Lenore fervently seized and pressed his hand. "Even I have been different to you of late to what I should have been. I am very unhappy," cried she, passionately. "I can not tell to any human being what I feel—not to my mother—not to you either. I have lost all confidence and all control." She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Lenore!" cried her father, impatiently, from his apartment.

"This is no time for explanations," said she, more calmly. "When we have got over this day, I will try hard to be stronger than I am now. Help me in this, Wohlfart."

She hurried away to the baron's room. Anton remained behind, lost in sad thoughts. Meanwhile the bright sunshine streamed down on the court-yard, the men left the guard-room and stood on the threshold; even the women made their way out of their dark retreat, and had to be scolded back again.

"Who knows whether they have not overlooked the castle?" said one; "or if they have courage to attack us?" suggested another; while a sagacious tailor proved, by a clever resume of the different reports received, that all the Polish frocks were by this time far beyond Rosmin. Yet, eagerly as each asserted that the danger must now be over, all listened anxiously to the step of the sentinels, and looked constantly to the tower, to see if any signal were given thence. Even Anton found the suspense unbearable, and at length he too betook himself to the tower. Here the whole staff was assembled. The blind baron sat in his arm-chair, behind him stood Lenore's tall figure shading his eyes with her parasol; four riflemen sat in the broad embrasures; and Fink, perched on the wall, hung down his legs into space, and puffed the blue clouds of a cigar into the wind.

"Nothing to be seen?" asked Anton.

"Nothing," replied Fink, "except a drunken band of our villagers, who are moving off on the Tarow road." He pointed to a dark mass just vanishing into the wood. "It is very well that we have got rid of the rabble. They are afraid of the gray-jackets, and are off to plunder elsewhere. Every hour's delay is a gain, since we reckon that at best there is no help to be looked for till to-morrow. Now those gentlemen behind the wood are not interesting enough to wish for a visit of twenty-four hours from them. This is a grand spot, Baron Rothsattel," continued Fink. "Certainly there's not much to be seen—some fir woods, your fields, and plenty of sand; but it is a glorious station to defend, because it is so bare all round the castle—without tree or bank. Your sentimentalists, indeed, might pronounce it an uninteresting view. But what I consider splendid is this: with the exception of the nearest barn, which is about three hundred yards off in a straight line, there is no shelter better than that of a molehill for one of the enemy's skirmishers. Far as a rifle-ball can range, we are monarchs of the plain below; only there is a thicket in the way yonder—a plantation, I believe, of Fraeulein Lenore's."

"I acknowledge myself guilty," said Lenore.

"Very well," replied Fink, carelessly; "then you shall pay the cost if we are hit. Half a dozen riflemen might lurk safely there."

"It is Lenore's favorite spot," said the baron, apologetically; "she has a grass-plot there; it is the only place outside the wall where she can sit in the open air."

"Indeed!" said Fink; "that's a different thing;" and, looking round for Lenore, he saw she had disappeared. The next moment the yard gate opened, and Lenore, followed by a few laborers, hurried to the plantation.

"What are you going to do?" cried Fink from his height.

Lenore signified by a gesture that she was going to have the trees removed; and, seizing a young fir, she exerted all her strength to uproot it. The men followed her example. In a few moments the young plantation was done away with. Then Lenore herself caught up a spade, and began to level the grassy mound.

Now Anton had planted these trees with the young lady. Both had thoroughly enjoyed the improvement. Since then, Lenore had gone there daily, and each of the little trees had been to her a personal friend. When, therefore, Anton saw it all annihilated, he could not help saying somewhat coldly, "That feeble plantation would have done us little harm; surely you have caused useless devastation."

"Why," replied Fink, "the lady has acted like a prudent commandant of a fortress, the first display of whose talents always consists in leveling about the building, and a plantation can be made again any spring day. Carry off the wood to the farm-yard," cried he to the men; "tear down the wooden inclosure of the well, bring the boards to the yard, and hide the well's mouth."

When Lenore returned to her place behind her father's chair, Fink nodded to her like an elder comrade to a younger, took up his telescope, and again explored the border of the forest.

