaide, whom he had not seen since that first visit.

As his carriage entered the castle yard, they met the priest of the
neighboring village with the holy sacrament, and attendant chorister.
Apparently the last rites had been administered to one seriously ill.
The Prince inquired to whom the sad visit had been paid, and learned
that it was to one of the inspectors of the estate, and that the
mistress of the castle was at present with the dying man; but the guest
should be announced to her instantly.

Egon restlessly paced up and down the reception room, into which he had
been shown. He had come here to obtain an assurance, without which he
did not feel able to march into a campaign of life or death; and the
uncertainty with which such a campaign was ever taken, must serve as
apology for thus approaching a young widow still in deep mourning. It
need not yet be a proposal. He wanted to take with him only a hope the
promise of which had risen so brightly at their last meeting, when
Adelaide had shown such warm interest in his sorrow about his absent
friend. He did not dream that he had made a fatal mistake. Still, in
spite of this, a deep shadow rested upon the face of the Prince,
usually so cheerful. It was not the leave-taking which gave him pain,
for he went to the battlefield with glowing enthusiasm and the happy
faith of youth, which dreams only of victory, and rejects all dark
prospects. Besides, he dreamed of another happiness in the future,
which he wished to secure now.

The door opened to admit Frau von Wallmoden.

"I beg your pardon for detaining you so long, Your Highness," she said,
after the first greetings. "It was probably told you that I was beside
a deathbed?"

"I learned so upon my arrival," replied Egon, who had hastened to meet
her. "Is the case really so serious?"

"Alas, yes! poor Tanner! He used to be tutor in a family in the
neighborhood, but had to give up his position on account of a serious
illness. At the request of the Chief Forester, I gave him employment in
cataloguing my husband's library, which had been sent to Ostwalden, and
it was hoped that he would quite recover in the easy office and the
invigorating forest air. He was so grateful for it, and told me only
yesterday how happy his mother was that he should be excused from
military service, on account of not being yet quite well. But suddenly
this morning he had a hemorrhage, and the physician tells me that he
can live but an hour longer. It is awful to see a young life bleed to
death like that!"

"And yet this will happen to thousands in the next few weeks," said
Egon, gravely. "Have you been with the poor man?"

"Yes, at his request. He knew how it was with him, and wished to lay a
prayer upon my heart for his old mother, who loses in him her only
support. I have calmed his mind on that subject, but it was all I could
do for him----"

One could see how deeply the scene at the deathbed had impressed the
young widow, and Egon, too, felt deep compassion at the narrative.

"I come to say farewell," he said, after a short pause. "We march the
day after to-morrow, and I could not deny myself a visit to you once
more. I am happy to have found you here, as I understand you intend
leaving soon."

"Yes, for Berlin. Lonely Ostwalden is so far remote, and in this time
of feverish expectation one wishes to be as near the centre of
communications and connections as possible. I am anxious about my
brother, who has joined the standard."

Again a pause ensued, and the Prince was about to break it with
expression of what lay so near his heart, when Frau von Wallmoden
anticipated him with a question, asked with apparent indifference, but
in a voice which trembled slightly:

"You were in much anxiety about the non-arrival of news of your friend
at your last visit, Your Highness. Have you heard from him yet?"

Egon's eyes fell, and the shadow which had been dispelled during the
conversation returned, heavily and gloomily, to his face.

"Yes," he replied, coldly. "Rojanow is back in Germany."

"Since the declaration of war?"

"Yes, he came----"

"To join the army! Oh, I knew it!"

The Prince looked at her amazed.

"You knew it, Your Excellency? I thought you had known Hartmut as a
Roumanian only, and through me."

A deep blush suffused the cheeks of the young Frau von Wallmoden. She
felt the exclamation had been a betrayal, but she quickly regained
composure. "I became acquainted with Herr Rojanow last fall, when he
was your guest at Rodeck," she answered, composedly; "but I have known
his father for long years, and he---- I suppose your Highness knows all
that has happened?"

"Yes, I know it now," said Egon, with heavy emphasis.

"Colonel Falkenried was a near friend of my father's and visited our
house frequently, although I had never heard of his son. I had
considered the Colonel childless until that awful hour at Rodeck, the
day my husband died. Then I learned the truth, and was a witness of a
meeting between father and son."

The Prince breathed a sigh of relief at this explanation, which
dispelled the disastrous thought just dawning upon him.

"I understand your concern, then," he replied. "Colonel Falkenried is,
indeed, to be pitied."

"He only?" asked Adelaide, struck by the harsh tone of the last words.
"And your friend?"

"I have no friend--I have lost him!" cried Egon, with passionate pain.
"What he confessed to me two days ago opened an abyss between us, and
what I know now parts us forever."

"You judge the misdemeanor of a seventeen-year-old lad very severely.
He must have been only a boy then."

A deep reproach lay in the words of the young widow; but the Prince
shook his head vehemently.

"I do not speak of that flight and that breaking of his word, although
they weigh heavily with the son of an officer. But what I heard
yesterday--I see you do not yet know the worst, gracious lady, and how
should you? Spare me this report."

Adelaide had turned pale, and her eyes, full of fear, hung fixed upon
the speaker.

                              CHAPTER LI.

"I beg of Your Highness," Adelaide commenced again, "to tell me the
truth--the whole truth. You said that Herr Rojanow had returned to join
the army. I had thought he would--had expected it--for it is the only
thing by which he can atone for his old guilt. Has he joined the
standard already?"

"Happily it has not gone so far, and that has spared me a heavy
responsibility," said Egon, with supreme bitterness. "He reported to
several regiments, but was refused everywhere."

"Refused! But why?"

"Because he did not dare to confess himself a German, and because a
very just suspicion was raised toward the strange Roumanian. One has to
be cautious at the present time that no--spies may force their way into
the ranks of our armies."

"For God's sake, what do you mean?" cried Adelaide, who began now to
comprehend the situation.

Egon sprang up in great excitement and drew nearer.

"If you wish, then, to know it, gracious lady--listen. Hartmut came to
me and requested me to use my influence to make the entrance into one
of our regiments possible to him. I refused at first, but he forced me
to consent by a threat which was hardly meant seriously. I kept my word
and asked one of our higher officers, whose brother was secretary to
our embassy at Paris and who had just returned from there with him.
This gentleman was present at our interview. He heard the name,
Rojanow--inquired further into the matter and gave me disclosures; I
cannot repeat them. I have loved Hartmut as I have nothing else upon
this earth--have almost idolized him. I let myself be carried away by
the force of his genius, and now I learn that the friend who was
everything to me is a monster; that he and his mother did service as
spies at Paris. Perhaps he wished to do the same in our army!"

He covered his eyes with his hand, and there was something awful in the
agony of the young man whose idol had been so ruthlessly shattered.

Adelaide had risen, and the hand with which she leaned upon the back of
the chair trembled.

"And what have you--has he--answered to that?"

"Do you mean Rojanow? I have not seen him since and shall not see him
again. I shall spare myself and him that much. He is now at the
forestry at Rodeck and awaits my answer there. I have notified him in
three lines of what I learned, without adding a remark or a word. He
has probably received the letter and will understand it sufficiently."

"Good God! that will drive him to his death," Adelaide burst forth.
"How could you do it! How could you judge the unfortunate one without
hearing him!"

"The unfortunate one!" repeated the Prince cuttingly. "Do you really
consider him that?"

"Yes, for I do not hear these awful accusations for the first time. His
father cast them in his face at that meeting."

"Well, if even his own father accuses him----"

"The deeply offended, deeply embittered man! He cannot have an unbiased
judgment, but you--the friend of Hartmut--you, who stood so near
him--you ought to have stepped in and defended him."

Egon looked with questioning surprise upon the excited lady.

"You appear to wish to do so now, Your Excellency," he said slowly. "I
cannot do it, for there is too much in Hartmut's life which confirms
the suspicion. It explains everything to me that has hitherto seemed
mysterious. These are quite decided facts upon which the accusation is
based----"

"Against the mother! She has ever been the doom--the ruin--of her son;
but he did not know the shameful work to which she had fallen; he lived
at her side ignorant of it. I saw how he broke down when his father
uttered the awful words--how he struggled against it as in a death
struggle. That was truth--that was the despair of a man who is being
punished more deeply than he has transgressed. That flight--that
breaking of his word--robs him now of the faith of those who stand
nearest to him. But if his father and his friend both so judge him--_I
believe in him!_ It is not true! He is not guilty!"

She had drawn herself fully erect in her stormy excitement. Her cheeks
glowed; her eyes sparkled, and her tone and words contained that
convincing passion which only love knows when defending the loved one.

Egon stood there transfixed and looked at her. There it was--the
awakening, of which he had often dreamed, Fire and life glowed there
now--a blooming world arose from the ice; but it was another who had
called it forth.

"I do not dare to decide as to whether you are right, gracious lady,"
said the Prince in a toneless voice, after a brief silence. "I only
know one thing. Whether Hartmut be guilty or not, he is enviable in
this hour."

Adelaide shrank back; she understood the hint and lowered her head
mutely before the reproachful glance.

"I came to say farewell," continued Egon. "I intended to add a
question--a prayer--to this leave-taking, but that is over now. I have
only to bid you farewell."

Adelaide raised her eyes, in which hot tears glistened, and offered her
hand.

"Farewell, and may God take you in His care and keeping during the
campaign!"

But Prince Adelsberg shook his head silently.

"What shall I do with life?" he finally cried in overwhelming sorrow.
"I should like best--no, do not look at me so entreatingly! I know now
that I made a fatal mistake, and I will not torture you with a
confession; but, Adelaide, I would gladly die could I buy with death
the look and tone you had just now for another. Farewell!"

Once more he pressed her hand to his lips, then hastened away.

                              CHAPTER LII.

The storm had increased in violence during the afternoon. It roamed in
the forest, dashed among the open heights and chased the clouds over
the sky with increasing wrath. It raged with full force around that
forest height which had once witnessed such a significant encounter
between two people, but the man who leaned there now alone and lonely
at the trunk of a tree did not seem to feel it, for he stood immovable
in the midst of it.

Hartmut's face was deathly pale; a stony, unnatural calm rested upon
it, and the sparkle of the eyes had died out, while the hair fell heavy
and damp over his brow. The storm had torn his hat from his head; he
had noticed it as little as the rain which drenched him.

