"But one day, when your armies have conquered France and delivered the world from the insatiable usurper, Germany will gratefully lie down at your majesty's feet and beseech you to accept the imperial crown again at her hands."

"Much obliged, sir, but I would not take it," exclaimed the emperor, with a shrug. "But say, brother, are you really convinced that we can and shall conquer Bonaparte?"

"I am. We shall conquer, if—"

"Well, if—"asked the emperor, when the archduke hesitated.

"If we are really determined to do so," said John, looking the emperor full in the face; "if we act harmoniously, if we do not impede each other, if no petty jealousies favor the efforts of one and frustrate those of the other. Oh, brother, permit me at this farewell hour to utter a few frank and truthful words, and I beg your majesty to forgive me if my heart opens to you in unreserved confidence. Brother, I confess frankly all is not as it should be here. Where concord should reign; there is discord; where all should have their eyes fixed only on the great goal, and avail themselves of all means and forces, they are split up into factions bitterly hostile to each other. Oh, my gracious emperor, I beseech you, do not listen to these factions, do not confide in those who would like to arouse your suspicion against your brothers. Believe me, you have no more loyal, devoted, and obedient subject than I am; therefore, confide in me, who wish only to contribute to the greatness, honor, and glory of my country and my emperor, to the best of my power, however insignificant it may be. My brother, there has long been a gulf between us; God knows that I did not dig it. But let us fill it up forever at this farewell hour. I implore you, believe in my love, my devoted loyalty; take me by the hand and say, 'John, I trust you! I believe in you!' See, I am waiting for these words as for the blessing which is to accompany me into battle, and rest on my heart like a talisman. Brother, speak these words of love and confidence! Give me your hand—open your arms to your brother!"

"Why should we enact here a sentimental scene?" asked the emperor, harshly. "I do not like such things, and want to see family dramas only performed on the stage. Thank God, I am not a theatrical emperor, but a real one, and will have nothing to do with scenes from plays. Nor do I know of any gulfs existing between you and me. I never perceived them, and was never disturbed thereby. But why do you protest your love and loyalty in so passionate a manner to me? Who tells you, then, that I suspect them? That would be equivalent to considering my brother a traitor, and it would be very unfortunate for him; for toward traitors I shall always be inexorable, whosoever they may be, and whether they be persons of high or low rank. Let us speak no longer of it. But, besides, you have again advised me, without being requested to do so, and demand that I should not listen to any factions. I never do, brother. I never listen to any factions, neither to yours, nor to that of the others. I listen only to myself, and require submissiveness and obedience of my servants. You are one of the latter; go, then, and obey me. I have resolved on war; go, then, to your corps and fight, as you are in duty bound, for your emperor and for Austria; Defeat Napoleon if you can. You are playing a game which may easily become dangerous to ourselves. You have stirred up an insurrection in the Tyrol; you will have to bear the responsibility if this insurrection shall be unsuccessful."

"I will bear it, and God will forgive what I have done!" said John, solemnly. "Your majesty, you would not listen to the brother who offered you his love frankly and honestly. I have nothing to add to what I have said, nor shall I ever snake another attempt to gain your confidence."

"Is that intended as a threat?" asked the emperor, angrily.

"No," said John, mournfully, "I do not threaten you. I shall always bear in mind that I loved you, and that you are not only my lord and emperor, but also the son of my mother."

"And I," cried the emperor, vehemently, "shall always bear in mind that you were the head of the faction which, by its insensate clamor for war, first aroused Napoleon's anger, brought about demonstrations and armaments on our part, and finally obliged me to resolve on war, although I know full well that this resolution will inevitably involve Austria in great disaster. Let me likewise speak a farewell word to you, brother. We shall succumb again, although my wise and learned brothers are at the head of the army. I consulted the most experienced and sagacious men. I myself paid a visit to Count Cobenzl, who is lying at the point of death, and asked his opinion. He hates Napoleon as ardently as any one, and yet he is in favor of peace. I consulted the Prince de Ligne and Minister Thugut; one is an ambitious captain, the other a vindictive diplomatist, who would like to overthrow Napoleon; and yet both were for peace with France, and I will tell you the reason why: because they know that among all my captains and generals there is not one determined and able enough to cope with Napoleon and his marshals: because they knew that even my brother Charles, the generalissimo, is vacillating and irresolute; and because they do not know what an eminent captain the Archduke John would be, if he only had a chance to show his military talents. If, despite all this, I resolved on war, it was because circumstances, and not my convictions, obliged me to do it— circumstances which were mostly brought about by you and your friends."

"Your majesty," said John, in a grave and dignified manner, "permit me to say a few words in reply to what you have just said. You allude to my military talents, which you say I have not had a chance to show. Well, give me such a chance; deliver me from the surveillance tying my hands; let me pursue my path as your general freely and without restrictions, and I pledge you my word that I will reconquer the Tyrol and your Italian provinces."

"See, see, what a nice plan!" exclaimed the emperor, laughing. "You wish to be another generalissimo, and independent of any other commander's will?"

"No, your majesty; I wish to obtain only equal rights and authority to deliberate and decide jointly with my brother Charles."

"It is very bold in you, sir, thus to oppose your generalissimo," said the emperor, sternly. "To-day you will no longer obey the generalissimo—to-morrow you will perhaps refuse to obey the emperor. Not another word about it! Go and do your duty. The Archduke Charles is generalissimo, and you will submit to his orders and instructions. Farewell, brother; may God and the Holy Virgin bless you and your army!"

"Farewell, your majesty," said the archduke, bowing ceremoniously to the emperor. He then turned hastily and left the room.

The emperor looked after him with an angry air. "I believe the two archdukes will thwart each other on all occasions," he said, in a low voice. "There will not only be war with France, but also war between the factions in Austria, and the consequence will be, that my brothers will gain but very few laurels."

The Archduke John returned slowly to his rooms. After entering his cabinet, he sank on the divan, as if crushed and heart-broken. He sat a long time in silence, his head bent on his breast, and uttering from time to time heart-rending groans. After a long pause, he slowly lifted his tearful eyes to heaven.

"Thou knowest, my God," he said, in a low voice, "that my intentions are good and pure, and that I desire nothing but to serve my country and deliver it from the disgrace which it has had to submit to for so many years past. Thou knowest that I wish nothing for myself, but all for the fatherland. Help me, my God, help our poor, unfortunate Austria! Let us not succumb and perish! Grant victory to our arms! O Austria, O Germany, why can I not purchase liberty and independence for you with my blood? But. I can at least I shall welcome this if my dying eyes can behold liberty dawning upon Germany!"



CHAPTER IX.

'TIS TIME

It was late in the afternoon of the 8th of April. The setting sun was shedding his last red rays on the distant mountain-crests of the Janfen and the Timbler Toch, whose blood-red summits contrasted wonderfully with the deep azure of the clear sky. On the lower slopes of the mountains twilight had set in; the pines, the daring chamois of the vegetable kingdom, which had climbed up to the highest parts of the mountains, cast the gray veil of dusk over these lower slopes. Below, in the Passeyr valley, however, night already prevailed, for the mountains looming up on both sides of the valley filled it with darkness even before sundown; and only the wild, roaring Passeyr, which rushes from the mountain through the valley, glistened like a silver belt in the gloom. The church-bells of the villages of St. Leonard and St. Martin, lying on both sides of the valley, tolled a solemn curfew, awakening here and there a low, sleepy echo; and from time to time was heard from a mountain- peak a loud, joyous Jodler, by which a Tyrolese hunter, perhaps, announced his speedy return to his family in the valley. The gloom in the narrow Passeyrthal became deeper and deeper, and, like bright glow-worms, the lights in the houses of St. Leonard and St. Martin glistened now in the darkness.

Lights appeared not only in the valley below, but also here and there on the mountain-slopes; and especially in the solitary house on the knoll situated half-way between the two villages, was seen the bright glare of many candles, and the persons passing on the road in the valley looked up and whispered to each other: "Andreas Hofer is at home, and, it seems, has a great many guests at his house, for all the windows of his handsome inn are illuminated."

The solitary house on the knoll, then, belonged to Andreas Hofer. It was the Gasthaus zum Sand, far famed throughout the Tyrol. And the passers-by were not mistaken. Andreas Hofer was at home, and had a great many guests at his house. On the benches of the large bar-room sat his guests, handsome Tyrolese, with flashing eyes and animated faces, which were all turned toward the Sandwirth, [Footnote: The name usually given to Hofer—"Sandwirth, landlord of the inn Zum Sand."] who was sitting on the small table yonder, and conversing in a low tone with his friends Eisenstecken and Sieberer. All the guests seemed excited and anxious; no one opened his mouth to utter merry jests; none of the gay songs so popular among the Tyrolese resounded; and the guests did not even venture to address playful remarks to Hofer's pretty daughters, who were gliding noiselessly through the room to fill the empty beer-glasses.

"It seems," murmured Anthony Sieberer, "that the Austrian government has again postponed the matter, and we shall vainly look far the arrival of the message. This new delay puts an end to the whole movement."

"I do not think so," said Hofer, gravely, and loud enough to be heard by all. "Do not despond, my dear friends! The Austrian government will assuredly keep its word, for the dear brave Archduke John promised me in the emperor's name that Austria would succor the Tyrolese, and send troops into our country, if we would be in readiness on the 9th of April to rise against the Bavarians. My dear friends, do you put no confidence, then, in the word of our excellent emperor and the good archduke, who has always loved us so dearly?"

"No, no, we put implicit confidence in their word!" shouted the Tyrolese, with one accord.

"The messenger will surely come, just have a little patience," added Hofer, with a pleasant nod; "the day is not yet at an end, and until midnight we may smoke yet many a pipe and drink many a glass of beer.—Anna Gertrude see to it that the glasses of the guests are always well filled."

Anna Gertrude, a fine-looking matron of thirty-six, with florid cheeks and flashing hazel eyes, had just placed before her husband another jug, filled with foaming beer, and she nodded now to her Andy with a smile, showing two rows of faultless white teeth.