And thus the party spent another hour. No one was inclined to speak, and Fink's occasional jests fell on unfruitful ground. Anton went down to keep the people in order, but something soon impelled him to return to the battlements, and watch the forest with the rest. At last, after a longer silence than usual, Fink, throwing away his cigar, observed, "It is getting late, and we pay our guests too much honor by expecting them with such silent devotion. When the news came of their march, Wohlfart and I were both wanted in the house; and as Karl is breaking my poor horse's legs at a distance, we sent no one to reconnoitre. Now we pay for that sin of omission; we sit here prisoners, and our men are getting tired before the enemy comes. It is essential that one of us should mount and away to bring in further tidings. This stillness is unnatural: not a creature to be seen in the fields, not one on the roads. It seems odd to me, too, that for the last two hours no refugees should have arrived from the forest; and, besides, the very smoke of Neudorf has disappeared."

Anton silently turned away. "Go, my son," said Fink; "take one of the most trustworthy of our men with you; look how things are going on in our village, and beware of the pine wood. Stay a moment; I will take one other look through the telescope." He looked long, examined each tree, and at last laid down the glass. "There is nothing to be seen," said he, thoughtfully. "If the gentry we are expecting carried any thing besides scythes, we should be compelled to believe there is some witchcraft at work. But now all is uncertainty. Beware of the woods."

Anton left the tower, called the superintendent and two servants, had the baron's horse and two of the swiftest farm-horses got ready, and the gate opened by the Kunau smith. All was silent and peaceful. The fowls that Karl had bought a few weeks before were scratching away on the dunghill; the pigeons were cooing on the thatch; a little dog, belonging to the smith, had constituted himself the guardian of the forsaken buildings, and barked suspiciously at the riding party.

They trotted away through the village, and stopped at the tavern. The bar was empty. Anton called for the landlord. After a while the man came to the door, looking pale and frightened, and clasped his hands when he saw Anton. "Just God! Mr. Wohlfart, to think of your still being in the country! I believed that you and the family had fled to Rosmin or to the heart of our troops long ago. Heavens! this is a misfortune! Bratzy has been here, and has been stirring up the people against the family in the castle, and against the Germans every where; but he could not bring them to attack the castle; so the greatest part of the villagers have gone off to the Poles at Tarow. Those that have remained behind have concealed themselves; and here I am, burying what I may want to carry off in a hurry."

"Where are the enemy now?" inquired Anton.

"I do not know," cried the landlord; "but I know that they are a great host, and that they have with them lancers in uniform."

"Do you know whether the wood is safe toward Neudorf?"

"How can it be safe? No one has come from Neudorf here for several hours. If the way were open, half the village would now be here in my inn or at the castle."

"You are right. Will you wait here for the band that is coming?" inquired Anton, ready to start. "You would be safer in the castle."

"Who knows!" cried the host. "I can not leave; if I do, my whole place will be laid waste."

"But your women?" asked Anton, holding in his horse.

"I must have people to help me," wailed the distracted man. "As they are young, they must just endure it. There is Rebecca, my sister's child: she belongs to a family that understands business. She knows how to deal with the peasants; she knows how to get money from them, even when they are dead drunk. Rebecca," cried he; "Mr. Wohlfart asks whether you will go to the castle, to be safe from these wild men."

The face of Rebecca, surrounded with red hair, now emerged from the cellar.

"What have I to do with the castle, uncle?" cried she, resolutely. "Who do you call wild men? Our peasants are the wildest men in the whole country; if I can get on with them, I shall get on with any. My aunt has quite lost her wits, and there must be some one here who knows how to deal with guests. I am much obliged to you, kind sir, but I am not afraid; the gentlemen who are with the party will not let any harm happen to me."

"Forward, my men!" cried Anton. They galloped farther on through the village; all the doors were closed, but a woman's face was seen here and there looking through the small windows after the riders. In this way they came along the broad highway till they got near the wood.

One of the servants now said to Anton, "There is a young plantation on the left as you enter the wood, where a hundred men might lie in ambush without our seeing them, and if there, they would soon snuff us out, or cut off our way to the castle."

"You are right," said Anton. "We will ride along the field till we have got behind the plantation, where the trees stand singly, and we can venture in and out. From thence we can explore the plantation on foot." They turned accordingly off the road, and crossed the fields, keeping their horses out of the range of shot from the wood. Now Anton bade them dismount, gave the bridles into the superintendent's keeping, and cautiously advanced. "Fire into the wood," ordered Anton, "and then run back to your horses as hard as you can."