He had found himself at this place after hours of roaming through the
forest--here, where a remembrance drew him unconsciously. It was the
right place for his purpose.

The news which had been looked for so feverishly had finally come; no
letter; nothing but a few lines without any preface, and with only the
signature, "Egon--Prince Adelsberg." But in these lines there lay
annihilation for him who received them. Cast out forever--judged by his
friend without a hearing! Doom had awfully fulfilled itself in the son
of Zalika.

The crashing of a huge limb which broke under the pressure of the storm
and fell whizzing to the ground, aroused Hartmut from his despairing
revery. He had not even started at the crash, but slowly turned his
glance to the heavy mass which fell close to him. A foot nearer and it
would have struck him--would perhaps have made an end of all the shame
and torture in one moment; but death was not made so easy for him. That
blessing came to him only who loved life--he who wished to throw it
away must do so with his own hand.

Hartmut took the gun from his shoulder and put the butt to the ground;
then he laid his hand upon his breast to find the right place. Once
more he glanced up to the veiled skies with their scudding masses of
clouds, and down to the little dark forest lake in the deceiving
meadow, over which the fog clustered as at that time at home. The
beckoning, charming will-o'-the-wisp had appeared to him there; he had
followed the flame of the depths, and now it drew him down hopelessly;
there was no further rising into the heights where other, brighter
lights shone. A bullet in the heart and everything would be at an end.

He was about to grasp the trigger when he heard his name called in a
tone of deadly anxiety. A slender figure in a dark cloak sprang toward
him from the edge of the forest, and the weapon fell from his hand, for
he gazed into the face of Adelaide, who stood trembling before him.

Moments passed without a word from either. It was Hartmut who recovered
first.

"You here, gracious lady?" he asked with enforced calmness. "Are you
out in the forest in this weather?"

"I should like to put the same question to you."

"I have been hunting, but the weather is unpropitious, and I was about
to discharge my gun----"

He did not finish, for the sad, reproachful glance upon him told that
the lie was in vain. He broke off and looked gloomily before him.
Adelaide, too, gave up all pretense, and in her voice all her anxiety
trembled as she cried: "Herr von Falkenried, what did you intend to
do?"

"What would have now been done had you not interfered," said Hartmut,
harshly. "And believe me, gracious lady, it would have been better if
coincidence had brought you here a few moments later."

"It was no coincidence. I was at the forestry at Rodeck, and heard that
you had been gone for hours. An awful presentiment drove me to look for
you here. I was almost sure I should find you here."

"You looked for me? Me, Ada?" His voice shook at the question. "How did
you know that I was at the forestry?"

"Through Prince Adelsberg, who called to see me this morning. You
received a letter from him?"

"No, only a communication," returned Hartmut with quivering lips. "No
single word was directed to me personally in the short lines; they
brought only a communication in a business tone which the Prince
thought necessary. I fully understood it."

Adelaide was silent; she had known it would drive him to suicide.
Slowly she walked with him under the protection of the trees, for it
was hardly possible to keep erect out in the open space in this raging
storm, but Hartmut did not seem to feel it.

"You know the contents of the communication--I see that you do," he
commenced again, "and it is not new to you, either. You overheard what
happened that night at Rodeck, but believe me, Ada, what I felt at that
moment when you stood before me in that ghostly glow which shone
through that night, and it grew clear to me that I had been ground into
the dust before you--what I felt might have satisfied even my father's
vengeance, might have atoned for all my sin."

"You do him wrong," replied the young widow solemnly. "You saw him only
in the stern, iron inflexibility with which he cast you from him. I saw
him differently after you had gone. He broke down there in wild
anguish; he then let me look into the heart of a despairing father who
loved his son above everything. Have you not made an attempt since then
to convince him?"

"No; he would believe me as little as Egon does. He who has once broken
his word, has lost forever their faith, even if he would regain it with
his life. Perhaps my death upon the battlefield would have enlightened
them, but when I fall now by my own hand they will see in it only the
deed of a despairing man--a guilty one--and will despise me even in my
grave."

"Not everybody will do that," said Adelaide lowly. "I believe in you,
Hartmut, in spite of everything."

He looked at her, and through the gloomy hopelessness of his soul there
flamed something of the old fire.

"You, Ada? And you tell me that upon this spot where you cast me off?
You did not know anything about me then----"

"And for that reason I shuddered before the man to whom nothing was
sacred--who recognized no law but his will and his passions; but that
winter night, when I saw you at your father's feet, showed me that you
fell more through doom than guilt. Since then I have known that you can
and must cast that unfortunate inheritance from your mother far from
you. Rouse yourself, Hartmut. The road which I then showed you is still
open; whether it leads to life or death--it leads upward."

He shook his head gloomily.

"No, that is past. You have no conception of what my father has done to
me with his terrible words. What my life has been since then I--but let
me be silent about it; nobody can grasp it; but I thank you for your
faith in me, Ada. Death is made easier to me through that faith."

The young widow made a quick motion toward the weapon which lay at his
feet.

"For God's sake, no! You dare not do that!"

"What am I to do with life?" Hartmut burst forth with terrible
vehemence. "My mother has branded me as with a red-hot iron, and this
closes to me every way to atonement--to salvation. I am cast out from
the ranks of my people, where even the poorest peasant can fight; a
privilege which is denied only to the dishonorable criminal, is denied
also to me, for I am nothing else in Egon's eyes. He fears that I might
become a traitor--a spy to my own brothers!"

He covered his face with both hands, and the last words died in a sob;
then he felt a hand touch his arm gently.

"The brand is extinguished with the name Rojanow. Throw that from you,
Hartmut; I bring you what you tried in vain to obtain--entrance into
the army!"

Hartmut started and gazed at her in unbelief.

"Impossible! How could you----"

"Take these papers," interrupted Adelaide, drawing forth a package.
"They are made out in the name of Joseph Tanner 29 years old, slender,
with dark complexion, black hair and eyes--you see everything will
suit--with these nobody will refuse you an entrance as a volunteer."

She gave him the papers, around which his right hand closed
spasmodically as upon the most precious jewel.

"And these papers?" he asked, still doubting.

"Belong to a dead man. They were given me for another purpose, but the
deceased has no further use for them and will pardon me if with them I
save a living man."

Hartmut stormily opened the package. The wind almost tore the sheets
from his hand and he was scarcely able to decipher the contents as the
young widow continued:

"Joseph Tanner had a small office at Ostwalden, when seized with a
hemorrhage this morning. He had but a few hours to live and gave me his
last words and mementos for his mother. The poor woman shall receive
everything--every letter, every scrap which can be a solace to her, but
I have taken the official papers--for you. We do not rob anybody in
doing this, for they are valueless to the mother to whom they now
belong. Perhaps a strict judge would call that deceit, but I gladly
shoulder the blame, and God will pardon it, and so will the
fatherland."

Hartmut closed the case and hid it in his breast, which heaved under a
deep, deep breath. Then he drew himself up and pushed the rain-soaked
locks from the high brow, so like his father's--his only inheritance
from the Falkenrieds, but which gave him an unmistakable resemblance to
them.

"You are right, Ada," he said. "I cannot thank you in words for what
you have done for me. Words have no power, but--I shall strive to
deserve it."

"I know that. Farewell and--_auf wiedersehen!_"

"No, do not wish that," said Hartmut gloomily. "Death in battle can
exonerate me to myself, but not to my father or Egon, for they would
never hear of it; and if I remained among the living the old stain
would return; but when I fall, tell them who rests under the foreign
name. Perhaps then they will believe you and remove the curse from my
grave."

"Do you want to fall?" asked Adelaide with plaintive reproach, "even if
I tell you that you sadden me inexpressibly?"

"Sadden you, Ada!" he cried passionately. "Do you no longer shudder at
my love--at the fate which drew us together? Oh, I might have possessed
the highest happiness, for you are--free; but it comes near to me now
for only a fleeting moment, and vanishes again into unattainable
heights, like the form of the legend who bears your name in my drama.
Nevertheless, it has approached me, and I may be permitted for once
only to clasp it to me in farewell."

He drew her to him and pressed a kiss upon the brow of his love, who
leaned against him sobbing.

"Hartmut, promise me that you will not seek death."

"No; but it will know how to find me. Farewell, my own Ada."

He tore himself away hastily. Adelaide remained alone. The storm roared
above her head; the giant crowns of the trees moaned and swayed; the
storm sang its wild song on and on, but suddenly over in the west there
flamed a dark-red rent through the clouds. It was only for a brief
moment--only one solitary ray of the sinking sun, but it shiningly
illumined the forest height and the departing one, who turned once more
and sent back a last greeting. Then the clouds massed together again,
and the ray was extinguished.

                             CHAPTER LIII.

The reddish, flickering glow of a wood fire lighted up the interior of
a small, isolated house which had formerly served as a dwelling to a
station-keeper, but was now pressed into service for the sentinels of
the outpost. The room did not bear an expression of cosiness with its
bare, smoked walls, low ceiling and small, barricaded windows, but the
tremendous logs which flared and burned in the uncouth stone fireplace
offered a very welcome warmth, for it was bitterly cold out of doors,
and the whole country was buried in the snow of a severe winter.

The regiment here was hardly better off than their comrades before
Paris, although they belonged to the Southern army corps.

At present two young officers were entering, and the one who still held
the door open called laughingly to the one preceding: "Please bend
down, Herr Comrade, or you might take our door frame along, for our
villa is in rather a dilapidated condition, as you see."

The warning was not without need, for the giant figure of the guest--a
Prussian Lieutenant of the Reserve--was not at all in proportion to the
door. Nevertheless, he succeeded in entering safely and looked around
at the four walls, while his companion, who wore the uniform of a South
German regiment, continued: "Permit me to offer you a seat in our
'salon,' which is not so bad considering the circumstances. We have
already had it worse during the campaign. So you are looking for
Stahlberg? He is with my comrade out at the post, but will probably
return directly. You will have to be patient for a quarter of an hour."

"With pleasure," assured the Prussian. "I see from that that Eugene's
injury is really as slight as he reported. I looked for him in the
hospital, and heard that he was making a visit to the outposts, but as
we shall probably march on by to-morrow, I did not wish to let this
opportunity pass by unimproved, and therefore came to see him now."