"I and the girls will attend to the guests," she said, "but the men do not drink any thing. The glasses and jugs are all filled, but they do not empty them, and—Look! who comes there?"

Andreas Hofer turned his head toward the door; then suddenly he uttered a cry of surprise and jumped up.

"Halloo!" he exclaimed, "I believe this is the messenger whom we are looking for." And he pointed his outstretched arm at the small, dark form entering the room at this moment.

"It is Major Teimer," he continued, joyfully; "I suppose you know yet our dear major of 1805?"

"Hurrah! Martin Teimer is there," shouted the Tyrolese, rising from their seats, and hastening to the new-comer to shake hands with him and bid him heartily welcome.

Martin Teimer thanked them warmly for this kind reception, and a flash of sincere gratification burst from his shrewd blue eyes.

"I thought I should meet all the brave men of the Passeyr valley at Andy's house to-night," he said, "and I therefore greet you all at once, my dear comrades of 1805. That year was disastrous to us. but I think the year 1809 will be a better one, and we shall regain to- day what we lost at that time."

"Yes, we shall, as sure as there is a God," shouted the Tyrolese; and Andreas Hofer laid his arm on Teimer's shoulder and gazed deeply into his eyes.

"Say, Martin Teimer, are all things in readiness, and do you bring us word to rise?"

"I do, all things are in readiness," said Teimer, solemnly. "Our countryman, Baron von Hormayr, whom the Austrian government appointed governor and intendant of the Austrian forces which are to co-operate with us, sends me to Andreas Hofer, whom I am to inform that the Austrian troops, commanded by Marquis von Chasteler and General Hiller, will cross the Tyrolese frontier to-night."

"Hurrah, hurrah! the Austrians are coming!" shouted the Tyrolese, jubilantly, swinging their pointed hats in the air. "The war has broken out, the Austrians are coming, and we will expel the Bavarians from the country!"

Andreas Hofer's face, too, was radiant with joy; but, instead of singing and shouting, he was silent, lifted his eyes slowly to heaven, and seized with both his hands the crucifix resting on his breast.

"Let us pray, my friends," he said in a loud and solemn voice; "let us thank our Lord God and our patron saint in the stillness of our hearts."

The men paused; like Andreas Hofer, they clasped their hands, bent their heads, and muttered fervent prayers.

After a long pause Hofer raised his head again. "And now, men, listen to what I have to say to you," he exclaimed, cheerfully. "I have invited you all because you are the most influential and respectable men in this part of the country, and because the fatherland has need of you and counts upon you and me. The sharpshooters of the Passeyrthal told me, if war should break out, I must be their captain; and I accepted the position because I think that every one is in duty bound to risk his limbs and life for the sake of the fatherland, and place himself just where he can serve it best. But if I am to be your captain, you must all assist me to the best of your power. We must act harmoniously, and strain every nerve to deliver the fatherland and restore the Tyrol to our beloved emperor."

"We are resolved to do so," shouted the men, with one accord.

"I know it full well," said Andreas Hofer, joyously. "Let us go to work, then. and circulate throughout the Tyrol the message that the Austrians are coming, and that it is time. Say, Teimer, did yon not bring a written message with you?"

"Here is a letter from Hormayr," said Martin Teimer, drawing a large sealed paper from his bosom.

Andreas took it and opened it quickly. But while he was reading it, a slight cloud overspread his countenance, and for a moment he cast a rapid, searching glance on Martin Teimer's bright, keen face; however, no sooner had he met Teimer's stealthy, inquiring glance, than he quickly turned his eyes again to the paper.

"Well," he said then, striking the paper with his right hand, "the statements contained in this letter are entirely in accordance with our wishes. We are to rise at once, for already tomorrow the Austrians will have crossed our frontiers. Marquis von Chasteler will march from Carinthia into the Puster valley; General Hiller is moving from Salzburg toward the Lower Inn valley; the former thinks he will reach Brixen in the course of four days; the latter says he will be at Innspruck within the same time. I and Martin Teimer here, who no longer keeps a tobacco-shop at Klagenfurth, but is again Major Teimer as he was four years ago—we are to direct and manage every thing in the Tyrol, and are intrusted with the duty of seeing to it that the flames of the insurrection burst forth now as speedily as possible from one end of the Tyrol to the other, and that it shall become a conflagration that will burn up all Frenchmen and Bavarians, or compel them to escape from the country. Assist us, then, my men, in spreading the news over the mountains and through the valleys, that all may rise and participate in the great work of deliverance. Every able-bodied man is to shoulder his rifle, and the women and children are to carry, from house to house, little balls of paper on which are written the words: ''Tis time!' as we have agreed at our meetings. And now, in compliance with the promise I gave Hormayr in Vienna, I will issue a circular to all our friends that they may know what to do under these circumstances. Is there among you any one who can write well and correctly, and to whom I may dictate? for my own handwriting is none of the best, and although what I write may be thought correctly, it is not spelled as learned men tell us it should be. If there is among you one who can write nicely and correctly what I wish to dictate, let him come forward."

"I can do it," said a young man, stepping forward.

"It is Joseph Ennemoser, son of John Ennemoser, the Seewirth," said Andreas Hofer, smiling. "Yes, I believe you are a good scribe; you have become quite a scholar and an aristocratic gentleman, and are studying medicine at the University of Innspruck."

"For all that, I have remained an honest mountaineer; and as for my studies, I will not think of them until we have delivered the Tyrol from the Bavarian yoke. I shall keep only my pen, and act as Andreas Hofer's obedient secretary." [Footnote: Joseph Ennemoser, son of John Ennemoser, the tailor and Seewirth of the Passeyrthal, was a shepherd in his boyhood. His father sent him to the gymnasium of Innsbruck, and afterward to the university of the same city, where he studied medicine. In 1809 he was Hofer's secretary. Afterward he became a celebrated professor of medicine at the University of Bonn.]

"Sit down, then, my boy, and write. You will find pen and ink in the drawer of yonder table. Take them, and I will dictate to you."

And amidst the respectful silence of the men, walking up and down slowly, and stroking his long beard with his right hand, Andreas Hofer commenced dictating his "open order," which was as follows:

"Early in the morning of the 9th of April General Hiller will march from Salzburg to the Lower Inn valley, and General yon Chasteler from Carinthia to the Puster valley. On the 11th or 12th of April the former will arrive at Innsbruck, and the latter at Brixen. The Archduke John orders that the Muhlbach pass be occupied by peasants from the Puster valley, and the Kuntersweg by mounted men. They are to allow all forces of the enemy marching from Botzen to Brixen to pass, and will cut off all communications only so soon as they discover that the Bavarian civilians and soldiers are trying to escape from Brixen to Botzen. Not a man must be allowed to pass then."

While Andreas Hofer was dictating his "open order" with a firm and thoughtful air, the peasants stood dumfounded with admiration, staring at him with a feeling of awe, and delighted with his sagacity and understanding. That Hofer cast from time to time a searching glance at Hormayr's letter did not disturb the admiration they felt for their chosen leader, and they were silent and stared at him long after he was through.

"So," said Andreas when the writing was finished, "now Martin Teimer and I will affix our names to this open order; Ennemoser will then copy it half a dozen times, and six of you will carry the copies to the other leaders who are already waiting for them, and who will give the signal to their friends in the lower valley. You, George Lanthaler, will carry the order to Joseph Speckbacher at Kufstein; you, Joseph Gufler, will take it to the farmer at the Schildhof; you, George Steinhauferle, will go to Anthony Wallner, the Aichberger at Windisch-Matrey. Quick, quick, my friends, we have no time to lose; you must walk night and day; you cannot rest on the road, for we must strike the blow with lightning speed, and it must be done at the same time all over the country."

"And I will likewise set out again to spread the news throughout the country," said Martin Teimer. "For two weeks past I have been in all parts of the Tyrol, and have worked everywhere for our cause, and know now that we may count upon all our countrymen. They are waiting for the signal, and we must give it to them. Here, take this package; it contains a large number of those little paper balls upon which are written the words ''Tis time!' Each of you can take a handful of them and give them to your wives and children, that they may carry them to the neighbors and distribute them everywhere. Speckbacher and Wallner, too, have packages of such paper balls, and so soon as our faithful messengers bring them our 'open order,' they will likewise send around their wives and children through the neighborhood; and everywhere the cry will be, ''Tis time!' We must expel the Bavarians! I will go now, for I must concentrate my men in order to prevent the Bavarians from crossing the bridge of Laditch. Farewell, then, and God grant that we may all meet again before long as free and happy men at our good city of Innspruck!"

"We must go too," exclaimed the Tyrolese when Martin Teimer had left the house as quickly as he had entered it. "We must go into the mountains and inform our friends that it is time."

"But go through the kitchen, my dear messengers," said Andreas Hofer; "there is a bag of flour for each of you; take it on your back, and on passing during your march a rivulet or a mountain torrent, throw some of the flour into it; and wherever you find dry brushwood on the road, pile it up and kindle it, that the bale-fires may proclaim to the country, ''Tis time!"

Half an hour afterward the large bar-room was deserted, and profound silence reigned in the inn Zum Sand. The servants and children of the Sandwirth had gone to bed; only he himself and his faithful wife, Anna Gertrude, were yet up. Both had retired into the small sitting-room adjoining the barroom. Andreas Hofer was walking up and down there silently and thoughtfully, his hands folded on his back; Gertrude sat in the leather-covered arm-chair at the stove, and looked at her husband. Every thing was still around them; only the slow, regular ticking of the clock broke the profound silence, and outside was to be heard the wild roaring of the Passeyr, which hurled its furious foaming waters not far from the inn over pebbles and fragments of rocks.

Finally, after a long pause, Andreas stood still in front of his wife, and gazed at her with a long, searching, and tender look. Gertrude, as if lifted up by this glance, rose, encircled his neck quickly with her arms, and looked with an expression of terror and anxiety into his face.