The shots rattled through the plantation, and were answered in a few moments by an irregular fire and a loud yell. The balls whistled over Anton's head, but the distance was great, and the men got back to their horses without injury. "Gallop! we know enough. They had not the wisdom to keep quiet." The little band flew along the highway, the loud cries of their pursuers sounding behind them. They arrived breathless at the castle, where they found all in alarm. Fink met them at the entrance.

"You were right," cried Anton: "they are lying in ambush no doubt these many hours, perhaps in hopes of surprising you, or both of us, indeed, on the way to Neudorf. They would then have got the castle without a struggle."

"How many of them may there be?" asked Fink.

"Indeed, we had no time to count them," replied Anton. "No doubt, only a detachment has advanced so far; the greater number are behind in the wood."

"We have roused them," replied Fink; "now we may expect their visit. It is better for our people to receive them before sunset than in the night."

"They come," cried Lenore's voice from the tower.

The two friends hurried to the platform. As Anton looked over the battlements the sun was preparing to set. The golden sky turned the green of the woods to bronze. Forth from the forest came, in orderly procession toward the village, a troop of horsemen, about half a squadron, followed by more than a hundred men on foot, the nearest of them armed with muskets, the others carrying scythes. The lovely evening light suffused the figures on the tower. A cockchafer hummed merrily at Anton's ear, and, high in air, the lark was chanting his evening lay. Meanwhile the danger was approaching. It came nearer and nearer along the winding way, a dark, long-drawn-out mass, unheard as yet, but plainly seen.

Still the cockchafer kept on humming, and the lark soared higher in its rapturous song. At length the procession disappeared behind the first cottages in the village. These were moments of breathless silence. All looked steadfastly at the place where the enemy would emerge into sight. Lenore stood next to Anton, her left hand clutched a gun, and her right kept unconsciously moving the bullets in a sportsman's pouch. As soon as the horsemen appeared in the middle of the village, Fink caught up his cap, and said gravely, "Now, gentlemen, to our posts! You, Anton, be kind enough to lead the baron down stairs." As Anton supported the blind man down the steps, he pointed back at Lenore, who remained motionless, gazing at the advancing enemy. "And you too, dear lady," continued Fink, "I pray you to think of your own safety."

"I am safest here," replied Lenore, firmly, letting her gun drop on the flags. "You will not require me to hide my head in the sofa-cushions when you are about to risk your life."

Fink looked with intense admiration at her beautiful face, and said, "I have no objection to make. If you are resolved to take up your station on this platform, you are as safe as any where in the castle."

"I will be cautious," replied Lenore, waving him off.

"And you, my boys," said Fink, "hide behind the walls; take care not to let a shoulder or the top of your cap be seen, and do not fire before I sound an alarm with this. You will hear it plainly up here." He took out a broad whistle of foreign aspect. "Good-by till we meet again," said he, looking at Lenore with a beaming glance.

"Till we meet again," answered Lenore, raising her arm and looking after him till the door closed behind him.

Fink found the baron in the hall. The poor nobleman was reduced to a most pitiable state of mind by the excitement of the day and the sense of his own uselessness at a time when he felt action the rightful privilege of his station. In his earlier years he had ever met personal danger in the most intrepid manner. How much his strength was broken now plainly appeared in his unsuccessful attempts to maintain his self-control. His hands were restlessly outstretched as though seeking some weapon, and painful groans forced themselves through his lips.

"My kind host and friend," said Fink, addressing him, "as your indisposition makes it inconvenient to you to deal with these strangers, I crave permission to do so in your stead."

"You have carte blanche, dear Fink," replied the baron, in a hoarse voice; "in fact, the state of my eyes is not such as to allow me to hope that I can be of any use. A miserable cripple!" cried he, and covered his face with his hands.

Fink turned away with his usual shrug, opened a slide in the oaken door which had been intended to lead to the unfinished terrace, and looked out.

"Permit me," said Anton to the baron, "to lead you to a place where you may not be unnecessarily exposed to the balls."

"Do not trouble yourself about me, young man," said the baron; "I am of less consequence to-day than the poorest day-laborer who has taken up arms for my sake."

"Have you any thing more to say to me?" asked Anton of Fink, as he took up his gun.