"His wound was indeed only slight--a shot in the arm, which is already
far advanced toward healing, but will, nevertheless, disable him for
service for a short time. You are a friend of Stahlberg?"

"Yes, and connected besides through the marriage of his sister. I
see that you do not remember me, Your Highness. Let me give you my
name--Willibald von Eschenhagen. We met last year----"

"At Furstenstein," interrupted Egon von Adelsberg quickly. "Certainly,
now I remember you perfectly. It is remarkable how the uniform changes
one; I really did not know you at first."

He glanced with a half-admiring look at the once awkward country squire
who had appeared so ridiculous to him, but who now possessed a stately,
military appearance.

It was not the uniform alone, though, which had changed Willibald so
completely. What love had begun the campaign had finished by tearing
him from the accustomed surroundings and circumstances. The young Baron
had not only, as his Uncle Schonan expressed it, "become a man," but
had developed into a true, genuine man.

"Our meeting at that time was a brief one," continued the Prince, "but
nevertheless you will permit me to offer my congratulations? You are
betrothed----"

"I believe you are under a mistake, Your Highness," interrupted
Willibald with some embarrassment. "Although I had been introduced to
you at Furstenstein as the future son-in-law of the house, but----"

"That has been changed," finished Egon, smiling. "I knew it, for the
comrade of whom I spoke just now is Lieutenant Waldorf, the happy
fiancé of Baroness Schonan. My words were meant for Fraulein Marietta
Volkmar."

"At present Frau von Eschenhagen."

"What! You are already married?"

"Have been for five months. We were married just before marching orders
came, and my wife is now at Burgsdorf with my mother."

"Then accept my congratulations on your marriage. But really, Herr
Comrade, I ought to call you to account for the unwarrantable damage
you have done to art. Please tell your wife that, as far as I can learn
out here in the campaign, the entire Residenz still mourns her loss in
sackcloth and ashes."

"I shall not forget it, although I fear the Residenz has not much time
for such mourning at present. Ah, the gentlemen are returning--I hear
Eugene's voice."

Steps were heard outside and the expected ones entered. Young Stahlberg
greeted his relative with an exclamation of the most joyful surprise.
He had not seen Willibald during the campaign, although both served in
the same army corps. He still bore his arm in a sling, but otherwise
looked well and happy.

Eugene did not possess the beauty of his sister, and the feature of
decided will-power which the daughter had inherited from her father was
missing. The son showed a gentle, more conciliatory nature in his
appearance as well as demeanor, but still he resembled his sister
closely, which might have been the cause of Prince Adelsberg's intimacy
with him.

His companion, a handsome young officer with sparkling, saucy eyes, now
approached, and the Prince performed the introduction.

"I will not fear that the gentlemen will challenge each other when I
mention the names," he said, jestingly. "They are obliged to be
called--so then, Herr von Eschenhagen--Herr von Waldorf."

"God forbid! For my part I am peace personified," cried Waldorf gayly.
"Herr von Eschenhagen, I am glad to meet the cousin of my fiancée, and
so much more so because he is already in the bonds of holy matrimony.
We also would have liked to do as you did--marry before the march--but
my father-in-law put on his grimmest mien and declared, 'Gain victory
first and then marry.' Well, we have done the first continually for
five months, and as soon as I return home I shall speedily ask for the
second."

He cordially shook the hand of his bride-elect's former fiancé, then
turned to the Prince.

"We brought along something for Your Highness--something we seized
outside. Orderly of Rodeck, advance to His Highness--the Lieutenant,
Prince Adelsberg."

The door opened, and in spite of the gathering twilight the Prince
recognized the wrinkled face and snow-white hair of him who entered. He
started.

"All good spirits defend us! It is Peter Stadinger!"

It was, indeed, the live Stadinger who stood before his young master.
He did not seem to be wholly a stranger to the others, for although
they now saw him for the first time, they greeted his appearance with
the liveliest joy.

"Above everything, let us have light to take a good look at the
'Waldgeist' of His Highness," cried Waldorf, lighting candles and
holding them with comical solemnity close before the old man.

Egon laughed.

"You see, Stadinger, what a well-known and frequently spoken of person
you are here. Now let me introduce you in proper form. Behold here,
gentlemen, Peter Stadinger--celebrated for his unequaled churlishness
and his moral lectures, which make one quake. He probably thinks I
cannot exist without them, and he will doubtless give to me here also
upon the battlefield the satisfaction of this friendly habit. I hope
that some of it will fall upon your heads, gentlemen--and now begin,
Stadinger!"

But the old man, instead of obeying, grasped the hand of his master in
both of his and said in a heartrending tone: "Ach, Your Highness, how
we have trembled and feared for you at Rodeck!"

"Well, that is polite!" said Eugene Stahlberg, but the Prince assumed a
displeased air.

"So? And you therefore took to your legs speedily and left everything
to go topsy-turvy at Rodeck. I should not have thought you would
neglect your duty like that!"

Stadinger looked at him in doubting perplexity.

"But I have come according to orders. Your Highness has written me to
make haste and come and take Louis from the hospital--you would attend
to the travel and everything. I arrived this noon, and found the lad as
well as could be expected. The doctor thinks I can take him home with
me in a week, for then all danger would be over. But the kindness Your
Highness has shown to Louis and all the others from Rodeck who are in
the army can never be told. May God reward you a thousand times!"

Egon withdrew his hand impatiently.

"It is 'Herr Lieutenant' now, remember that. I insist upon my military
title--and what does this mean, now that when I count upon your
churlishness you are meek as a lamb and give us a pathetic scene!
I forbid it! This Louis, gentlemen, is a grandson of this old
Waldgeist--a fine, brave fellow, but he has a sister who is much
handsomer. I am sorry to say this senseless grandfather sends her away
regularly when I go to Rodeck. Why did Lena not come along? You should
have thought of bringing her."

This proved effective against the meekness and affection, which were as
unusual as embarrassing.

Stadinger drew himself up rigidly and replied with his usual terseness:
"I believed Your Highness had no time here in the war to think about
such foolishness."

"Aha, now it is coming!" said the Prince under his breath to Waldorf,
who stood beside him, but aloud he continued: "That is where you are
very much mistaken. A fellow gets uncivilized in the war, and when I
return home again----"

"Then Your Highness has promised to get married at last," reminded the
old man in the most emphatic tone, which called forth general laughter
among the young officers. Egon joined it, but his laugh sounded forced,
just as did his reply:

"Yes, yes; I have promised, but I have reconsidered the matter in the
meantime. I may keep my word in ten years or perhaps in twenty, but no
sooner."

Stadinger, who in spite of the command would not have used the title of
Lieutenant under any consideration, because that would be a humiliation
to the ducal family in his eyes, flew into a high state of indignation
and gave free vent to it.

"If I do not almost believe it! If Your Highness has really for once a
sensible thought, it does not hold good for twenty-four hours--and your
sacred father a married man, too! Man has to marry, anyhow, and all
foolishness stops of its own accord after marriage."

"Now that he is in the run of it, gentlemen, let him moralize to you,"
cried Egon, and the young officers, to whom this was great fun, teased
the poor Stadinger until he lost all respect and exhibited himself in
the full halo of his admonitory nature.

Half an hour later Willibald and Eugene Stahlberg approached the Prince
to take leave.

"You march on by to-morrow?" he asked.

"At daybreak. We march toward R----, where Major-General von Falkenried
is stationed with his brigade, though it will take several days to
reach there, for the whole country between here and the fortress is
occupied by the enemy, and we have to clear our way."

"But tell the General, Willy, that I shall follow in at least a week,"
said Eugene. "It is bad enough that I have to remain behind so long on
account of a shot wound not worth mentioning. Next week I shall report
myself well, whatever the doctor may say, and after that I shall join
my regiment without delay--I hope before the capture of R----"

"You must, indeed, make haste then," said Egon, "for resistance does
not last long usually where General Falkenried stands; we have seen
that often enough. He is always in front with his men always the first
to storm a place, and has already won inconceivable things. It seems as
if no impossibility exists for him."

"But he has the good luck to be always put in the front," grumbled
Lieutenant Waldorf. "Now again he is to take R----, while we lie here,
God knows how long. And he will take possession of it--there is no
doubt of that--perhaps he has taken it already. News reaches us only by
roundabout ways so long as the enemy stands between us."

He arose to escort the two gentlemen out, while the Prince remained
behind.

Standing before the fire with folded arms, he gazed into it, and his
face bore an expression not in accordance with the gayety which he had
but now been showing. Seriously, yet gloomily, he looked into the
dancing flames, and the shadow would not leave his usually sunny eyes.

He seemed to have forgotten the presence of Stadinger, but as the
latter made himself heard by clearing his throat, he started.

"Ah, you are still here? Remember me to Louis and tell him I will come
to see him again to-morrow. We don't have to say farewell yet, as you
remain here for the present. You did not think we had such gay times
here? Yes, one makes life easy as possible when one has to be ready
every day to lose it."

The old man stood before his master and looked sharply into his eyes,
then he spoke half aloud:

"Yes, the gentlemen were gay and Your Highness the gayest of all but
you are not happy in spite of it."

"I? What do you mean? Why should I not be happy?"

"I don't know that, but still I see it," insisted Stadinger. "When Your
Highness used to come from Furstenstein, or were up to all sorts of
things with Herr Rojanow, you looked different and laughed different,
and just now when you looked into the fire it seemed to me as if Your
Highness had something very heavy upon your heart."

"Get away with all your observations!" cried Egon, to whom his old
Waldgeist was again becoming uncomfortable. "Do you suppose we are
always jolly? I should say that when one has the bloody battlefield
always before the mind, earnest thoughts come near."

Nothing could be said to that, and Stadinger remained silent, but he
could not be deceived. He knew quite well that something was wrong with
his young master, and that something was hidden behind this ostensibly
exhibited gayety.

                              CHAPTER LIV.

Lieutenant Waldorf re-entered the room, but left the door open. "Come
right in here," he called to the man hesitating outside. "Here is an
orderly from the Seventh Regiment with a report. Well, don't you hear,
orderly? Come in!"

The repetition of the order sounded very impatient. The soldier who
stood upon the threshold hesitated there, and had even made a start
back, as if he wished to return to the darkness outside. He now obeyed,
but kept close to the door, so that his face remained in the dusk.

"Do you come from the outposts at the Capellenberg?" asked Waldorf.

"At your command, Herr Lieutenant."