"Andy," she exclaimed, mournfully, "my own, dearest Andy, I am afraid harm will befall you!"

"That is what I expect," he said, sighing, "and I am sorry for you, my dearest wife. I was just speaking with God and my conscience, and asking them so fervently if it was not wrong in me not to think above all things of my dear wife and my beloved children, and if I ought not to live and die only for them. For I tell you, and I know, what I am going to do is dangerous, and may easily cost my life. I do not blind my eyes to it; I may lose my life in either of two ways. A bullet may strike me in battle; or, if my life should be spared in the struggle, and if we should be defeated, the Bavarians would treat me as a traitor; and then a bullet would strike me also, for they would shoot me."

"Oh, Jesus Maria! my Andy," cried Gertrude, taking Hofer's head in her hands, as if to protect it from the murderous bullets.

"I do not say that this will occur; I say only that it may occur," said Andreas, with a gentle smile. "I wish to tell you only that I am fully alive to the dangers threatening me when I step to-morrow morning out of my street-door, and enter upon the duties of the position which they have conferred on me; for I am to command the peasants of the Passeyr valley and direct the insurrection in all this part of the country. Therefore, I asked God and my conscience whether or not I did right in taking upon myself so responsible a task, and plunging my family, perhaps, into grief and distress. But do you know what both of them replied to me? They said: 'It is your duty to love your wife and your children; but you must also love your emperor and your country; and when the latter call you and say, "Come, we need your arm and assistance," you must, as an honest man, obey the call, go to them, and leave your family; for to love the fatherland is every man's highest honor, and to be loyal and devoted to the emperor is the first duty of every Tyrolese.' God and my conscience spoke to me thus in my breast, and now I ask you too, dear wife—I ask you before God and your conscience—would you like your husband not to obey the emperor's call, but stay at home, while his brave brethren and friends are taking the field to defend the country and expel the Bavarians?"

"No, indeed, Andy, I would not," cried Gertrude, in dismay; "I should never dare again to lift my eyes before anybody; I should not even venture to pray to the Holy Virgin and to God, for, as both gave up their divine Son, so an honest woman must give up her husband for the sake of the fatherland."

Andreas laid his hand on his wife's head as if to bless her. "It is as you say, Gertrude," he said, solemnly. "For the sake of the fatherland and the emperor you must give up your husband and your children their father; and we are not allowed to shut our ears in order not to hear that the dear Tyrol and the good Emperor Francis have called me. I have heard the call, and must obey it. I shall do so joyously and readily, and yet my heart grieves, and there is in my breast here something telling me that our happiness is at an end, that our sun has set, and—Gertrude, I am not ashamed of it—I weep!"

He leaned his head against his wife's shoulder, and, folding her to his heart, sobbed aloud. But this lasted only a short time; then be raised himself again, and drew his hand quickly across his eyes.

"There," he said, "it is all over now. I wept as a good Christian is surely allowed to do when he takes leave of his wife and his children, and gives them up for the sake of his country. Did not Abraham weep too, and beg God for mercy, when he was to sacrifice his son to the Almighty? But he nevertheless was ready to make the sacrifice. And, like Abraham, I have wept and lamented now, but I shall make the sacrifice. Here I am, my God," he added, lifting his eyes and hands to Heaven; "here I am, for Thou hast called me. Do with me as thou deemest best. I am nothing but Thy faithful servant; but if Thou wishest to use me for Thy great purposes, do so! I offer Thee my arms, my body, and my life! Take them!"

"But thou, Holy Virgin," murmured Gertrude, "and thou Saint George, our patron saint, stretch out your arms over him graciously and protect my Andy. Bear in mind that he is my most precious treasure on earth! Preserve my dear husband to me, and to my children the father whom they love so ardently!"

"Amen!" exclaimed Andreas. "And now, dearest wife, come and give me a kiss, a parting kiss!"

"You do not intend to set out this very night?" asked Gertrude, anxiously.

"No, Gertrude, but still it is a parting kiss. For henceforth I must become another man—a hard man, who will no longer think of his family, but only of the fatherland and the emperor. I wept a few minutes ago as a good father and husband, but now I must become as hard as a good soldier ought to be. Until the Bavarians have been expelled from the country, I shall no longer think of you and the children, but shall be only a brave and intrepid soldier of my lord and emperor, and the commander of the Passeyr militia. Kiss me, therefore, a last time, Anna Gertrude! There! Give me another kiss! Who knows but it may be the last time you will ever kiss me, dear Gertrude? And here is still another kiss for our girls. Now it is enough. Go to bed now, Gertrude, and pray for me."

"You will not go to bed, Andy?" asked Gertrude, anxiously.

"No, I will not, Anna Gertrude. I have business to attend to in the yard with Joe, our laborer. We will kill the brindled cow."

"What? This very night?"

"This very night. We need the blood and meat. We shall pour the blood into the Passeyr, and you will see tomorrow that we need the meat, for I believe we shall have a great many guests in the morning."

Andreas Hofer's prophecy was fulfilled. Already early in the morning a great many men assembled in front of the inn Zum Sand. They were the sharpshooters of the Passeyr valley, who were flocking from all parts of the district to Hofer's house to report to the beloved commander of Passeyr. They came down from the mountains and up from the valleys. They wore their holiday dresses, and their yellow Sunday hats were decorated with bouquets of rosemary and handsome ribbons. They were merry and in the best of spirits, as if they were going to the dance; only instead of their rosy-cheeked girls, they held their trusty rifles in their arms. Nevertheless, they smacked their lips, uttered loud exclamations of joy, and shouted as merrily as larks—"'Tis time! The Bavarians must leave the country! Long live the emperor! Long live the Archduke John!"

And echo seemed to answer, "The Bavarians must leave the country!" But it was not echo that had repeated these words. They proceeded from the throats of merry men, and a gay procession descended now from the mountain-path. It consisted of the sharpshooters and peasants of Meran and Algund, who were marching up in the beautiful costumes of the Adige valley. Oh, how their eyes flashed, and the rifles in their arms also. And with what jubilant Jodlers the men of Passeyr received their dear friends from Algund and Meran.

All at once every sound was hushed, for in the door of the inn appeared Andreas Hofer, looking like a king in his handsome holiday attire; his good-natured, honest face gleamed with joy, and his glance was mild and clear, and yet so firm and commanding. His whole bearing breathed calm dignity, and it seemed to the men of Passeyr as though the morning sun which illuminated his face surrounded his head with a golden halo. They stood aside with timid reverence and awe. Hofer advanced into the middle of the circle which the men of Passeyr, Meran, and Algund formed around him. He then looked around and greeted the men on all sides with a smile, a pleasant nod, and a wave of his hand.

"My friends," he exclaimed in a loud voice, "the day has come when we must expel the Bavarians from the country and restore the Tyrol to the Austrians. 'Tis time! The Bavarians have amply deserved such treatment at our hands, for they have sorely oppressed us. When you had finished a wooden image, could you carry it to Vienna and sell it? No, you could not! Is that freedom? You are Tyrolese; at least your fathers called themselves so; now you are to call yourselves Bavarians. And, moreover, our ancient castle of Tyrol in the Passeyr valley was not spared! Are you satisfied with this? If you harvest three blades of corn, the government claims two of them; is that happiness and prosperity? But there is a Providence and there are angels; and it was revealed to me that if we resolved to avenge our wrongs, God and St. George, our patron saint, would help us. Up, then, against the Bavarians! Tear the villains with your teeth while they stand; but when they kneel down and pray, give them quarter. Up against the Bavarians! 'Tis time!"

"Up against the Bavarians! 'tis time!" shouted all the brave men, enthusiastically; and the mountain echoes answered: "Up against the Bavarians! 'tis time!"

And the blood-red waters of the Passeyr carried down into the valley the message: "Up against the Bavarians! 'tis time!"



CHAPTER X.

ANTHONY WALLNER OF WINDISCH-MATREY.

An unusual commotion reigned in the market-place of Windisch-Matrey on the afternoon of the 9th of April. The men and youths of Windisch-Matrey and its environs were assembled there in dense groups, and thronged in constantly-increasing masses round the house of the innkeeper Anthony Aichberger, called Wallner. The women, too, had left their houses and huts, and hastened to the market-place. Their faces were as threatening as those of the men; their eyes shot fire, and their whole bearing betokened unusual excitement. Everywhere loud and vehement words were uttered, clinched fists were raised menacingly, and glances of secret understanding were exchanged.

The liveliest scene, however, took place in the large barroom of the inn. The foremost men of the whole district, strong, well-built forms, with defiant faces and courageous bearing, had assembled there around Anthony Wallner-Aichberger. They spoke but little, but sat on the benches against the walls of the room, and stared into their glasses, which Eliza, Wallner's eldest daughter, filled again and again with beer. Even the young girl, who was usually so gay and spirited, seemed to-day sad and dejected. Formerly her merry laughter and clear, ringing voice were heard everywhere; to-day she was moody and taciturn. Formerly her checks glowed like purple roses, a charming arch expression played around her beautiful small mouth, and the fire and spirit of youth beamed from her large black eyes; to-day, only a faint crimson tinged Eliza's cheeks, her lips were firmly compressed, and her eyes were dim and lustreless. From time to time, while waiting on the guests, she cast an anxious, searching glance through the windows over the market-place, and seemed to listen to the hum of voices, which often became as deafening as the wild roar of the storm, and shook the window-panes.

Anthony Wallner, her father, was likewise grave and anxious, and in walking to the groups of guests seated on the benches here and there, he glanced uneasily toward the windows.

"It may be that they will not come, after all, Tony, and that the Viennese have fooled you," whispered old Thurnwalden from Meran to him.