"Nothing," replied the latter, with a smile, "except to beg that you will not forget your usual caution if you come to a hand-to-hand scuffle. Good luck to you!" He stretched out his hand. Anton grasped it, and hurried to the court.

"The enemy are passing their opinion upon your farming just now," said Fink to the baron; "we shall have the gentlemen here in a few minutes; there they come, cavalry and infantry. They stop at the barn; a party of riders advance; it is the staff. There are some handsome young fellows among them, and a couple of beautiful horses; they ride beyond the range of our fire, all round the castle. They are seeking an entrance; we shall soon hear the knocker at the back door."

All was silent. "Strange," said Fink. "It is surely the custom of war, before the assault, to summon the besieged to surrender; but there come the officers from their circuit round the castle back to their infantry. Has Wohlfart inspired them with such terror that they have fled away ventre a terre?"

The ring of horses' hoofs and the hollow march of the infantry were now heard.

"Zounds!" said Fink; "the whole corps marches as if on parade up to the castle front. If they mean to storm your fortress on this side, they have the most remarkable conceptions of the nature of a strong place. They draw up against us at a distance of five hundred yards. The infantry in the middle, the horsemen at both sides: quite a Roman order of battle. Julius Caesar over again, I declare. Look! they have a drummer; the fellow advances; the row you hear is the beat of drums. Ah ha! the leader rides forward. He comes on, and halts just before our door. Politeness demands that we should inquire what he wants." Fink pushed back the heavy bolts of the door; it opened; he stepped out on the threshold covering the entrance, and carrying his double-barrel carelessly in his hand. When the horseman saw the slender figure in hunting costume standing so quietly before him, he reined in his horse and touched his hat, which Fink acknowledged by a slight bow.

"I wish to speak to the proprietor of this estate," said the horseman.

"You must put up with me," replied Fink; "I represent him."

"Tell him, then, that we have some orders of the government to carry out in his house," cried the rider.

"Would your chivalry permit me to ask what government has been frivolous enough to give you a message for the Baron Rothsattel? From what I hear, the views taken in this country about government in general are a little disturbed."

"The Polish Central Committee is your as well as my government," replied the rider.

"You are very good-natured in allowing a Central Committee to dispose of your heads; you will allow us, however, to hold a different opinion on this particular point."

"You see that we have the means to enforce obedience to the orders of government, and I advise you not by opposition to provoke us to use force."

"I thank you for this advice, and should be still more obliged if, in your zeal for your duty, you would not forget that the ground on which you stand is not public, but private property, and that strange horses are only allowed to exercise thereon by the consent of the proprietor, which, so far as I know, you have not obtained."

"We have had words enough, sir," cried the rider, impatiently; "if you are really authorized to represent the proprietor, I require you to open this castle to us without delay, and to deliver up your arms."

"Alas!" replied Fink, "I am under the unpleasant necessity of refusing your request. I would add a hope that you, together with the gentry in shabby boots ranged behind you there, will leave this place as soon as possible. My young folk are just going to see whether they can hit the molehills under your feet. We should be sorry if the bare toes of your companions were to be hurt. Begone, sir!" cried he, suddenly changing his careless tone to one of such vehement anger and scorn that the Pole's horse reared, and he himself laid his hand on the pistols at his holster.

During this conversation the rest of the horsemen and the infantry had drawn nearer to catch the words.

More than once a barrel had been lowered, but they had always been pushed back by a few riders in advance of the ranks. At Fink's last words, a wild-looking figure in an old frieze jacket took aim, a shot was heard, and the bullet flew past Fink's cheek, and struck the door behind him. At the same moment a suppressed scream was heard, a flash seen on the top of the tower, and the luckless marksman fell to the ground. The man who had conducted the parley turned his horse, the assailants all fell back, and Fink closed the door. As he turned round, Lenore stood on the first flight of the stairs, the recently-discharged gun in her hand, her large eyes fixed wildly upon him. "Are you wounded?" cried she, beside herself.

"Not at all, my faithful comrade," cried Fink.

Lenore threw away the gun, and sank at her father's feet, hiding her face on his knees. Her father bent over her, took her head in his hands, and the nervous agitation of the last few hours brought on a convulsive fit of sobbing. His daughter passionately clasped his trembling frame, and silently held him in her arms. There they were, a broken-down existence, and one in which the warm glow of youthful life was bursting into flame.