Egon, who had turned indifferently, started at the sound of that voice.
He made a hasty step forward, then stopped as if suddenly recollecting
himself, but his eyes were fixed with an almost terrified expression
upon the speaker.

As far as could be discerned in the semi-darkness he was a tall young
fellow in the coarse cloak of the common soldier, with helmet upon his
closely-cut hair. He stood there, rigidly immovable, and delivered his
report correctly, but his voice had a peculiarly choked, hollow sound.

"From Captain Salfeld," he reported. "We have seized a suspicious
character, dressed as a peasant, but probably from the French reserve,
who tried to steal into the fortress. What writings he had with
him----"

"Do come nearer," commanded Waldorf, impatiently. "We cannot half
understand you."

The soldier obeyed, drawing near to the officers. The light now fell
full and sharp upon his features, but his face bore an ashy paleness;
the teeth were tightly closed, and the eyes were fastened to the floor.

Egon's hand clutched the hilt of his sabre convulsively, and only by an
effort he suppressed the stormy exclamation which was forced to his
lips, while Stadinger, with wide-open eyes, glared at the man, who now
continued: "The writings which he had with him were not of much
account, but contained hints which he was probably to fill out
verbally. The Captain thinks that if he were strictly examined, more
could be learned, and asks now whether he shall send the prisoner here
or to headquarters."

The report was neither surprising nor unusual. It often happened that
suspicious people were seized. The enemy's reserve tried obstinately to
obtain connection with the fortress; perhaps they kept it up in spite
of all the watchfulness of the besiegers: but Prince Adelsberg seemed
to have to struggle for breath before he could give the answer.

"I beg the Captain to send the prisoner here. We shall be relieved in
two hours and then we march straight to headquarters. I shall attend to
the fellow."

"I hope he can be made to speak when he is seriously pressed," remarked
Waldorf. "He would not be the first whose heart had fallen when his
position became clear to him. Well, we shall see."

The soldier stood there awaiting his dismissal; not a muscle quivered
in his face, but neither did he raise his eyes from the floor. Egon had
now collected himself, and, retaining the assumed ignorance, he asked
in the curt tone of the superior:

"Do you belong to the Seventh Regiment?"

"At your command, Herr Lieutenant."

"Your name?"

"Joseph Tanner."

"Drawn?"

"No, volunteer."

"Since when?"

"Since the 30th of July."

"You have been in the whole campaign?"

"Yes, Herr Lieutenant."

"Very well; now take the message to your Captain."

The soldier saluted, turned upon his heel and left.

Waldorf, who had been a little surprised at the examination, but had
not attached any importance to it, looked after him, shrugging his
shoulders.

"Those out at the Capellenberg have the worst time of it. No rest by
day or night; taxed to the utmost, and with all that they are often
ordered to help the pioneer corps. The poor fellows work there in the
hard, frozen ground until the sweat runs in streams from their brows,
and their hands bleed. Our people surely are better off."

He left the room to appoint an orderly to guard the expected prisoner
and give him the necessary instructions; but Egon tore the window open
and leaned out; it seemed as if he should suffocate.

Then he heard Stadinger's voice behind him in subdued tones, which
nevertheless betrayed the greatest terror.

"Your Highness."

"What is it?" Egon asked without turning.

"Has not Your Highness seen?"

"What?"

"The orderly who was here just now. That was Herr Rojanow as sure as he
lives and breathes."

Egon saw that presence of mind was needed here, so he turned around and
said coldly: "I believe you see ghosts."

"But, Your Highness----"

"Nonsense! there may be a little resemblance. I noticed it myself,
therefore I wanted to know the name of the man. You heard that it was
Joseph Tanner."

"But still it was the real live Herr Rojanow," cried the unshakable
Stadinger, whose sharp eyes could not be deceived. "Only the black
locks were gone and the proud, haughty manner, but it was his voice."

"Get away from me with your fancies!" Egon broke out angrily. "You know
that Herr Rojanow is in Sicily, but here you want to trace him in an
orderly of the Seventh Regiment. It is truly worse than ridiculous."

Stadinger held his peace. It was, indeed, ridiculous and impossible,
and consequently was his young Prince so ungracious. He felt offended
that a common soldier should be confounded with his friend. And really
the haughty Rojanow, who understood how to command from the very
bottom of his heart, and had often chased all the servants at Rodeck
helter-skelter with his orders--and the orderly who had been snubbed by
Lieutenant Waldorf because he did not speak loud enough--were two ever
so different things. If only it had not been for the voice!

"Think, Your Highness," besought the old man, who was now wavering.

"I think that you are an old seer of spirits," said Egon more mildly.
"Go into your quarters and sleep away the fatigue of your journey, or
you will be finding some more resemblances. Good-night!"

Stadinger obeyed and took his leave. Fortunately he had not known
Joseph Tanner, who had only been at Ostwalden a few weeks, and the
encounter had put him in such a fright that the partly concealed
excitement of his master passed quite unnoticed by him. But he clung to
his doubts; the thing was strange--very strange.

When the Prince found himself alone he began to pace the floor in
violent excitement. So! what he had refused his former friend had been
enforced. Joseph Tanner! He plainly remembered the name, which had been
mentioned to him at Ostwalden, and he knew now whose hand had opened
for Hartmut the ranks of the army which had been closed to a Rojanow.

What will not the love of a woman attain!--a woman who desires to see
her love exonerated at any price. She herself had sent him out into
danger and death--to save him for life and--herself. Jealousy rose wild
and hot in Egon's breast at the thought, and with it that awful
suspicion, not yet overcome, raised its head again threateningly. Did
Hartmut really wish to atone only in this war? Was not his presence at
the outposts a danger, for which one was responsible if he kept it a
secret?

Then came back to the Prince's mind the pale, gloomy face of the man
to-night--the friend who had once been so dear to him, and who must
have suffered agonies of torture at this encounter, far exceeding his
imagination. He well knew Hartmut's unbending pride, and this pride was
now bowed low in the dust in that subordinate position day after day.
He had heard it; how out there on the Capellenberg they often worked so
hard that in spite of the icy weather the sweat poured in streams from
their brows, and their hands bled. This was what the spoiled, famed
Rojanow was doing; the man at whose feet the whole town laid its homage
only a year ago, and whom the house of the reigning Prince had
overwhelmed with distinction; and he was doing it of his own free will,
when the success of his poetical work afforded him the richest
revenues. And with it all, he was the son of General Falkenried!

Egon's breast rose under a deep but relieved breath. This view of it
was giving him back slowly his lost faith; all torturing doubts fled
before this. The old sin of the boy Hartmut was now being atoned for,
and the other more awful sin was the mother's alone--not his.

                              CHAPTER LV.

It was toward nine o'clock in the evening when Prince Adelsberg left
his quarters to go to the Commanding General. He was not obeying an
official order, but an invitation, for the General had been close
friends with his father, and had shown paternal attention to the son
all during the campaign.

Egon would have given much to have been permitted to remain at home
to-night, for the encounter with Hartmut had shaken him to the inmost
heart, but the invitation of the superior could not be disregarded, and
one could not follow one's inclinations in war-time.

An adjutant met the Prince upon the stairs, seeming to be in the
greatest haste, and only dropping a hint of bad news, which Prince
Adelsberg would probably hear from the General. Egon mounted the stairs
shaking his head.

The General was alone, pacing the room in apparent excitement and with
a face which boded no good.

"Good evening, Prince Adelsberg," he said, pausing in his walk at the
entrance of the young officer. "I am sorry I cannot promise you a
pleasant evening, but we have received news which will probably ruin
every pleasure of being together."

"I just heard a hint about it," replied Egon; "but what has happened,
Your Excellency? The dispatches of to-day noon sounded favorable."

"I have had this news but an hour. You yourself delivered the
suspicious man who had been seized by our outposts to headquarters. Do
you know what he had with him?"

"Yes, for Captain Salfeld sent the papers with the prisoner. I was also
of the opinion that he was to complete the information verbally, as
they had been carefully prepared. They had apparently counted upon the
possibility of the man's falling into our hands. He would not confess
anything, but I knew he would be examined closely here."

"Which has been done. The man was a coward, and when he saw the bullet
threatening him he saved himself by a confession, the truth of which
cannot be doubted. You remember that in one of the papers it was
mentioned that one could in an extreme case follow the heroic example
of the commander of R----?"

"Yes, that is incomprehensible, as the fortress is on the eve of
surrender. General Falkenried sent word that he hopes to move in by
to-morrow."

"And I fear he will make his word good," cried the General. Egon looked
at him in amazement.

"You _fear_, Excellency?"

"Yes, for there is a scoundrelly scheme--a betrayal without example.
They mean to surrender the fortress, and when their garrison has
withdrawn to a safe distance, and our army has moved in, they intend to
blow the citadel to atoms."

"For God's sake!" shrieked the Prince in horror. "Cannot General
Falkenried be notified?"

"That is the question. I fear that it will not be possible. I have sent
out warnings upon two different routes, but our direct connection with
R---- is cut off; the enemy has the mountain passes in possession; the
messengers will have to make a wide circuit and cannot arrive there in
time."

Egon was silent in deepest consternation. The passes were, indeed,
occupied by the hostile forces. Eschenhagen's regiment had been sent to
clear the way, but that might take several days.

"We have considered all possibilities," continued the General, "but
there is no way out of it--nothing but a slight hope that the surrender
has been delayed in some way; but Falkenried is not the man to allow
himself to be kept waiting. He will hasten the finale and then he is
lost with perhaps thousands with him."

He resumed his walk through the room. One could see how the fate of his
endangered comrades went to the heart of this iron man.

The Prince, too, stood helpless, but suddenly a thought flashed upon
him. He drew himself up.

"Your Excellency."

"Well?"

"If it should be possible to send a dispatch over the passes, a good
horseman might possibly get to R---- by to-morrow morning. Of course,
he would have to ride for life and death----"

"And through the midst of the enemy--nonsense! You are a soldier and
must tell yourself that it is impossible. The foolhardy rider would not
get half a mile--he would be shot down."

"But if a man could be found who would be willing to make the attempt
in spite of everything? I know such a man, Your Excellency."

The General frowned angrily.

"Does that mean that you wish to offer yourself for this useless
sacrifice? I would have to prohibit that, Prince Adelsberg. I know how
to value the courage of my officers, but I shall not give them
permission for such impossible enterprises."