"I cannot comprehend it," sighed Anthony Wallner. "The insurrection was to break out on the 9th of April, and the Austrian troops were to cross the frontier on that day; and this was the reason why we have hitherto resisted the conscription and refused to pay the new taxes. But the 9th of April has come now, and we have received no message from Hofer or the Austrians."

"And to-day the time which the Bavarians have given us is up," growled George Hinnthal; "if our young lads do not report voluntarily to the enrolling officers by this evening, they will be arrested to-morrow."

"They shall not be arrested," exclaimed one of the Tyrolese, striking the table with his powerful fist.

"No, they shall not be arrested," echoed all, in loud, defiant tones.

"But you will not be able to prevent them," said old Thurnwalden, when all were silent again and had drunk a long draught from their glasses as if to confirm their words. "You know there is a whole company of soldiers at Castle Weissenstein, and Ulrich von Hohenberg, the castellan's nephew, is their captain. He is a Bavarian, body and soul, and, if we resist the authorities, he will lead his men with muskets and field-pieces against us."

"Why, you have become greatly discouraged, Caspar Thurnwalden," said Anthony Wallner, sneeringly, "and one would almost think you had turned a friend of the Bavarians. We have got as good muskets as the Bavarians, and if they shoot we shall shoot back. And as for the field-pieces, why, we have got wheels and may roll down cannon from Castle Weissenstein to Windisch-Matrey. But come, my dear friends, I see the Bavarian tax-collectors walking across the market-place yonder. They look very grim and stern, as if they meant to devour us all. Let us go out and see what is going on."

The men rose as if obeying a military order, and followed Anthony Wallner from the room to the market-place. Eliza Wallner was for a moment alone in the room; and now that she had no longer to fear the eyes of the guests, she sank quite exhausted on a chair and buried her face in her trembling hands.

"What am I to do?" she murmured in a low voice. "Oh, God in heaven, would I could die this very hour!"

"Why do you weep, Lizzie?" asked a gentle voice by her side, and, on looking up, Eliza beheld the grave, sympathetic face of her mother, who had just entered the room without being heard by her. Eliza sprang up and embraced her mother with passionate tenderness. "Dearest mamma," she whispered, "I am afraid."

"Afraid of what?" asked her mother, in a low voice. "Are you afraid the Austrians may not come, and the Bavarians may then imprison your dear father, because they have found out that he has instigated the people to disobey their behests?"

"No," said Eliza, blushing with shame, "no, that is not what I am afraid of. They will not dare to arrest my dear father, for they know full well that the people of the whole district are greatly attached to him, and that the men of the whole Puster valley would rise to deliver Anthony Wallner. It is something else, dearest mother; come with me into the chamber; there I will tell you all."

She drew her mother hastily into the chamber adjoining the bar-room and closed the door after her.

"Mother," she said, tremblingly and breathlessly, "listen to me now. I am sure the Austrians are coming, and if the men outside hear of it, they will kill all the Bavarians."

"Let them do it," said her mother composedly; "the mean, sneaking Bavarians have certainly deserved to be killed after the infamous treatment we have endured at their hands."

"But, mother, there are also good men among them," exclaimed Eliza. "You know very well I am a loyal Tyrolese girl, and love my emperor dearly, for you have taught me from my earliest youth that it was incumbent on me to do so. But, mother, there are also good men among the Bavarians. There is, for instance, Ulrich von Hohenberg up at Castle Weissenstein. You know his cousin has always treated me as a sister; we have grown up together, and I was allowed to participate in her lessons and learn what she learned. We were always together, and even now I have snot ceased going to Castle Weissenstein, although it is garrisoned by a detachment of Bavarian soldiers. Father himself wished me to go to the young lady as heretofore, for he said it would look suspicious if I should stay away all of a sudden. Therefore I went to see my dear friend Eliza von Hohenberg every day, and I always met there her cousin, the captain of the Bavarian soldiers. He is a very kind-hearted and merry gentleman, mother, and it is no fault of his that he is a Bavarian. His father, our castellan's brother, has lived for thirty years past down at Munich, and his son entered the Bavarian service long before he knew that we people of Windisch-Matrey desire to become Austrian subjects again. Now his general sent him hither with his soldiers for the purpose of helping the officers to collect the taxes and enroll the names of our young men. Is he to blame for the necessity he is under of obeying the orders of his general?"

"No, he is not," said her mother, gravely.

"But when the Austrians come now, and my father and the other men rise, and expel and kill the Bavarians, they will kill Ulrich von Hohenberg too, although it is not his fault that he is a Bavarian. Oh, dearest mamma, he is such a good, kind-hearted young man! he is my dear Eliza's cousin and our castellan's nephew, and you know how well Eliza and her father have treated me, and that they take care of me, whenever I am at the castle, as though I were the castellan's own child. Dearest mamma, shall we permit our men to kill the nephew of our excellent castellan?"

"No, we will not, Lizzie," said her mother, resolutely. "Quick, run up the footpath leading to the castle. Tell the young officer that the Tyrolese are going to deliver themselves from the Bavarian yoke, and that he had better effect his escape while there is time."

"Mother, he will not do it, for he is a brave young man!" sighed Eliza; "and then—I cannot betray father's secret to him. If the Austrians did not come after all, and I had told Ulrich von Hohenberg what father and the other Tyrolese intend to do, would I not be a traitress, and would not father curse me?"

"True, true, that will not do," said her mother musingly; "your father would never forgive you. But I know what you must do. Just run up to the castle and act as though you wished only to pay a visit to your friend Eliza; no one knows as yet what is going to occur. None of your friends have disclosed the secret; and the castellan too, though I think he is a good Austrian at heart, does not yet know any thing about it. Your father told me so this very morning. You will remain at the castle, and so soon as you hear the report of a rifle on the market-place here, you will know that the insurrection is breaking out. There is father's rifle; when it is time, I will step out of the back gate with it and shoot. You will hear the report, and tell the young officer that the Tyrolese are going to rise, and that he had better conceal himself until the first rage of the insurgents has blown over."

"Yes, I will do so," exclaimed Eliza; "I will run up to the castle now. Good-by, dearest mamma."

She imprinted a kiss on the hand of her mother, and then sped away as gracefully as a young roe.

"She is a very good girl," said her mother, looking after her smilingly, "and has a soft and compassionate heart. She wishes to save the castellan's nephew merely because she pities the young man who is exposed to such imminent danger. It is very kind of her! It— But, Holy Virgin! what is the matter outside? Is the outbreak to commence already? I believe it is my Tony who is talking outside in so loud a voice. I must go and hear what is the matter."

She hastened through the bar-room to the street-door opening upon the market place.

Yes, it was Anthony Wallner-Aichberger who was gesticulating so violently yonder. Round him stood the men of Windisch-Matrey, looking with gloomy faces at the three Bavarian revenue officers who were standing in front of Wallner.

"I repeat, sir," exclaimed Anthony Wallner at this moment with an air of mock gravity, "that we are all very loyal and obedient subjects, and that it is wrong in you. Mr. Tax-collector, to call us stubborn, seditious fellows. If we were such, would we not, being so numerous here, punish you and your two officers for speaking of us so contemptuously and disrespectfully?"

"You know full well that, at a wave of my hand, the company of soldiers will rush down from Castle Weissenstein and shoot you all as traitors and rebels," said the tax-collector haughtily.

"Well, Mr. Tax-collector," exclaimed Wallner, smilingly, "as for the shooting, we are likewise well versed in that. We are first-rate marksmen, we Tyrolese!"

"What!" cried the tax-collector, furiously, "do you speak again of Tyrolese? Did I not forbid you to call yourselves so? You are no Tyrolese, but inhabitants of South-Bavaria, do you hear? His majesty the King of Bavaria does not want any Tyrolese as subjects, but only Southern Bavarians, as I have told you twice already." [Footnote: See "Gallery of Heroes; Life of Andreas Hofer," p. 15.]

"Very well; if his majesty does not want any Tyrolese as subjects, you need not tell us so more than once," exclaimed Anthony Wallner. "He prefers Southern Bavarians, does he? Bear that in mind, Tyrolese; the King of Bavaria wants only Southern Bavarians."

"We will bear that in mind," shouted the Tyrolese; and loud, scornful laughter rolled like threatening thunder across the market- place.

"You laugh," exclaimed the tax-collector, endeavoring to stifle his rage; "I am glad you are so merry. To-morrow, perhaps, you will laugh no longer; for I tell you, if you do not pay to-day the fine imposed on you, I shall have it forcibly collected by the soldiers at daybreak to-morrow morning."

"We must really pay the fine, then?" asked Anthony Wallner, with feigned timidity. "You will not relent, then, Mr. Tax-collector? We really must pay the heavy fine, because we had a little fun the other day? For you must say yourself, sir, we really did no wrong."

"You did no wrong? You were in open insurrection. On the birthday of your gracious master the king, instead of hanging out Bavarian flags, as you had been ordered, you hung out Austrian flags everywhere."

"No, Mr. Tax-collector, you did not see right; we hung out none but Bavarian flags."

"That is false! I myself walked through the whole place, and saw every thing with my own eyes. Your flags did not contain the Bavarian colors, blue and white, but black and yellow, the Austrian colors."

"Possibly they may have looked so," exclaimed Anthony Wallner, "but that was not our fault. The flags were our old Bavarian flags: but they were already somewhat old, the blue was faded and looked like yellow, and the white had become quite dirty and looked like black."

"Thunder and lightning! Wallner is right," exclaimed the Tyrolese, bursting into loud laughter. "The flags were our old Bavarian flags, but they were faded and dirty."

The young lads, who had hitherto stood in groups around the outer edge of the market-place, now mingled with the crowd to listen to the speakers; and a young Tyrolese, with his rifle on his arm, and his pointed hat over his dark curly hair, approached with such impetuous curiosity that he suddenly stood close to the tax- collector. However, he took no notice of the officer, but looked with eager attention at Wallner, and listened to his words.

But the grim eyes of one of the two bailiffs noticed with dismay that this impudent fellow dared to place himself close by the side of the tax-collector without taking off his hat.