Fink looked out of the window; the enemy had retired beyond range of fire, and were, as it seemed, holding a consultation. Suddenly he stepped up to Lenore, and, laying his hand on her arm, said, "I thank you, dear lady, for having so promptly punished that rascal. And now I beg you to leave this room with your father. We shall do better if anxiety on your account does not withdraw our eyes from the enemy." Lenore shrunk back at his touch, and a warm blush overspread her cheek and brow.

"We will go," she said, with downcast eyes. "Come, my father." She then led the baron up stairs to her mother's room. There she heroically strove to compose herself, sat down by the couch of the invalid, and did not go near Fink again the whole evening.

"Now, then, we are by ourselves," cried Fink to the sentinels; "short distances, and a steady aim! If they storm this stone building, they shall get nothing by it but bloody pates."

Accordingly, there he stood with his companions, and looked with keen eye at the ranks of their assailants. There was a great stir among them. Some detachments went off to the village; the horsemen rode up and down; there was evidently something afloat. At last a party brought some thick boards and a row of empty carts. The upper parts of them were lifted off, and the lower placed in a row, the poles away from the castle, the hind wheels toward it. Next, boards were nailed together, and made into pent-houses, which being fastened to the back of the carts, projected a few feet beyond them, and afforded a tolerable shelter for five or six men.

"Ask Mr. Wohlfart to come here," cried Fink to one of his riflemen.

"There has been shooting," said Anton, as he entered the hall; "is any one wounded?"

"This thick door, and one of the rabble yonder," replied Fink. "Without any order, they replied to the first shot from the tower."

"There is not an enemy to be seen in the court. A troop of horsemen came to the gate; one ventured up to the palings, and tried to look through. But when I started up behind them, they all took to flight in terror."

"Look there," said Fink; "they are amusing themselves in making small barricades. As long as this evening light allows us to see, the danger is not great. But in the night, those huts on wheels may come a little too near."

"The sky keeps clear," said Anton; "there will be a bright starlight."

"If I only knew," said Fink, "why they have had the madness to attack the strongest side of our fortress! It can only be that your peaceful visage has had the effect of the Gorgon's head upon them. Henceforth you will be described as a scarecrow in all Slavonic fights."

It was dark when the hammering away at the carts ceased. A word of command was heard. The officers summoned a few men by name to the poles, and six movable roofs rolled on rapidly to about thirty yards from the front of the castle.

"Now for it," cried Fink. "Remain here and look to the lower story." He sprang up the steps; the long row of front rooms was opened; one could see from one end of the house to the other. "Mind your heads," cried he to the sentinels. Immediately came an irregular fire against the windows of the upper story, the leaden shower rattling through the panes, the glass clattering on the floor. Fink took out his whistle; a shrill sound vibrated loudly through the house, and was responded to by the salvos of the besieged from both stories and from the tower.

And now followed an irregular fire from both sides. The besieged had the advantage—their aim was truer, and they were better concealed than those without.

During the brief pauses, Fink's voice was to be heard crying, "Steady, men; keep close." He was every where; his light step, the clear tones of his voice, his wild jests from time to time, kept up the spirits of all. They filled Lenore's soul with a thrill of rapture; she hardly felt the full terrors of her situation; nor did the convulsive starts of her father, nor her mother's low groans, lead her to despair, for the words of the man she loved sounded like a message of salvation in her ear.

For about an hour the battle raged around the walls. The great building rose dark in the pale starlight; no light, no form was to be seen from without; only the flashes that from time to time shone out from a corner of the windows announced to those outside that there was life within. He who walked through the rooms could discover a dark shape here and there behind a pillar, could see eyes glowing with excitement, and a head bent to observe the foe. True, none of the men there assembled were used to this bloody work; they had been gathered from the plow, the workshop, from every species of peaceful industry; and painful excitement, feverish suspense, protracted during the whole day, was visible in the aspect of the strongest among them.

Yet Anton remarked with a gloomy satisfaction how calm he himself was, and how brave the men in general. They were busy, they were at work, and, even in the midst of their deadly occupation, the strength and energy were evident which all active labor gives to man. After the first shots, those on the front side loaded as composedly as though they were at their every-day toil. The face of the farm-servant hardly looked more anxious than when he walked between his oxen in the field, and the skillful tailor handled his gun with as much indifference as he would his smoothing-iron. It was only the reserve guard who were restless; not from fear, but from dissatisfaction with their own inactivity. At times a bold fellow would steal into the house, behind Anton's back, in order to have a chance of firing off his gun in front, and Anton was obliged to place the superintendent at the court-door to prevent this courageous way of desertion.