"I do not speak of myself," said Egon earnestly. "The man of whom I am
thinking belongs to the Seventh Regiment, and is at present upon
sentinel duty on the Capellenberg. It was he who reported the
prisoner."

The General had grown thoughtful, but he shook his head incredulously.

"I say it is impossible; but what is this man's name?"

"Joseph Tanner."

"Private?"

"Yes, he entered voluntarily."

"You know him, then?"

"Yes, Your Excellency; he is perhaps the best rider in the whole army;
dauntless to foolhardiness, and capable to act in such a case with the
circumspection of an officer. If the thing can possibly be done, he
will do it."

"And you believe--such a thing cannot be commanded--it is, indeed, an
act of despair--you believe that the man would take this message of his
own free will?"

"I stand for it."

"Then, indeed, I cannot nor dare not say no where so much is at stake.
I will order Tanner up immediately."

"May I not take the order to him?" Egon quickly interrupted.

The General stopped and looked at him searchingly.

"You wish to do it yourself--why?"

"To save time; the road which Tanner has to take leads by the
Capellenberg; an hour would pass before he could get to headquarters
and back."

Nothing could be said against that, but the General seemed to feel that
something important was hidden beneath this. An ordinary private would
hardly undertake such peril, which drove him almost into death's
embrace, but the old warrior did not inquire further. He only asked:

"Do you stand for the man?"

"Yes," returned the Prince, firmly and calmly.

"Very well; then you can inform him yourself. But one thing more--he
must have statements for the outposts on the other side, if indeed he
reaches it, for every detention may prove fatal where moments count."

He stepped to his desk and wrote a few lines upon a paper, which he
handed to the Prince.

"Here is the necessary passport, and here the dispatch to Falkenried.
Will you bring me immediate news whether or not Tanner consents to go?"

"Instantly, Your Excellency."

Egon received the papers, took his leave, and hastened to his quarters,
where he ordered his horse saddled at once. Five minutes later saw him
on his way.

                              CHAPTER LVI.

The Capellenberg, of Chapel Mountain, which had probably borne
originally another name, but was so called by the Germans because it
bore a chapel, was only a small height, partly covered with forests. It
was the last outrunner of the mountains at this side, and formed here
the border of the German troops. A company of the Seventh Regiment was
stationed in the farms which lay scattered over its side. Their
position was rightly considered very hard and most dangerous.

The chapel lay desolate and lonely, half buried in the deep snow.
Priests and choir had long since fled, and the little edifice bore
traces of destruction everywhere, for hot battles had been fought
around this height. Walls and roof still stood intact, but a part of
the ceiling had fallen, and the wind whistled through the shattered
windows. Behind it rose the forest, clad in ice and snow, and all this
lay in the uncertain light of the half-moon which was now visible in
the heavily clouded sky, shedding her ghostly light upon the
surroundings, only to again quickly disappear.

It was an icy winter night, as at that time at Rodeck, and, as then,
the horizon was lit up by a dark reddish glow; but no aurora beamed
here in gorgeous beauty; the glow which flared here in the north bore
witness of battles fought all around; it had its origin in burning
villages and farms; the awful signs of the flame of war, which were
reflected in the skies.

A lonely sentinel stood here with gun on shoulder--Hartmut von
Falkenried.

His eyes hung on the flaming horizon, the dark masses of cloud shone
there blood-red, and from time to time a shower of fiery sparks burst
from the seething smoke which rested over the earth.

Glow and flame there; ice and night here! The cold, which had been
intense already during the day, now grew to the breath of ice, in which
all life seemed to become stark, and which chilled the lonely sentinel
to the very marrow.

Although he was not the only one who had to do this hard duty, his
comrades had not been spoiled by years of life in the Orient and the
balmy air of Sicily. Hartmut had not lived through a northern winter
since his boyhood; this cold grew disastrous to him, for it seemed to
change the blood in his veins into ice.

Slowly the deadly sleepiness, which is not sleep, crept upon him; it
made the limbs heavy as lead, and drooped the eyelids forcibly. He who
was so terribly threatened, struggled against it with all his
will-power; he tried to collect himself and move about; he succeeded
for a moment, but exhaustion again approached, the end of which he
knew.

Was it not even to be granted him to fall by a bullet?

Hartmut's glance turned to the half-destroyed house of God, as if
beseeching help; but what were church and altar to him? He had cast
faith from him long ago; only night with death stared him in the face,
and life would have given him so much when the atonement should have
been completed--possession of his love, the fame of a poet, and perhaps
even reconciliation with his father.

But it was not to be. He must stand to his post and wait for the
ignominous death which was creeping upon him from the icy darkness.
Duty commanded and he--obeyed.

But in the distance sounded steps and voices which came nearer and
nearer. They tore Hartmut from the semi-unconsciousness which had
already begun to veil his senses.

He roused himself with an effort and made his gun ready, but it was his
comrades who drew near. What did it mean? The hour for relief had not
yet come; but in a moment a sergeant stood before him.

"Relief--command from headquarters brought by an officer," came the
order.

The change was made and a sturdy peasant, who did not seem to mind the
cold much, took Hartmut's place. As Hartmut was about to join the
sergeant an officer approached him from the other side.

"Let the sergeant go on. I wish to speak to you, Tanner; follow me."

Prince Adelsberg, who did not wish the sentinel to witness the
conversation, entered the chapel, into which Hartmut followed him.

The pale moonlight falling through the windows revealed all the
dismantled and destroyed interior. The fallen ceiling had shattered
some of the pews; the altar alone stood undemolished.

Egon had walked to the middle of the room, where he stopped and turned.

"Hartmut."

"Herr Lieutenant."

"Stop that, we are alone," said the Prince. "I did not think, that we
should meet like this."

"And I hoped I should be spared it," said Hartmut hoarsely, "You have
come----"

"From headquarters. I heard that you had been ordered to sentinel duty
on the Capellenberg. That is awful duty for such a night as this."

Hartmut was silent; he knew that without this interruption it would
have been his last duty.

Egon looked at him with concern. In spite of the uncertain light he saw
how rigid and exhausted was the man who leaned against one of the
pillars as if he needed support.

"I came to bring you an order, but it is left to your own free will to
accept it or not. The matter is considered almost impossible, and it
would be, perhaps, to any one else. You have courage for it, I know,
but the question is, have you the strength after all these exertions?"

"Fifteen minutes' rest and warmth will give me the strength. But what
does it concern?"

"A ride for life or death. You are to take a message through the midst
of the enemy--to R----"

"To the fortress?" cried Hartmut with a start. "There stands----"

"General Falkenried with his brigade; he is lost if the message does
not reach him. We lay his safety in the hands of his son."

Again Hartmut started. Gone were frost and exhaustion. With feverish
excitement he grasped the Prince's arm.

"I am to save my father? I? What has happened? What must I do?"

"Listen. The prisoner whom you reported to me to-day has given us a
terrible disclosure; it concerns a betrayal. The fortress is to be
blown up as soon as their troops are in safety and ours have taken
possession. The General sent warnings instantly, but they will not
reach them in time, as they have to take a circuitous route. Your
father thinks of taking possession to-morrow. He must be warned before
that, and there is only one possibility. The messenger must go over the
mountain passes, which are held by the enemy. If successful, the news
will reach there to-morrow before noon, but the way----"

"I know it," interrupted Hartmut. "Our regiment took it only fourteen
days ago coming here. The passes were free then."

"So much the better! Of course you must take off your uniform, which
would betray you."

"I shall change only cloak and helmet. If I am held up at all, my fate
is sealed--so it is only important that I be not recognized in flying
past. If only a good capable horse can be found!"

"It is at hand. I brought my Arab--my Saladin--with me. You know him
and have often ridden him. He flies like a bird, and must do his master
achievement this night."

The conversation had been conducted with flying haste, and now the
Prince drew out the papers which he had received at headquarters.

"Here is the order of the Commanding General, which puts everything at
your disposal when you reach our outposts--and here the dispatch. Give
yourself half an hour's rest, for your strength might not hold out, and
you will break down on the way."

"Do you think that I need rest and recreation now," cried Hartmut,
flashing up. "I shall surely not break down now; it will have to be
under the fire of the enemy if I do. I thank you, Egon, for this hour,
in which you at last--at last--speak to me free from that base
suspicion."

"And in which I send you out into death," said the Prince softly. "We
will not shun the truth. It will be a miracle if you get through
safely."

"A miracle."

Hartmut's glance wandered to the altar, upon which rested the pale
light of the moon. He had forgotten long ago how to pray, yet at this
moment he sent up a silent, fervent prayer to the heavens--to the power
which could do miracles.

"Only until I have saved my father and his men--only so long guide and
keep me!"

In the next second he drew himself up. It was as if Egon had poured
glowing life power into the veins of the man who so shortly since was
threatened with death through cold and exhaustion.

"And now let us say good-by," whispered Egon. "Farewell, Hartmut."

He opened wide his arms and Hartmut fell upon his breast.

All that had stood between them was buried in this embrace. The old
glowing love burst forth powerfully again for the last time, for both
felt that they would not meet again--that this was a final farewell.

Scarce fifteen minutes later a horseman dashed away; the slender Arab
flying so that his hoof seemed not to touch the ground. In furious
gallop he flew along over the snow through ice-covered forests, over
frozen brooks on and on into the mountain passes!

                             CHAPTER LVII.

The next day brought clear, frosty weather, but the sun shone brightly
and the cold had somewhat abated.

In Prince Adelsberg's quarters were Eugene Stahlberg and Waldorf, the
latter being off duty today on account of a fall upon the ice,
resulting in an injury to his hand, which prevented him from marching
with his company as Egon had done.

The gentlemen were awaiting their princely comrade, who was expected
soon, and entertained themselves in the meantime by teasing Peter
Stadinger, who had, as in duty bound, appeared at his young master's
this morning, and who also awaited him now.

The young officers knew nothing as yet of the news which had
been obtained at headquarters yesterday, and were in the best of
spirits--taking all possible pains to call forth in Stadinger the
far-famed churlishness. But it was not successful today. The old man
remained laconic and reticent. He would only repeat his question: When
would His Highness return? and if it would be a serious skirmish to
which His Highness had marched? until finally Waldorf lost all
patience.