Striking with his fist on the young fellow's hat, he drove it deep over his forehead.

"Villain!" he shouted, in a threatening voice, "do you not see the tax-collector?"

The young fellow drew the hat with an air of embarrassment from his forehead, and crimsoning with rage, but in silence, stepped back into the circle of the murmuring men.

"That is just what you deserve, Joe," said Anthony Wallner. "Why did a smart Tyrolese boy like you come near us Southern Bavarians when we were talking about public parlour?"

At this moment a lad elbowed himself hastily through the crowd. His dress was dusty, his face was flushed and heated and it seemed as though he had travelled many miles on foot. To those who stood in his way he said in a breathless, panting voice: "Please stand aside. I have to deliver something to Anthony Wallner-Aichberger; I must speak with him."

The men willingly stood aside. Now be was close behind Wallner, and, interrupting him in his speech, he whispered to him: "I come from Andreas Hofer; he sends you his greetings and this paper. I have run all night to bring it to you."

He handed a folded paper to Wallner, who opened it with hands trembling with impatience.

It was Andreas Hofer's "open order."

Wallner's face brightened up, he cast a fiery glance around the place filled with his friends, and fixed his flashing eyes then on the hat of the bailiff who had rebuked the young Tyrolese in so overbearing a manner. At a bound he was by his side, drove the bailiff's round official hat with one blow of his fist over his head, so that his whole face disappeared in the crown, and exclaimed in a loud, ringing voice:

"Villain! do you not see the Tyrolese?"

A loud outburst of exultation greeted Wallner's bold deed, and all the men crowded around him, ready to protect Anthony Wallner, and looking at the tax-collector with flashing, threatening eyes.

The latter seemed as if stunned by the sudden change in Wallner's demeanor, and he looked in dismay at the audacious innkeeper who was standing close in front of him and staring at him with a laughing face.

"What does this mean?" he asked at length, in a tremulous voice.

"It means that we want to be Tyrolese again," shouted Anthony Wallner, exultingly. "It means that we will no longer submit to brutal treatment at the hands of your Bavarian bailiffs, and that we will treat you now as you Boafoks have treated us for five years past." [Footnote: Boafok, the nickname which the Tyrolese gave to the Bavarians at that time. It signifies "Bavarian pigs."]

"For God's sake, how have we treated you, then?" asked the tax- collector, drawing back from the threatening face of Anthony Wallner toward his bailiffs.

"Listen to me, Tyrolese," shouted Anthony Wallner, scornfully, "he asks me how the Bavarians have treated us! Shall I tell it to him once more!"

"Yes, yes, Tony, do so," replied the Tyrolese on all sides.

"Tell it to him, and if he refuses to listen, we will tie him hand and foot, and compel him to hear what you say."

"Well, Mr. Tax-collector," said Wallner, with mock politeness, "I will tell you, then, how you Bavarians have treated us for four years past, and only when you know all our grievances will we settle our accounts. Listen, then, to what you have done to us, and what we complain of. You have behaved toward us as perjured liars and scoundrels, and I will prove it to you. In the first place, then, in 1805, when, to our intense grief and regret, our emperor was obliged to cede the Tyrol to Bavaria, the King of Bavaria, in a letter which he wrote to us, solemnly guaranteed our constitution and our ancient privileges and liberties. That is what your king promised in 1805. To be sure, we did not put much confidence in what he said, for we well knew that when the big cat wants to devour the little mouse, it treats the victim at first with great kindness and throws a small bit of bacon to it; but no sooner does the mouse take it than the cat pounces upon its unsuspecting victim and devours it. And such was our fate too; the cat Bavaria wanted to swallow the little mouse Tyrol; not even our name was to be left to us, and we were to be called Southern Bavarians instead of Tyrolese. Besides, our ancient Castle of Tyrol, the sacred symbol of our country, was dismantled and destroyed. You thought probably we would forget the past and the history of the Tyrol, and all that we are, if we no longer saw the Castle of Tyrol, where the dear Margaret Maultasch solemnly guaranteed to her Tyrolese their liberties, great privileges, and independence, for all time to come. But all was written in our hearts, and your infamous conduct engraved it only the more lastingly thereon. You took from us not only our name, but also our constitution, which all Tyrolese love as their most precious treasure. The representative estates were suppressed, and the provincial funds seized. No less than eight new and oppressive taxes were imposed, and levied with the utmost rigor; the very name of the country, as I said before, was abolished; and, after the model of revolutionary France, the Tyrol was divided into the departments of the Inn, the Adige, and the Eisach; the passion plays, which formed so large a part of the amusements of our people, were prohibited; all pilgrimages to chapels or places of extraordinary sanctity were forbidden. The convents and monasteries were confiscated, and their estates sold; the church plate and holy vessels were melted down and disposed of; the royal property was all brought into the market. New imposts were daily exacted without any consultation with the estates of our people; specie became scarce from the quantity of it which was drawn off to the royal treasury; the Austrian notes were reduced to half their value, and the feelings of our people irritated almost to madness by the compulsory levy of our young men to serve in the ranks of your army. In this manner you tried to crush us to earth. But I tell you, we shall rise again, the whole Tyrol will rise and no longer allow itself to be trampled under foot. You say the king does not want any Tyrolese as subjects. He shall not have any, for the Tyrolese want to become again subjects of their dear Emperor Francis of Austria. Men of the Tyrol, from Pusterthal, Teffereck, and Virgenthal, you wish to become again subjects of the Emperor Francis, do you not?"

"We do, we do!" shouted the men, uttering deafening cheers. "Our dear Francis is to become again our lord and emperor! Long live the Emperor Francis!"

"Silence!" cried the tax-collector, pale with rage and dismay; "silence, or I shall send for the soldiers and have every one of you arrested, and—"

"Be silent yourself!" said Anthony Wallner, seizing him violently by the arm. "Sir, you are our prisoner, and so are the two bailiffs yonder. Seize them, my friends, and if they shout or resist, shoot them down. And if you utter a cry or a word, Mr. Tax-collector, so help me God if I do not kill you for a Boafok, as you are! Keep quiet, therefore, be a sensible man, and deliver your funds to us. Come, men, we will accompany this gentleman to the tax-collector's office; and now let us sing a good Tyrolese song:"

"D'Schoergen and d'Schreiber and d'Richter allsammt, Sind'n Teufel auskomma, druck'n ueberall auf's Land, Und schinden Bauern, es is kam zum sog'n, Es waer ja koan Wunder, wir thaeten's allsammt erschlog'n."

[Footnote: Song of the Tyrolese in 1809.—See Mayr, "Joseph Spechbacher," p. 22. "The pushing—the writers, and magistrates all, Possessed by the devil, our country enthrall, And grind the poor peasants; alas, 'tis a shame! No wonder if we too share ruin the same."]

He concluded with a long and joyous Jodler, and shouted triumphantly: "Dear brethren, Andreas Hofer sends you his greetings, and informs you that the Austrians have invaded the Tyrol. Hurrah, 'tis time!"

"Yes, 'tis time," murmured Anna Maria, Anthony Wallner's wife, to herself; "'tis time for me to give Lizzie the signal, for the insurrection has broken out." She hastened into the house, took her husband's old rifle from the chamber, ran with it out of the back- door of the house, and fired the signal for her daughter.

"There," she said, returning quietly into the house, "she will have heard the report, and there is time yet to save him. I will do now what Tony asked me to do. When he sings the song, I shall take the paper-balls from the table-drawer in the back-room, give a package to each of the two boys and two servant-girls, and tell them to go with it into the mountains and circulate the paper-balls everywhere, that the inhabitants of the whole Pusterthal, from one end to the other, from the Gross-Glockner to the Venediger and Krimler Tauern, may learn this very day that it is time, and that the Boafoks are to be expelled from the country. Halloo, boys, come here! Halloo, girls, your mistress wants to speak to you!"



CHAPTER XI.

THE DECLARATION OF LOVE.

Eliza Wallner, after leaving her mother, had sped with the utmost rapidity through the back-door, across the yard, through the garden, out of the small gate leading to the meadow, down the foot-path, up the mountain-road, jumping from stone to stone, courageous and intrepid as a true daughter of the Tyrol. Now she stood at the portal of the castle, in front of which some of the Bavarian soldiers were lying in idle repose on a bench, while others in the side-wing of the castle allotted to them were looking out of the windows, and dreamily humming a Bavarian song, frequently interrupted by loud yawns.

Eliza walked past them with a slight greeting and entered the house. The old footman sitting in the hall received her kindly, and told her, in reply to her inquiry, that the castellan, old Baron von Hohenberg, had set out early in the morning for Salzburg to attend court, but that his daughter and her cousin, Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg, were lunching in the small dining-room up-stairs.

This was all the information Eliza needed; she nodded to the footman, and ascended the staircase quickly. The old footman did not follow her; he knew that it was unnecessary for him to announce beautiful Lizzie to his mistress, but that she always was welcome to her. He therefore sat down again quietly, and took up the wood-work with which he had been occupied before.

Eliza reached the dining-room and threw open the door with a hasty hand; a blissful smile then overspread her flushed face, for on the balcony yonder, behind the open glass door, she beheld the tall slender form of Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg. She heard him chatting and laughing gayly; and through the door she also saw her friend Elza von Hohenberg, who was listening to her cousin's words in smiling repose. Scarcely touching the floor with her feet, she hastened through the room.

"I assure you, cousin," said Elza at this moment, in her clear, distinct voice, "I believe at times that she is the resuscitated Maid of Orleans, and that she will perform heroic deeds one day. Oh, I know my dear beautiful Eliza Wallner, and—"

"Don not speak of me, for I am listening to you," exclaimed Eliza, entering the balcony.

"Ah, my Lizzie," exclaimed Elza, rising and tenderly embracing her friend. "Have you come at length, my merry, beautiful lark?"