"Only once, Mr. Wohlfart; do let me have one shot at them!" urgently pleaded a young fellow from Neudorf.

"Wait," replied Anton, loading; "your turn will come; in an hour you will relieve the others here."

Meanwhile the stars rose higher, and the shots became fewer as both parties grew weary.

"Our people are the strongest," said Anton to his friend; "the men in the court are not to be kept back any longer."

"It is all little better than shooting in the dark," replied Fink; "true, they make it matter of conscience to take good aim, but it is generally a mere accident if their balls take effect. Nothing has happened to our side but a few slight wounds, and I believe those without have not suffered more."

The rolling of wheels was now heard. "Listen! they are drawing back their war-chariots." The firing ceased, and the whole line disappeared in the darkness. "Leave off," continued Fink; "and, Anton, if you have any thing to drink, give it, for these have shown themselves brave men. Then let us quietly await the renewal of the siege."

Anton accordingly had some refreshments distributed to the men, and went through the whole house, dismissing them, and examining the rooms from the cellar upward. As he drew near the women's rooms on the lower story, he heard, even at a distance, a lamentable chaos of voices. Entering, he found the bare walls dimly lighted, the floor covered with straw, on which crouched women and children. The women expressed their terror by every kind of passionate gesture, many ceaselessly imploring the help of Heaven, without any alleviation of their intense misery; others staring straight before them, stunned by the horrors of the night; in short, the pleasantest impression was that made by the children, who, having howled with all their might, had no further care. In the midst of all this wretchedness, these little ones lay, their heads resting on a bundle of clothes, their small hands clenched, sleeping as quietly as in their beds at home, while one young woman sat in a corner rocking her sleeping infant in her arms, apparently forgetful of all besides. At last, still watching the child, she came up to Anton, and asked how her husband was faring.

Meanwhile the enemy made large fires, and part of their soldiery sat near them, and were seen to boil their coffee. There was great disturbance, too, in the village; men were heard shouting and ordering, lights were seen in all directions, and there was rapid coming and going along the streets.

"That does not look like a truce," cried Anton.

At that moment a loud knock was heard at the back door; the friends looked at each other, and rushed down to the court.

"Rothsattel and roebucks," whispered a voice, improvising a password.

"The forester!" cried Anton, pushing back the bars and letting the old man in.

"Shut the gate," said the forester; "they are close on my track. Good-evening to you all; I am come to inquire whether you can make any use of me?"

"Get into the house," cried Anton, "and tell us all."

"Every thing is as quiet in the forest as in the church," said the forester; "the cattle are lying in the quarry, and the shepherd, too, is there with his creatures. The farmer keeps watch. I crept, in the dark, into the village to reconnoitre, and now come to warn you. As they have not made much of their guns, the rascals are going to try fire. They have got together all the grease and tar in the village, they have taken all the women's shavings, and whenever they found an oil lamp, they poured it over bundles of rushes."

"They mean to burn the yard gate?" asked Fink.

The forester made a face. "Not the yard gate; they have a deadly fear of that, because you have artillery-wagons and a cannon in the yard."

"Artillery!" cried both friends, in amazement.

"Yes," nodded the forester; "through the chinks of the planks they have seen blue carts, horses, and a gun-carriage."

"Karl's new potato-carts, the plow, and the water-butt!" cried Anton.