"Stadinger, I believe you would like best to pack up your Prince and
take him back with you to your Rodeck, which is safe from bombs," he
asserted. "You must get over this anxiety in the war--remember that."

"And, besides, the Prince has only marched out to reconnoitre," added
Eugene. "He is just taking a little walk with his people from the
Capellenberg into the neighboring dales and ravines, to ascertain how
it really looks there. They will probably exchange a few compliments
with the French gentlemen, and then retreat politely; the more impolite
attacks will follow in a few days."

"But is there shooting with it all?" asked Stadinger, with such anxious
mien that the two officers laughed aloud.

"Yes, shots are being exchanged, too," confirmed Waldorf. "You seem to
have great fear of them, yet you are at a safe distance."

"I?" The old man drew himself up, deeply offended.

"I wish I could be in the midst of it also."

"Perhaps to protect your much loved Highness. The Prince would decline
that. You would hold on to his coat tails and cry continually, 'Take
care, Your Highness, there comes a ball.' That would look fine!"

"Herr Lieutenant," said the old man, so seriously that the gay tease
was silenced, "you should not do that to an old hunter who has often
climbed after the chamois, and has fired his gun when he had scarcely a
foot's breadth of ground to stand on; I feel so depressed and anxious
to-day. I wish the day would end."

"Well, it was not meant so seriously," said Eugene, soothingly. "We
believe you, Stadinger; you do not look like a man who is afraid. But
you must not speak to us about your depressing presentiments. One does
not think of them after one has stood so many times in the shower of
bullets. When we are happily at home again, I will come to my sister at
Ostwalden, and we will then be good neighbors with Rodeck. The Prince
loves his old forest nook so well. And now abandon your anxiety, for
there he comes already."

Rapid steps were heard on the stairs outside; the old man sighed with
relief. But it was only Egon's attendant who appeared in the open door.

"Well, has His Highness arrived?" asked Waldorf; but Stadinger did not
allow the man time to answer. He had cast one glance at his face--only
a single one--then suddenly grasped his hand with a convulsive clutch.

"What is it? Where--where is my master?"

The man shook his head sadly and pointed silently to the window, to
which both officers hastened with fear and dread. But Stadinger lost no
time. He dashed out down the stairs, into the little garden which lay
before the house, and with a loud, bitter cry sank upon his knees at
the side of a stretcher, upon which there lay a slender, youthful
figure.

"Quietly," said the physician who had accompanied the sad group.
"Control yourself--the Prince is seriously wounded."

"I see it," gasped the faithful old servant; "but not fatally--oh, say
not fatally. Only tell me that, Herr Doctor!"

He looked up to the surgeon with such despairing entreaty that the
latter had not courage to tell him the truth, but turned to the two
officers who now hastened near and overwhelmed him with low, anxious
questioning.

"A ball in the breast," he explained, in the same tone. "The Prince
begged to be brought to his quarters, and we have used all possible
care in the moving; but it will bring the end more quickly than I
thought."

"Fatal?" asked Waldorf.

"Beyond a doubt."

The surgeon gave the bearers who prepared to take their charge into the
house, a sign to desist.

"Stop, the Prince seems to have something to say to his old servant,
and there are no moments to lose."

Stadinger saw and heard nothing of what happened at his side. He looked
only upon his master.

Egon seemed to be unconscious. The light hair had become disheveled,
the eyes were closed, and beneath the cloak with which he had been
covered, and which had partly fallen open, the blood-stained uniform
could be seen.

"Your Highness," besought Stadinger, softly, according to the doctor's
warning, but with heartbreaking accents, "only look at me! Speak to me!
It is I--Stadinger."

The well-known voice found its way to the ear of the desperately
wounded man. Slowly his eyes opened, and a slight smile flitted over
his features as he recognized the old man who knelt at his side.

"My old Waldgeist," he whispered, "did you have to come--to see this?"

"But you will not die, Your Highness," murmured Stadinger, his whole
body a-tremble, but never removing his eyes from his dying master;
"no--do not die--surely not!"

"Do you think that it is hard?" said Egon, calmly. "Yesterday--you saw
quite correctly--my heart felt heavy; but now it is light. Give my love
to Rodeck--and to my forests and--to her, too, the mistress of
Ostwalden."

"Whom? Frau Wallmoden?" asked Stadinger, almost terrified at this turn.

"Yes--take her my last greeting--tell her to think of me sometimes."

The words came painfully--brokenly--from the lips which seemed to
almost refuse their duty; but they left no doubt as to the meaning of
the last greeting.

Eugene had started when he heard the name of his sister, and now bent
low over the dying man, who saw the brother of Adelaide--recognized the
features which resembled hers so much--and again a smile passed over
his face. Then he leaned his fair head quietly and calmly on the breast
of his old Waldgeist, and the beautiful blue eyes closed forever.

It had been a short, painless struggle--almost a falling asleep.
Stadinger had not moved--had not uttered a sound, for he knew it would
hurt his young master, whom he had borne in his arms as a child, and
who now drew his last breath in those arms. But, when all was over, the
composure of the old man gave way. He threw himself despairingly upon
the body and wept like a child.

                             CHAPTER LVIII.

Over on the other side of the mountain passes also the winter sun shone
clear and bright upon the new achievements which the victorious German
troops had acquired.

The negotiations with the commander of R---- had been brought to an
end, and the fortress had surrendered. The captive garrison moved out,
while a portion of the victors had already marched in.

General Falkenried stood in the main square of the lower town with his
staff, about to move also into the fortress. The helmets and arms of
the troops who were on their way into the citadel glittered in the
sunshine. Falkenried issued various orders, then took his stand at the
head of his staff and gave the signal to march.

But now there came a horseman in furious haste over the main road; the
noble animal he rode was covered with sweat and foam, and his sides
bled from the cruel spurs which had hurried him on and on when his
strength threatened to desert him. The face also of the rider was
disfigured by the blood trickling from beneath the cloth that had been
wound around the forehead.

He came flying, as if driven by a tornado, and everything fled from
before him until he reached the open square, dashed through the midst
of the officers straight up to the General. A few steps from the end of
the journey the strength of the noble horse failed, he broke down
completely; but at the same moment the rider sprang from the saddle and
hastened toward the commander.

"From the Commanding General."

Falkenried started at the first word. He had not recognized the
blood-covered face; he only saw that the man who dashed up as if for
life or death must bring an important message. But at the sound of that
voice, an idea of the truth flashed upon him.

Hartmut swayed and laid his hand for a moment on his brow; it seemed as
if he were about to break down, too, like his horse. But he recovered
with an effort.

"The General sends word to be cautious--betrayal is planned--the
fortress will be blown up as soon as its garrison has moved off. Here
is the dispatch."

He tore a paper from his breast and gave it to Falkenried. The officers
had become violently excited at the awful news, and pressed around
their chief as if expecting to hear from him confirmation of the
incredible report. But they had a strange sight before them.

The General, whose iron composure they all knew--who never lost control
of himself--had turned deathly pale, and stared at the speaker as if a
spirit had risen before him from the ground, while he held the paper
unopened in his hand.

"Herr General--the dispatch!"

One of the adjutants who understood the proceedings as little as the
others, gently reminded him; but it was enough to bring Falkenried back
to consciousness. He tore the dispatch open and glanced it over, and
was now again the soldier who knew nothing but his duty.

With full, firm voice he gave his orders. The officers galloped right
and left; signals and commands resounded in all directions, and in a
few moments the last detachment of soldiers came to a standstill. Upon
the fortress sounded the signal of alarm. Neither friend nor foe knew
what it meant. Did it not appear as if the so recently conquered place
was to be vacated at once? But the orders were executed with the usual
alacrity and dispatch; the movements were completed with perfect
composure, in spite of the haste, and the troops turned back into the
town.

Falkenried was still in the open square, giving orders, receiving
reports, watching and guiding everything with his eyes. But still he
found a moment's time to turn to his son, to whom he had not as yet
given any sign of recognition.

"You are bleeding--let it be bandaged."

Hartmut shook his head hastily.

"Later--I must first see the retreat--the rescue."

The awful excitement sustained him; he did not falter again, but
followed with feverish attention every movement of the troops.

Falkenried looked at him and then asked:

"Which way did you come?"

"Over the mountain passes."

"Over the passes! The enemy stands there."

"Yes, there they stand."

"And you came over that way?"

"I had to, otherwise the news would not have reached here in time. I
started only last night."

"But that is an heroic deed without an equal! Man, how could you
accomplish it?" exclaimed one of the higher officers, who had just
brought a report and heard the last words.

Hartmut was silent; only he slowly raised his eyes to his father. He no
longer feared the eyes he had feared so long, and what he read in them
now told him that here, too, he was free from that awful suspicion.

But even the greatest will power has its limits, and this was reached
with the man who had rendered almost superhuman assistance. The face of
his father was the last thing he saw--then it disappeared as behind a
bloody veil; something hot and wet flowed over his forehead--all became
night around him, and he sank to the ground.

And now resounded a crash, under the appalling force of which the whole
town trembled and quaked. The citadel, whose outlines had just stood
out sharp and clear against the blue sky, was suddenly transformed into
a crater, vomiting forth fire and destruction. In those walls a hell
seemed to open; showers of rocks and stones rose high in the air, only
to come down with thunderous clatter, and immediately there leaped and
flickered over all the huge pile of débris a giant pillar of fire and
smoke which rose up to the heavens--a terrible sign of flame!

The warning had arrived at the last possible moment. But, in spite of
it, there was a sacrifice of life, for whoever had been still in the
neighborhood of the citadel had been crushed or severely injured. Still
the loss was small in comparison with the incalculable disaster which
would surely have taken place had not the warning been brought.

The General, with his officers and nearly all his troops, had been
saved. Falkenried had made all the arrangements required by the
dreadful catastrophe with his usual promptitude and circumspection. He
was everywhere, and his activity and example succeeded in giving back
to the men who had been betrayed in the height of victory their
equilibrium. Only when the commander had done his duty did the father
seek his natural rights.

Hartmut still lay unconscious in one of the neighboring houses, into
which he had been carried when he sank to the ground. He neither saw
nor heard the father, who stood at his bedside with one of the
physicians.

Falkenried silently gazed down upon the pale face and closed eyes, then
turned to the physician.

"You do not consider the wound fatal?"

The doctor sadly shrugged his shoulders.