"Yes, I have, and I am glad that I am here," said Eliza and her large hazel eyes turned for a moment smilingly to the young officer, who, like his cousin, had risen on beholding Eliza Wallner. He did not utter a word of salutation; nevertheless, Eliza blushed on meeting his glance, and averted her eyes timidly from him, turning them toward the distant summits of the glaciers which were glittering around the horizon yonder in wonderful majesty.

"You are glad that you are here, my sweet child? Why did you not come at an earlier hour?" asked Elza. "You are always expected. My dear silent cousin, she is always expected, is she not? "

"Most assuredly she is," said the young captain, with a smile; "and she is as welcome as the first rose of May."

"How impudent you are!" exclaimed Miss Elza, laughing; "you bid my Lizzie welcome as the first rose of May, and yet I was here before her!"

"He means only the wild hedge-rose, Elza," said Eliza, smiling archly, "for you know very well that the beautiful and aristocratic roses do not yet bloom in May."

"Well, tell me, cousin, did you really intend to compare my darling here with a wild hedge-rose?" asked Elza.

"Do not answer, sir," exclaimed Eliza, eagerly. "You have blundered in trying to flatter me, and that is good. You will see at length that fine phrases amount to nothing, and that they are colors that fade in the sunshine. You had better speak frankly and honestly to me, for I have often told you I am a stupid daughter of the Tyrol, and do not know what to reply to such fine city phrases."

"But for all that you are not stupid, my beautiful Eliza," said Ulrich von Hohenberg. "In truth, I who compare you with a rose am not a liar, but he would be who should charge you with stupidity."

"But if I should, nevertheless, assert that I am stupid, whom would it concern?" asked Eliza, defiantly.

"Ah, there they are quarrelling again," exclaimed Elza, laughing. "Come to me, sweet Lizzie; sit down by my side on this bench and give me your hand. I am so glad that you are here, for it always seems to me as though I were a lonely orphan when my dearest Lizzie, with her pretty face and her merry laughter, is absent from me. But here, Lizzie, you must look upon me with due awe to-day, for to-day I am not only your friend and sister, but I am the castellan! My father will be absent four days, and I represent him here. He delegated his whole power to me, and intrusted me with all the keys. Treat me, therefore, with great respect, Lizzie."

"That is what I always do, Elza," said Lizzie, tenderly, pressing the slender white hand of her friend to her lips. "You are always my better self, and I obey you because I love you, and I love you because I obey you so gladly!"

"Well, then, I command you, Lizzie, to be our guest all day and stay with us until nightfall. Oh, no objections, Lizzie; if you love me, you must obey!"

"And I obey you willingly, Elza; only when my father sends for me, I must go, for you know we must not violate the fourth commandment; our worthy priest would never forgive us."

"When your father sends for you, Eliza, I shall myself go down to him and beg him to leave you here. Well, then, you belong to us for the whole day, and we will consider now how we shall spend this day. Cousin, do not stand there in silence all the time, staring at the glaciers, but look at us and propose quickly some excursion for us to make to-day."

"What could I propose?" asked the young officer, shrugging his shoulders.

"I submit rather silently and obediently to your proposals, for Miss Eliza would certainly reject all my proposals merely because I make them."

Eliza burst into merry laughter. "Elza, dearest Elza," she exclaimed," he calls me 'Miss Eliza!' No sir, let me tell you, a poor Tyrolese girl like me is no 'miss,' no aristocratic lady; people call me Lizzie, only Lizzie; do not forget that!"

"People here call her 'beautiful Lizzie,'" said the officer in a low voice, casting an admiring glance on the young girl.

"That does not concern you, sir," she replied, blushing like a crimson rose; "you do not belong to the people here, and you must not call me anything but Lizzie, do you hear? I think the notions which city folks entertain about beauty are different from those of peasants like us. We consider the daisy and the Alpine rose beautiful; though they are but small flowers, yet they suit us. However, the city folks laugh at our taste, and step recklessly on our flowers. They consider only the proud white lilies and the large gorgeous roses beautiful flowers. I do not belong to them, I am only a daisy; but my Elza likes this daisy and fastens me to her bosom, and I rest there so soft and sweetly."

She encircled Elza's neck with her arms, leaned her head against her breast, and looked tenderly up to her with her hazel gazelle eyes.

Elza bent over her and kissed her eyes and white forehead. Ulrich von Hohenberg looked at them both with a tender, ardent glance; then he averted his head to conceal the crimson glow suffusing his cheeks.

At this moment the door opened, and the castellan's overseer entered with an air of hurry and self-importance.

"Miss Elza," he said, "the wood-cutters have brought wood and are waiting for a receipt. Besides, the head dairy-woman wishes to see you about the butter which she is to send to town; and the cattle- dealer has arrived, and—"

"I am coming, I am coming," exclaimed the young lady, laughing. "Do you see, Lizzie, what an important person I am? But for me the whole machine would stand still and sink in ruins. Fortunately, I am equal to the occasion; and set the wheels in motion, and the machine can go on. You may stay here and consider how we are to amuse ourselves to-day. In the mean time I shall regulate our domestic affairs a little, and when I come back, you will inform me what pleasure you have devised for us to-day."

"No, Elza, let me go with you," begged Eliza, almost anxiously, "I shall assist you—"

"You cannot help me outside, Lizzie," said Elza, laughing; "but here you can take my place and be my cousin Ulrich's companion. Be merry, my dear children, until I come back!"

She nodded pleasantly to them, took the large bunch of keys from the table, and swinging it noisily in her hand, skipped through the room and out of the door.

Lizzie had followed her a few steps; then, as if arrested by a sudden thought, she paused and returned slowly to the balcony. She cast a quick glance on the officer, who was leaning against the wall on one side of the balcony, and, with his arms folded on his breast, did not avert his eyes from her.

Eliza gave a start and withdrew to the other side of the balcony. There she sat down on the bench like a timid little bird, and allowed her eyes to wander dreamily and thoughtfully over the landscape. And, indeed, the view which they enjoyed from the, balcony was wondrously beautiful. On one side extended the splendid valley, with its meadows clad in the freshest verdure of spring, its foaming white mountain-torrents, its houses and huts, which disappeared gradually in the violet mists bordering the horizon. On both sides of the valley rose the green wooded heights, interspersed here and there with small verdant pastures and clearings, on which handsome red cows were grazing or lying in majestic repose. Behind the clearings black pines and firs dotted the slopes, which, however, in their more elevated portions became more and more bare; where the trees ceased, appeared here and there again green pastures, and on them, gray and small, like birds' nests, the huts of the mountain cow-keepers, who, the most advanced sentinels, as it were, were guarding the frontiers where the war between nature and man commences, the frontiers of the snowy region and the world of glaciers. Behind the cow-keepers' huts flashed already masses of snow from several mountain-gorges; farther above, the snow had spread its white silver veils far and wide over all the mountain- peaks, so that they glittered and sparkled with indescribable beauty in the bright morning sun, and loomed like swans' necks up to the azure sky.

Below, in the foreground of the valley, at the foot of Castle Weissenstein, lay the village of Windisch-Matrey, with its scattering groups of handsome houses, from whose midst arose the church, with its tall, pointed steeple. From the standpoint which she occupied, Eliza was able to distinctly survey the market-place and its crowds of men, which, in the distance, resembled busy black ant-hills. She gazed upon them fixedly, and the small specks seemed to her practised eye like human forms; she thought she could distinguish several of them, and, among others, the tall and powerful form of her father; she thought—

"Eliza," said all at once a low voice by her side—"Eliza, you do not want to see me, then? You are still angry with me?"

She gave a start, and crimsoned, when, on looking up, she saw young Ulrich von Hohenberg standing close in front of her, and gazing at her with ardent and beseeching eyes.

"No, sir," she said, "I really did not see you."

"That is to say, Eliza, you are still angry with me?" he asked, eagerly. "You are silent, you avert your head. My God! Eliza, what did I do, then, to incur your anger?"

"Not much, perhaps, for city folks, but by far too much for a poor peasant-girl," she said, with eyes flashing proudly. "You told me you loved me, you tried forcibly to embrace and kiss me, and begged me to go up early in the morning to the yellow grotto, where you would wait for me. You told me further not to say a word about it to anybody; it should remain a secret between you and me, and I should not even mention it to the priest at the confessional. That was not honest of you, sir; nay, it was bad of you to try and persuade me to such mean things. It showed me that you cannot be a good man, and that your friendship for me is prompted by evil intentions."

"I do not feel any friendship for you, none whatever," said the young man ardently, seating himself by her side, seizing her hand in spite of her resistance, and pressing it to his heart. "I do not want to be your friend, my sweet, beautiful, wild Alpine rose; no, not your friend, but your lover. And I commence by loving you with intense ardor, by desiring and longing for nothing, and thinking of nothing but you alone. Oh, Eliza, believe me, I love you intensely— by far more than Elza, more than your parents, more than all your friends together."

"More, perhaps, but not better," she said, shaking her head, and gently withdrawing her hand from him.

"No, let me keep your hand!" he exclaimed hastily, seizing it again; "let me keep it, Eliza, for I tell you I love you better too than all the others; I love you with my soul, with my heart, with my blood, with my life! Oh, believe me, sweet, lovely child; believe me and give me your heart; follow me, and be mine—mine forevermore! I will give you a happy, brilliant, and beautiful existence; I will lay at your feet all the pleasures, enjoyments, and charms of this world—"

"Sir," interrupted Eliza, hastily, jumping up, and fixing her eyes upon him with a strange, ardent expression, "I hope I understand you right, and my ears do not deceive me? You offer me your hand? You want to marry me and make me your wife?"

The young man gave a slight start and dropped his eyes. Eliza saw it, and a sarcastic smile played round her lips. "Why do you not speak?" she said. "Reply to me. Did I understand you? Did you make serious proposals of marriage to me? Will you go down to my father this very day and say to him: 'Listen, sir. I, the aristocratic gentleman, I, Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg, want to marry your daughter Lizzie. I think this country girl, with her manners, her language and bearing, is well fitted to associate with my aristocratic and distinguished family, and my parents in Munich would be overjoyed if I should bring to them this Tyrolese girl as their daughter-in-law, and a brown cow and a white goat as her dower.' Tell me, sir, will you go down to my dear father, the innkeeper of Windisch-Matrey, and say that to him?"

"But, Eliza," sighed the young man, mournfully, "if you loved me only a little, you would not immediately think of marriage, but would forget every thing else, allow your whole past to sink into oblivion behind you, and think of nothing but the fact that I love you intensely, and that you return my love."

"But I do not admit at all that I love you," said Eliza, proudly; "on the contrary, you alone say and swear that you love me, and I reply that I do not believe you."

"And why do you not believe me, cruel, beautiful girl?"

"Because you utter so many fine phrases which amount to nothing at all. You tell me that you are very fond of me, but I think if you love any body with all your heart, you must be anxious to preserve him from misfortune, and do all you can to make him happy, even though it were at the expense of your own happiness. But you, sir, do not intend to make me happy; on the contrary, you are bent on plunging me into misery and disgrace, and that is the reason why I contend that you do not love me."

"Then you have a heart of stone," cried Ulrich von Hohenberg, despairingly; "you will not see what I am suffering, nor how intensely I love you."

"Sir," said she, smiling, "if I cannot comprehend it, pray explain to me how you love me."

"I love you as the most beautiful, lovely, and charming creature I have ever known and admired. I love you as a girl whose innocence, naturalness, and goodness, fill my heart with ecstasy and profound emotion; by whose side I should like to spend my whole life, and united with whom I should wish to seek for a lonely island of happiness to dream there—remote from the world, its prejudices and follies—a sweet, blissful love-life, from which only death would arouse us."

"Sir, if you really love me in this manner, you need not run away with me to seek elsewhere in foreign lands the 'lonely island of happiness,' as you call it, for in that case you would have it round you wherever we might be, and, above all things, here in our mountains. But, look, it is just as I said; you are desirous to find a 'lonely island of happiness'—that is to say, nobody is to find out that the aristocratic gentleman loves the poor Tyrolese girl, and that is the reason why you want us to hide in the mountains or elsewhere, and see if we can be happy without the blessing of the priest, our dear parents, and all other good men."

"Oh, Eliza, have mercy on me. I swear to you that I love you intensely; that I would be the happiest of men if I could marry you publicly and make you my wife in the face of the whole world, that— "

Eliza interrupted him by singing with a smiling air, and in a merry, ringing voice:

"Und a Bisserle Lieb' und a Bisserle Treu' Und a Bisserle Falschheit ist all'zeit dabei!"

[Footnote: "And a bit of love, and a bit of truth, And a bit of falsehood, make life, forsooth!"]

"No, no falsehood," cried Ulrich, "only the irksome, terrible necessity, the—"

The loud crash of a rifle, finding an oft-repeated echo in the mountains, interrupted him. Eliza uttered a cry of dismay and jumped up.

"Jesus Maria!" she murmured in a low voice, "it is the signal. It has commenced!"

"What! What has commenced?" asked the young man, in surprise.

Eliza looked at him with confused and anxious eyes. "Nothing, oh, nothing at all," she said, in a tremulous voice. "Only—I mean"—she paused and looked with fixed attention down on the large place. She distinctly saw the groups moving rapidly to and fro, and then pouring with furious haste through the streets.

"They are coming up here," she murmured; and her eyes turned toward the wing of the castle on the side of the balcony, where the Bavarian soldiers had their quarters. The latter, however, apparently did not suspect the imminent danger. They were sitting at the windows and smoking or cleaning their muskets and uniforms. Eliza could hear them chatting and laughing in perfect tranquillity.

"Well, Eliza, beautiful, cruel girl," asked Ulrich von Hohenberg, "will you tell me what has suddenly excited you so strangely?"

"Nothing, sir, oh, nothing," she said; but then she leaned far over the railing of the balcony and stared down; she beheld four young Tyrolese sharpshooters running up the castle-hill at a furious rate, and the host of their comrades following them. The four who led the way now entered the court-yard, and reached with wild bounds the large door forming the entrance of the wing of the building occupied by the soldiers. With thundering noise they shut it, turned the large key which was in the lock, and drew it immediately out.

Two sharpshooters now ran up from the opposite side.

"We have locked the back-gate," they shouted exultingly.

"That door is locked too," replied the others, jubilantly. "They are all prisoners in the castle!"

"Sir," cried Eliza, drawing Ulrich von Hohenberg back from the balcony, "you may come with me into the dining-room; I must tell you something."

"No," he said, "I shall stay here and see what is the matter."

"What does this mean? More than fifty Tyrolese are entering the court-yard; and why did those mad young fellows lock the door upon my soldiers?"

"I suppose it is some mad freak of theirs, that is all," said Eliza, trembling. "Come, dear sir, leave the balcony and follow me into the room. I wish to tell you something—quite secretly, sir,—oh, come! I do not want heaven and God and the snow-clad mountains yonder to hear a word of it."

"Eliza," he exclaimed, transported, "how you smile, how you blush! Oh, my God, what do you wish to say to me?"

She encircled his arm with her hands and drew him into the room. "Listen," she said, looking at him with imploring eyes, "if it is true that you love me give me a proof of it and swear that you will do what I shall request of you!"

"I love you, Eliza, and will prove it to you. I swear, therefore, to do what you shall request of me."

"Thank you, thank you," she exclaimed, joyfully. "Now come with me; I will conduct you under the roof; I know of a hiding-place there where no one will find you, and you will swear to me to stay there until I come to you with a suit of clothes which you will put on. Thereupon I shall conduct you in the dead of night into the mountains, and thus you will escape."

"Escape? Never! And why, then?"

"Sir, because the peasants will assassinate you if you remain."

The young officer burst into loud laughter. "They will assassinate me? Ah, I have my soldiers and my own arms, and am not afraid of the peasants. My soldiers would soon put down the insurgents if they should really rebel to-morrow."

"Sir, they will not wait until to-morrow; they have already risen; the insurrection has commenced this very hour. Oh, thank God, you did not find out what was going on; you felt so secure in your pride and despised the Tyrolese so much that you did not fear them. [Footnote: The Tyrolese kept the secret of their intended insurrection so well, and the Bavarians were so overbearing and careless, that they did not know anything about the plans of the insurgents until the day of the rising, and on that day they tried to levy contributions by force of arms.—See "Gallery of Heroes: Andreas Hofer," p. 50.] But I tell you now, the insurrection has broken out; the whole Tyrol is rising; all our people are in commotion from Innspruck down to Salzburg. You can no longer prevent or stifle it. You must submit. Save yourself, then, sir; you have sworn to grant my request, and you must keep your word."

"No, I cannot and will not! I must do my duty. Let me go, Eliza! I must go! I must go to my soldiers!"

"You can no longer reach them, for they have locked them up. Come, you must save yourself!"

She seized his arm with superhuman strength, and tried to draw him away, but he disengaged himself and rushed toward the door. But Eliza was quicker than he; she bounded forward like an angry lioness, and just as Ulrich was about to seize the knob, she stood before the door and pushed him back.

"I shall not permit you to leave the room," she cried. "You must kill me first; then you may go."

"Eliza, I cannot stay. I implore you, let me go out. My honor, my good name, are at stake. You say the peasants have risen in insurrection, my soldiers are locked up, and you think I could be cowardly and miserable enough to conceal myself and surrender my name to well-deserved disgrace? Let me go out, Eliza; have mercy upon me! Do not compel me to remove you forcibly from the door!"

"Ah," cried Eliza, with scornful laughter, "you think I will step back from the door and let you go to kill my father and my brothers? Listen, sir; you said you loved me. Give me a proof of it. Let me go out first, let me speak with my father only three words! Perhaps I may persuade him to release your soldiers and go home with his friends."

"Very well, I will prove to you that I love you. Go down, Eliza, speak with your father. I give you ten minutes' time; that is to say, I sacrifice to you ten minutes of my honor."

Eliza uttered a cry of joy; she encircled Ulrich's neck impetuously with her arms and imprinted a glowing kiss on his forehead.

"Farewell, sir," she whispered, "farewell, and God bless you!"

Then she pushed him back, hastened to the door, threw it open, and sprang out. She closed the door carefully behind her, locked it with a firm and quick hand, drew the key from the lock, and concealed it in her bosom.

"Holy Virgin, I thank Thee!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "He is saved, for the room has no other outlet, and the balcony is too high for him to jump down."



CHAPTER XII.

FAREWELL!

She sped as gracefully and quickly as a gazelle down the corridor. In the large hall into which it led stood Elza, surrounded by more than twenty Tyrolese sharpshooters, with whom she was talking in a loud, animated voice. Her cheeks were very pale, her lips were quivering, but her eyes flashed courageously, and, notwithstanding the paleness of her face, it did not betray the least anxiety or terror.

"Have you considered well what you are going to do, men of the Puster valley?" she asked, in a clear, full voice. "Do you know that you are about to rebel against your government and your king, and that the rebels will be judged and punished with the full rigor of the law? "

"But the Bavarians will not judge us, for we shall drive them from the country," shouted the Tyrolese. "We do not want a king nor a Bavarian government; we want to get back our Emperor Francis and our old constitution."

"But you will not succeed," said Elza; "you are too weak against them. There are too many of them and too few of you; they have cannon, and you have nothing but your rifles, and there are many of you who have not even a rifle."

"But we have our God and our emperor, and those two will help us. The Austrians, as Andreas Hofer has written to us, are already in the country, and all the people are rising to drive the French and Bavarians from the country."

"It is so, Elza," said Eliza, encircling her friend's neck with her arm. "I know you—I know that you are a loyal daughter of the Tyrol, and you will be glad to see our dear country delivered from the foreign yoke and restored to the good Emperor Francis."