"Not the wound in itself, but the great overexertion of that life and
death ride--the heavy loss of blood, the bitter cold of the night. I
fear, Herr General, you must be prepared for the worst."

"I am prepared for it," said Falkenried, solemnly. Then he knelt down
and kissed the son whom perhaps he had found only to lose again; and
hot, burning tears fell upon the deathly white face.

But it was not granted the father to remain with his child for any
length of time; he was forced to leave after a few moments, requesting
the doctor once more to give his greatest care and skill to the
patient.

At the open square were collected the General's staff and other
officers, awaiting their chief. They knew he was at present with the
wounded man who had brought the warning, and whom nobody knew.

It had become known that he had come over the mountain passes, through
the midst of the foe--that he had ventured upon a ride the like of
which nobody in the army could imitate--and when the General at last
appeared, everybody gathered around him, questioningly.

Falkenried was deeply serious, but the rigid, gloomy look which his
face was accustomed to bear had disappeared and given place to an
expression which the attendant officers saw now for the first time. In
his eyes tears still glistened, but his voice sounded firm and clear as
he answered:

"Yes, gentlemen, he is desperately injured, and perhaps it was his last
ride that brought rescue to us. But he has done his duty as a man and a
soldier, and if you want to know his name--he is my son, Hartmut von
Falkenried!"

                              CHAPTER LIX.

The old mansion of Burgsdorf lay peaceful and cosy in the brightest
sunlight. It had but recently received back its lord, who had been
absent nearly a year, and who returned now after the war was over, to
his home and his young wife.

The large estate, with its extensive work, had not suffered through his
long absence, for it had been under safe guidance. The master's mother
had stepped into her old place, and held the reins with her usual firm
hand, until the return of her son; but now she laid those reins
solemnly into his hands again and insisted, in spite of all prayers and
entreaties, upon leaving Burgsdorf and returning to her city home.

At present Frau von Eschenhagen was standing upon the terrace, the
broad stone steps of which led into the garden, talking with Willibald,
who stood beside her.

Her glance rested with undeniable satisfaction upon the powerful, manly
form of her son, who appeared even more stately now because of the
acquired military bearing. Perhaps she felt that something different
and better had been made of the young country squire than she could
have done with her education. But she would not have confessed it at
any price.

"And so you wish to build," she was saying; "I thought about as much.
The plain old house in which your father and I lived so many years is,
of course, not good enough for your little princess. She must be
surrounded by every available splendor. Well, I don't mind; you have
the money for it, and can allow yourself that pleasure. I am glad to
say I have not the responsibility of it any longer."

"Do not act so grim, mamma," laughed Willibald. "If any one should hear
you, they would think you the worst of mothers-in-law, whereas if I did
not know it from Marietta's letters, I see it daily now, how you spoil
her and carry her upon your hands."

"Oh, well, one likes to play with pretty dolls sometimes, even in old
age," replied Regine, dryly; "and your wife is such a delicate little
doll, who is only good for play. Do not imagine that she will ever get
to be a competent farm manager. I saw that from the first moment, and
have not allowed her to do it at all."

"And you were right in that," joined in the young lord. "Work and
management are my part. My Marietta shall not be worried with it. But,
believe me, mamma, one can live and work quite differently when such a
sweet little _singvogel_ sings courage and love of work into one's
heart."

"Boy, I believe you are crazy still," said Frau von Eschenhagen, with
her old grim manner. "Has it ever been known that a _sensible_ man--a
husband and estate owner--speaks so of his wife--'sweet little
_singvogel_'! Perhaps you get that from your bosom friend, Hartmut, who
is considered by you all as such a great poet. You always did imitate
him as a boy."

"No, mamma, it is really my own. I have composed poetry but once in my
life, on the night when I saw Marietta in Hartmut's 'Arivana.' The poem
fell into my hands the other day, when I was putting my desk in order,
and I gave it to Hartmut, begging him to change it a little, for,
strange to say, the rhymes would not fit, and I had not done very well
with the meter. Do you know what he said? 'My dear Willy, your poem is
very beautiful as far as sentiment is concerned, but I advise you to
abandon poetry. Such verse is not to be tolerated, and your wife will
seek a divorce if you sing to her in this style.' That is how my 'bosom
friend' judges my poetical talent."

"It serves you right, too. What does an estate owner have to do with
poetry?" said Regine, caustically.

The door of the dining room was opened and a small head, running over
with dark curls, peeped out.

"Is it permitted to disturb the assembly in their important business
discourse?"

"Come along, you small elf," said Frau von Eschenhagen. But the
permission was superfluous, for the young wife had already flown into
her husband's open arms. He bent over her affectionately and whispered
something in her ear.

"Are you commencing again?" scolded the mother. "It is really
unbearable in your presence nowadays."

Marietta only turned her head, without freeing herself from the embrace
which held her so closely, and said, roguishly: "We are celebrating our
honeymoon after the long separation, and you must know from your own
experience how people act then, _nicht wahr_, mamma?"

Regine shrugged her shoulders. Her honeymoon with the late Eschenhagen
had been of a different kind.

"You received a letter from your grandfather, Marietta," she said,
changing the subject; "was it good news?"

"The very best. Grandpapa is quite well and anticipating much pleasure
in his visit to Burgsdorf next month. But he writes that everything is
very quiet around Waldhofen since Rodeck has lost its master.
Everything is closed and desolate since the death of the young Prince.
Ostwalden is lonely, and Furstenstein will be deserted, too, after
Toni's marriage, which occurs in two weeks. Poor Uncle Schonan will be
all alone then."

The last words were spoken with a certain emphasis as the young wife
threw a peculiar glance at her mother-in-law.

That upright lady did not pay any attention to it, but only remarked:
"Yes, it is a strange notion of Hartmut and Adelaide to live here in
the pine forest in a small, rented villa during the first weeks of
their married life, while the large castle of Ostwalden and all of the
Stahlberg country seats are at their disposal."

"They probably wished to remain with their father a little longer,"
said Willibald.

"Well, Falkenried could have taken a vacation in this case and gone
with them. Thank God that the man has really come back to life, since
that terrible bitterness has fallen from him, and he has his son again.
I knew well how very hard the flight of the boy struck him. He secretly
idolized him, while showing him only severity and requiring in turn
nothing but obedience. Of course, what Hartmut accomplished with that
night's ride, by which he saved his father with his troops, erases even
more than a senseless boy's escapade, for which the mother was really
to blame."

"But we are cheated out of all the wedding festivities in the family,"
pouted Marietta. "Willy and I had to be married quietly because the war
broke out, and now, after the war has happily ceased, Hartmut and
Adelaide do just like it."

"My child, when one has gone through such things as Hartmut has, all
pleasure in festivities is lost," said Frau Eschenhagen, gravely. "And,
besides, he has not fully recuperated yet. You saw how pale he was at
the wedding. Adelaide's first marriage was, indeed, celebrated with
more pomp. Her father insisted upon it, in spite of his low state of
health, and the bride was really a queenly, if cold, apparition in her
satin train and her laces and diamonds. But, truly, she looked
different when she drew near the altar with her Hartmut, in the simple
white silk dress and the dainty veil. I never in my life saw her so
lovely. Poor Herbert! He never possessed the love of his wife."

"But how could one love such an old Excellency in his diplomatic frock
coat? I could not have done it, either," said Marietta, pertly.

But she had touched a weak point; her mother-in-law held the
remembrance of her brother in high esteem.

"The necessity would never have come to you," she remarked, with pique.
"A man like Herbert von Wallmoden would hardly have wooed you--you
little saucy----"

But she got no further, for the saucy little sprite already hung around
her neck coaxingly.

"Please don't get angry, mamma. How can I help it that my most
undiplomatic Willy is dearer to me than all the Excellencies in the
whole world, and he is that to you, too; eh, mamma?"

"You little flatterer!" Regine tried in vain to keep up her severe
mien. "You know very well that nobody can get angry with you. A regime
will now probably commence here at Burgsdorf which has had no
precedent. Willy is ashamed before me now, but after I am gone, he will
surrender to you upon grace or displeasure."

"Mamma, do you still cling to that idea?" asked Willibald,
reproachfully. "Will you go now, when everything is love and peace
between us?"

"Just because of that I shall go, so that it may remain. Do not oppose
it, my son. I have to be first where I live and work. You want to be
that now; therefore it is best we are not together; and your little
princess must not get angry about it. We have heretofore had great
anxiety about you, and people do not quarrel when they have to tremble
anew each day for husband and son. But that is over now, and I am still
too much of the old kind to fit myself to your youth. Do whatever you
like, but things must go as I like in my house, and therefore I go."

She turned and went into the house, while the young lord looked after
her with a half-suppressed sigh.

                              CHAPTER LX.

"She is right, perhaps," Willibald said, half aloud, as his
mother vanished; "but she will be unhappy alone, and without the
long-accustomed activity. I know that she will not be able to bear the
enforced rest. You ought to have begged her to remain, too, Marietta."

The young wife laid her curly head upon her husband's shoulder and
looked at him roguishly.

"Oh, no; I shall do something better. I shall see to it that mamma does
not get unhappy when she leaves us."

"You? How will you do that?"

"Quite easily. I shall marry mamma off."

"But, Marietta, what are you thinking of?"

"Oh, you wise Willy; have you really not noticed anything?" laughed
Marietta, and it was the old, silvery laugh with which she had
bewitched him at Waldhofen. "And you do not know why Uncle Schonan was
in such a grim temper when we saw him in Berlin three days ago? And why
he did not want to come to Burgsdorf at all, although we begged him so
much? Mamma did not ask him, because she feared a renewed proposal. He
understood it, and consequently he was so angry. I have known all about
it ever so long; even at the time when mamma came to us at Waldhofen,
and he told her so fiercely that she would only use him as a secondary
person at a wedding. I saw then that he would like to be one of the
principals. Willy, you are making a superb face now! You look exactly
as you did at the beginning of our acquaintance."

The young lord did not, indeed, look very intellectual in his boundless
surprise. He had never considered the possibility of his mother
marrying again, and to her brother-in-law, besides! But it broke upon
him that this was an excellent solution of the difficulty.

"Marietta, you are surpassingly clever!" he cried, looking with the
greatest admiration at his wife, who accepted the homage with much
satisfaction.