"But, Lizzie, think of my poor cousin Ulrich," whispered Elza to her. "He will defend himself to the last drop of his blood."

"He is unable to do so," whispered Lizzie, with a cheerful smile. "I have locked him up in the dining-room, and the key is here in my bosom. Ulrich cannot get out, therefore, and though he is furious and grim, he must remain in the room like a mouse in a trap."

"That reassures me," said Elza, smiling, "and I understand now, too, why my father acted in the manner he did. He doubtless suspected what would occur here, and got rid of all responsibility, leaving me entirely free to choose between my Bavarian relative and my Tyrolese countrymen. Here is my hand, Anthony Wallner; I am a loyal daughter of the Tyrol, and shout with you, 'Long live our Emperor Francis!'"

"Hurrah, long live our Emperor Francis!" shouted the Tyrolese. "Long live Miss Elza, the loyal daughter of the Tyrol!"

"Thank you," said Elza, smiling. "I think I shall prove my loyalty when dangers and war beset us. I shall establish here in the castle a hospital for our wounded, and the women of Windisch-Matrey will assist me, scrape lint, and help me to nurse the wounded. For without wounds and bloodshed we shall not recover our independence, and the Bavarians will not suffer themselves to be driven from the country without offering the most obstinate resistance. Have you considered that well, my friends?"

"We have; we are prepared for every thing," said Anthony, joyously. "We will suffer death rather than give up our emperor and our dear Tyrol. We do not want to become Southern Bavarians, but we will remain Tyrolese, and defend our constitution and our liberty to the last drop of our blood. Will we not, my friends?"

"Yes, we will," shouted the Tyrolese.

"And as for the Bavarians, we are not afraid of them," said Wallner, firmly. "All the functionaries have already humbly submitted to the freemen of the Tyrol. They have surrendered with their wives and children, delivered their funds at our demand, and are now guarded in their official dwellings by our men. And as for the Bavarian soldiers at the castle here, we need not be afraid of them either, for we have locked them up, like badgers in their holes, and they cannot get out of the door."

"But if they cannot get out of the door, they will jump out of the windows," said Elza, "and offer the most determined resistance."

"We shall see if they can," exclaimed Wallner, energetically. "We must get through with them right away. Come, men, we must see to the Boafoks."

And Anthony Wallner, followed by his sharpshooters, hastened out into the court-yard. Large numbers of armed men had assembled there in the mean time; even married women and young girls, carried away by the universal enthusiasm, had armed themselves and came to take an active part in the struggle for the fatherland and the emperor. All shouted and cheered in wild confusion, all swore to remain true to the fatherland and the emperor to their last breath. The soldiers looked on wonderingly, and watched in breathless irresolution for their captain from the windows.

At this moment, Anthony Wallner and a number of courageous sharpshooters took position in front of the windows.

"Soldiers," he shouted, in a thundering voice, "surrender! you are our prisoners! Surrender, throw your muskets and fire-arms out of the windows, and we will open the door of your prison and allow you to return to Bavaria."

The soldiers made no reply, but leaned far out of the windows and shouted: "Captain! Where is our captain?"

"Here I am!" shouted a powerful voice above the heads of the Tyrolese; and, looking up in great surprise, they beheld on the balcony young Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg, with a pale face, his features distorted with rage and grief, and stretching out his right arm, with his flashing sword menacingly toward the Tyrolese.

"Great God!" murmured Eliza, clinging anxiously to Elza's arm, "If he resists, he is lost."

"Here I am, my brave soldiers!" shouted Ulrich von Hohenberg a second time. "Come to me, my brave lads! I have been locked up here; hence, I cannot come to you. Come up to me, then. Knock the doors in, and deliver your captain."

"First, let them deliver themselves, sir," shouted Wallner up to him. He then turned once more to the soldiers. "Listen to what I am going to say to you in the name of my countrymen, in the name of the whole Tyrol," he shouted. "For four long years you have oppressed and maltreated us: you have insulted, humiliated, and mortified us every day. But we are Christians, and will not revenge ourselves; we want only our rights, our liberty, and our emperor. Therefore, if you submit willingly and with good grace to what cannot be helped, we will let you depart without punishing or injuring you in any way, and allow you to return to your accursed Bavaria. But first you will have to do two things, to wit: throw all your muskets out of the windows, and swear a solemn oath that you will no longer bear arms against the Tyrolese."

"You will never swear that oath, soldiers," shouted Ulrich von Hohenberg from his balcony. "You will keep the oath which you swore to your king and commander-in-chief. You will not incur the disgrace of surrendering to a crowd of rebellious peasants."

"No, no, we will not," shouted the soldiers to him; and thereupon they disappeared from the upper floor, and soon reappeared in dense groups at the windows of the lower story. These windows were only five feet above the ground, and they were therefore able to jump out of them.

"Shoot down the first soldier who jumps out of the window!" cried Anthony Wallner to his sharpshooters.

The soldiers took no notice of his threats; a soldier appeared in each of the windows ready to risk the leap. One of them, more agile and intrepid than the others, was the first to jump down. Scarcely had his feet touched the ground, when a rifle crashed and a cloud of white smoke enveloped every thing for a moment. When it disappeared, the Bavarian soldier was seen to writhe on the ground in the agony of death, while one of the Tyrolese sharpshooters was quietly reloading his rifle.

But now crashed another shot, and the Tyrolese rifleman, pierced through the heart, reeled back into the arms of his friends with the last groan of death.

"Soldiers," cried Ulrich von Hohenberg, raising his discharged gun triumphantly, "I have avenged the death of your comrade. Now forward, jump down! Forward for your honor and your king!"

"Yes, forward for our honor and our king!" shouted the soldiers, and one of them jumped out of each of the windows.

Another shot was fired from the balcony, and wounded one of the Tyrolese sharpshooters.

Wild cries of rage filled the court-yard, all eyes turned menacingly to the balcony. But Ulrich von Hohenberg had stepped back into the room, and nobody saw that he was reloading his fowling-piece, which, with his hunting-pouch and powder-horn, had hung in the dining-room.

"I shall defend myself until my soldiers come to deliver me," he said courageously to himself. Thereupon he moved the large table from the room to the balcony, placed it on its side, and leaned it against the railing; on the other side of the balcony he placed the bench in the same manner, and, protected behind this three-cornered barricade from the bullets of the Tyrolese, he pushed his gun into the aperture between the bench and the table, and fired again.

Furious cries again filled the court-yard, for the captain's shot had disabled another Tyrolese. The women wailed and lamented loudly, the men uttered fierce imprecations, and lifted their clinched fists menacingly toward the balcony. The soldiers had withdrawn from the windows, and were deliberating with their officers as to the course which they were to adopt. A defence was almost impossible, for, although they had their side-arms and carbines, they could not do any thing with the former before reaching the ground and engaging in a hand-to-hand fight with the peasants; and the carbines were utterly useless, as no ammunition had been distributed among them, the cartridges being in the captain's room in the main part of the castle.

"Ten of you will enter the castle," commanded Anthony Wallner now. "You will take the captain prisoner, and if he refuses to surrender, shoot him down as he has shot three of our brethren."

Ten of the most courageous sharpshooters stepped from the ranks and rushed into the castle.

"He is lost!" murmured Eliza Wallner, with pale lips, and she sank on her knees by the side of her friend Elza.

Now were heard resounding in the castle the thundering blows which the Tyrolese struck with the butt-ends of their rides against the door of the room where Ulrich von Hohenberg was locked up.

"The door is old and worm-eaten, it will give way," sighed Elza, and she hastened resolutely toward Anthony Wallner, who was just calling again on the soldiers with cool intrepidity to surrender to him.

"Anthony Wallner," she said, in a soft, suppliant voice, "you will not stain your great and sacred cause by cowardly murder. You will never think of killing in my father's own house his relative and guest?"

"Let him surrender: no harm will befall him then," cried Anthony Wallner, in a harsh, stern voice. "He has shed the blood of our men, and if he is killed, it will be done in a fair fight. Leave us now, miss; the struggle between the Tyrolese and the Boafoks has commenced; look at the corpses yonder, and say for yourself whether we can retrace our steps, and—"

A loud, thundering crash, followed by triumphant cheers, resounded in the castle.

"They have opened the door," murmured Eliza, still on her knees. "Holy Virgin, protect him, or he is lost!"

A shot crashed in the dining-room, a cloud of white smoke issued from the open balcony doors, and a loud cry, accompanied by wild imprecations, was heard.

"He has shot another Tyrolese, you will see that he has!" shouted Wallner, raising his clinched fists menacingly toward the balcony.

The cries drew nearer and nearer, and now Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg, his features pale and distorted with rage, rushed out on the balcony.

"Surrender!" shouted the Tyrolese, pursuing him.

"Never!" he cried. "I will die sooner than surrender to a rabble of peasants like you."

And forgetful of the dangers besetting him, and in the despair of his rage and grief, the captain jumped from the balcony into the midst of the crowd in the court-yard.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE BRIDEGROOM.

Wild shouts were heard now, and a great commotion arose among the Tyrolese. The bold deed of the Bavarian had surprised and confused them; they had forgot the soldiers for a moment, and riveted their whole attention on the captain.

He was uninjured, for, in jumping down, he had fallen on the backs of two Tyrolese, dragged them down with him, and thus broken the violence of the fall.

Before the two men, stunned by their sudden fall, had recovered from their surprise, Ulrich was again on his feet, and, drawing his sword, cleared himself a passage through the quickly-receding crowd.

"Come to me, my soldiers, come to me!" he shouted, in a panting voice.

"Here we are, captain," cried twenty soldiers, driving the crowd back with powerful strokes. They had profited by the favorable moment when the windows had not been watched, and had jumped to the ground.

Now followed a hand-to-hand struggle of indescribable fury. Nothing was heard but the wild imprecations and shouts of the fighting, the shrieks and groans of the wounded and the screams of the women and children.