"I am even more clever than you think," she said, triumphantly, "for I
have put the matter to rights. I got behind Uncle Schonan and gave him
to understand that if he would storm once more now, the fortress would
probably surrender. He grumbled mightily and said that he had had
enough of it and did not want to be made a fool of again; but at last
he reconsidered the matter. He arrived fifteen minutes ago. I did not
dare tell mamma anything about it, and--here he is!"

She nodded to the Chief Forester, who emerged upon the terrace and
heard the last words.

"Yes, here I am; but take care, little woman, if you have 'led me
behind the light,' for"--to Willibald--"I have come solely at her
request. She has probably given you the details about how it stands
with us--that is, with me, for your Frau Mamma is probably again
unreasonable, obstinate and self-willed as she usually is--but I will
marry her yet!"

"All right, uncle, if she will only have you," laughed Willibald, who
could not help thinking this description of his mother from a wooer
very peculiar.

"Yes, that is the question," said Schonan, doubtfully; "but your wife
thinks----"

"That we dare not lose another minute!" interrupted Marietta. "Mamma is
in her room, and has no conception of the attack. Willy and I will
remain in the background, and join in the battle if the worst should
happen. Forward, march, uncle; forward, Willy!"

And Frau Marietta von Eschenhagen, with her little, delicate hands
pushed the stately Chief Forester and her huge husband forward, without
more ado. They patiently submitted, although Schonan muttered:

"Strange how they all understand how to order one about--little ones as
well as big ones. It must be born in them."

Regine von Eschenhagen stood at the window of her room, looking out
upon her beloved Burgsdorf, which she intended to leave in a few days.

Much as she was convinced of the wisdom of this decision, it was yet
not easy to execute it. The strong, restlessly active woman, who had
stood thirty years at the head of a large work, felt a shudder at the
rest and inactivity which awaited her. She had been made acquainted
with the city life during her first separation from her son, and had
been very unhappy in it.

The door opened and the Chief Forester entered.

"Moritz, you here!" Regine started with surprise. "This is sensible of
you to come."

"Yes, I am always sensible," remarked Herr von Schonan, very pointedly.
"Although you did not have the grace to invite me, I came to get your
consent to attend Toni's wedding. Of course, you will come to
Furstenstein with your children?"

"Yes, certainly we will come; but we were all much surprised at this
haste. Did you not intend to buy an estate first? And that is not
usually accomplished so quickly."

"No, but they want to get married. Our victors have become very
assuming since their heroic deeds. Waldorf simply declared upon his
return, 'Papa, you said when I left, First win in war and then marry;
now we have won and now I want to marry. I'll not wait any longer. The
estate has time to wait, but not the wedding, for that is the most
important.' So, since Toni is also convinced of this importance,
nothing was left for me to do but to name the wedding day."

Frau von Eschenhagen laughed.

"Yes, young people are quick to marry, and they have so much time to
wait."

"But it is not so with older folks," said Schonan, who had only been
looking for this opportunity and speedily made use of it. "Have you
considered the question at last, Regine?"

"What question?"

"Our marrying. I hope you are now in the 'humor' for it?"

Regine turned away, somewhat offended.

"You like to be abrupt, Moritz. How did you get into the notion so
suddenly?"

"What! you call that sudden?" the Chief Forester cried, indignantly. "I
made my first proposal to you five years ago; the second one last year,
and now I come for the third time, and yet you have not had sufficient
time to consider. Yes or no? If you send me away this time, I shall not
come back--depend upon that--and the whole courtship can go where it
wants to."

Regine did not answer, but it was not indecision which made her
hesitate. Even this strange, original nature had a spice of deep
romance in her heart--love for the man who was once to be her husband,
Hartmut von Falkenried. When he had married another, she too had
pledged her hand, for she was not the kind to mourn her life away
uselessly; but the same bitter pain which had stung the young girl when
she approached the altar, awoke now again in the aging woman and closed
her lips; but it lasted only a few moments, then she threw the dream
from her with decision, and stretched out her hand to von Schonan.

"Well, then, yes, Moritz. I will be a good and true wife to you."

"Thank God!" cried Schonan, with a deep sigh of relief, for he had
taken the hesitation as a preliminary to a third refusal. "You should
have said that five years ago, Regine, but better late than never. At
last we have gotten so far."

And with that the persistent wooer enclosed the finally won life
companion in a hearty embrace.

                              CHAPTER LXI.

It was a hot summer day. Even in the forest one felt something of the
intense heat which flickered upon meadows and fields. Upon the forest
path a little group walked beneath the tall firs. It was General
Falkenried, with his son and daughter, who were accompanying him a part
of the way to Burgsdorf, where he intended making a visit.

Falkenried had indeed become another person.

The war which had been fatal to so many, and made others old before
their time, in spite of the victories and triumphs won, appeared to
have been a source of rejuvenation to him. Although the white hair and
deep furrows in the face remained, witnesses not to be erased of a
painful time, yet the face had life in it again; the eyes had regained
their old fire, and one saw now at the first glance that the man was
not so old, but stood yet in the fulness and power of life.

Hartmut had not yet entirely recovered, as his appearance proved. The
campaign had not made him younger. He looked older and graver, and the
still pale face, with the broad red scar upon the forehead, spoke of a
time of heavy suffering.

The wound in itself had not been serious, but had become so through the
severe loss of blood, and the overexertion of the ride in the night of
the severe cold, so that at first all hope had been abandoned, and it
required months of careful nursing to give Hartmut back to life.

But the old Hartmut, the son of Zalika, with his wild blood and
unbridled desire for freedom, had also died in this time of suffering.
It seemed as if with the name Rojanow, which he had cast forever from
him, the unfortunate inheritance from the mother had also been lost.
The heavy, dark curls were just beginning to grow again, and the high,
powerful forehead appeared more striking in its resemblance to his
father.

But the young wife at his side bloomed in the fullest beauty of youth
and happiness. Whoever had seen her in her cold hauteur--her icy,
unapproachable manner, would hardly have recognized her in this bright,
slender woman, in her light summer costume, with fresh forest flowers
in her hand.

The smile and tone with which she spoke to her husband and father had
never been known to Frau von Wallmoden; they had been learned only by
Adelaide von Falkenried.

"Not any farther, now," said the General, pausing in their walk. "You
have to take the return walk, and Hartmut must still be careful. The
physicians request that he be very prudent."

"Father, if you only knew how depressing it feels to be considered an
invalid still, when I already feel full of life and power! I am really
well."

"Do not place in jeopardy again what has been so hardly won," continued
the father. "You have not yet learned patience, but fortunately I know
you are under Ada's supervision, and she is strict on this subject."

"Yes, had it not been for Ada, there probably would not have been
anything to take care of," said Hartmut, with a look of deepest
affection upon his wife. "I believe I was in rather a hopeless
condition when she came to me."

"The physicians, at least, gave me no hope when I sent off the dispatch
which called Ada to your side. You called for her in your first
conscious moment, to my boundless surprise, for I did not dream that
you ever knew each other."

"Was it not right to you, Papa?" asked the young wife, looking
smilingly up to the father, who drew her to his breast and pressed a
kiss upon her brow.

"You know best what you are to Hartmut and me, my child. I thanked God
that I could leave him under your nursing when I had to march on. And
you were right, too, when you persuaded him to remain here, although
the doctors wished to send him away. He has to learn to feel at home
first in the fatherland--must learn to understand and love again that
from which he has so long been estranged."

"_Has_ to learn it?" said Ada reproachfully. "What he read to you and
me to-day I should think would show that he has learned it already, and
that this new work bears another language from the wild, glowing
Arivana."

"Yes, Hartmut, your new work is of great merit," said Falkenried,
giving his hand to his son. "I believe the fatherland will be proud of
my boy, even in times of peace."

Hartmut's eyes sparkled as he returned the pressure of the hand. He
knew what praise from his father's lips was worth.

"And now, good-by." The General kissed his daughter-in-law again, "I
will drive from Burgsdorf directly to town, but we shall see each other
in a few days again. Farewell, children!"

When he had disappeared behind the trees, Hartmut and Adelaide turned
on their homeward way, which led them by the Burgsdorf pond.
Involuntarily they paused beside it, and gazed upon the calm sheet of
water which lay so shiningly in the sun with its wreath of rushes and
water lilies.

"I have played boys' games here so often with Willy," said Hartmut
softly, "and here my future was decided on that fatal night. I realize
only now what I did to my father in that unfortunate hour."

"But you have atoned for it fully," returned Ada, leaning her head on
her husband's shoulder. "It has been wiped out before the world, too,
which overwhelmed you and father on all sides with admiration and
appreciation when it was known who had done that heroic deed."

Hartmut shook his head gravely.

"It was a deed of despair, not heroism. I did not believe that it would
succeed--nobody believed it; but even if I had fallen I should have
regained my lost honor by that ride through the enemy. Egon knew that,
and for that reason he put the rescue into my hands. When we said
farewell that icy winter night in the shattered walls of the little
chapel, we both felt that it was a final farewell, but we thought, too,
that I should be the victim, for I went into almost certain death. Fate
decreed differently. I was borne as by spirit hands through the dangers
to the accomplishment of my aim, and almost at the same hour Egon fell.
You need not hide your tears from me, Ada; I am not jealous of the
dead, for I loved him just as--he loved you."

"Eugene brought me his last greeting," said the young wife, in whose
eyes shone the tears she had wished to conceal from her husband. "And
Stadinger, too, wrote me to fulfill his dying master's last request. I
fear the old man will not live much longer; his letter sounded as if he
were utterly crushed."

"Poor Egon!" In Hartmut's voice sounded the deep pain he felt for his
friend. "He was so full of sunny happiness and joy; he was created for
it and to give it. Perhaps you would have been happier at his side,
Ada, than with your wild, passionate Hartmut, who will trouble you
often enough with the dark side of his nature."

Ada smiled up at him with the tears still in her eyes. "But I love this
wild, stormy Hartmut, and do not desire any greater happiness than to
be his wife."

The forest lake lay in dreamy noonday stillness; grave and dark stood
the old firs over it; the rushes at its border whispered low, and
thousands of bright sparkles danced upon its surface.

Above it curved the blue sky into which the boy had once wished to soar
like the falcon of which his race bore the name, higher and higher to
the sun. It beamed, too, now up there in shining splendor the powerful,
eternal sign of flame in the heavens!

                               [THE END.]