"No doubt," replied the forester. "On my way here I peeped into the inn yard, and waited for some one that I knew. Then Rebecca ran by me with a basket; I whistled, and called her out behind the stable. 'Are you there, old Swede?' said the wild thing. 'Take care that your head be not set on fire. I have no time to talk with you; I must attend to the gentlemen; they want coffee.' 'Why not Champagne?' said I. 'No doubt the gentlemen are very polite, you pretty creature,' said I; for one gets over women with flowery speeches. 'You are an ugly fellow yourself,' said the girl, laughing at me; 'get away with you!' 'They won't hurt you, my little Rebecca,' said I, stroking her cheeks. 'What's that to you, old sorcerer?' said the little toad; 'if I were to scream, the whole roomful would come to my aid.' 'Don't be so contradictious, my child,' said I; 'be a good girl, fill another bottle, and bring it out here. One must do something for one's friends in bad times.' Then she snatched the bottle out of my hand, telling me to wait, and ran off with her basket. After a while she returned with the bottle quite full, for she is a good creature at heart, and as she gave it me, she cried, 'If you see the young gentlemen in the castle, tell them that the folks here have a great dread of their artillery; they have been asking me whether it was true that they had cannon. I told them I was quite sure that was the name of a great thing I had often seen on the property.' Then I slunk off again, and crept along the ditch, past fellows with scythes, who are mounting guard behind our farm-yard. When I was about a hundred yards from them, I tore away, and they swore after me. That's how things stand."

"That notion of theirs about fire is uncomfortable," said Fink; "if they understand the thing, they may smoke us out like badgers."

"The threshold is stone, and this thick door is high above the ground," said the forester.

"I am not afraid of the flames, but of the smoke and glare," replied Fink; "if they light up our windows, our men will aim still worse. One good thing for us is that the gentlemen on the English saddles, who head the enemy, have never stormed any but a petticoat fortress before. We will bring all our men to the front, and leave only two or three sentinels behind; we will trust Rebecca's story."

Fresh cartridges were given out, and a fresh detachment stationed at the windows, additional men were placed in the halls of the upper and lower story, and on the platform of the tower, Anton commanding up stairs, the smith below, and the forester remaining with a small body in reserve. All these arrangements were just made in time, for a loud hum was heard at a distance, together with shouts of command, the march of an advancing body, and the rumbling of carts.

"Keep your guns at full cock," cried Fink, "and fire only at those who press in at the door."

The wheeled pent-houses moved on as before, a Polish order was given, and a rapid fire began on the part of the enemy, exclusively directed to the important door and the windows near it. The balls thundered on the oaken planks and on the masonry, and more than one found its way through the window openings, and struck the ceiling above the heads of the garrison. Fink cried to the forester, "You shall run a risk, old man; take your people to the back door, open it, creep round close to the house, and drive away those fellows behind the three carts to the left, who have ventured too near; get close to them; you can knock them all over if you aim true; the carts have no covering; you can be back before the fellows run out from behind. Be quick and cautious; with this whistle I will give the signal for your rushing out from the shadow of the walls."

The forester collected his men and hurried to the court. Fink ran up stairs to Anton. The enemy's fire grew still more frequent. "This time it is grim earnest," said Anton. "Our people, too, are getting excited."

"Here comes the real danger," cried Fink, pointing through a loop-hole in the wall to a high shapeless mass which slowly approached. It was a harvest-wagon, loaded to an immense height and breadth, and propelled by invisible hands to the front of the castle. "A fire-ship! there are the yellow straw bundles on the top. Their plan is evident; they are steering it against the door. Now, then, we must shoot well; not one of the fellows who mount it must get back safe." He sprang up the stairs, and cried to those stationed on the tower, "Every thing now depends upon you; as soon as you see the men who are pushing the wagon onward, fire! wherever you can see a head, or even a leg, fire! Every one of them must die!" The wagon came nearer. Fink raised his own rifle twice, took aim, and twice laid it down. The wagon load was so high that it was impossible to see those who propelled it. These were moments of painful suspense on both sides; even the enemy's fire ceased; every eye was fixed on the fearful vehicle which was to bring the bitter conflict to a fatal close. At length the backs of the hindmost men at the pole came into sight. Two flashes from Fink's rifle, two yells, the wagon stood still; those who were pushing it crowded closer. Two dark bodies lay on the ground. Fink loaded again, a wild smile playing round his lips. A raging fire upon the tower was the answer given by the foe. One of the men on the tower was shot in the breast; his gun fell down over the wall; he sank at Fink's feet. Fink merely glanced at him, and rammed his second bullet down. At that moment some figures rushed out of the darkness to the wagon. A spirited shout was heard, and the machine was once more set in motion. "Brave fellows!" muttered Fink; "they are doomed to death." Other forms were now visible at the end of the pole. Fink again took aim. Again a cry of anguish; but the wagon moved on. It was not more than thirty yards from the door; the moment was indeed critical. The shrill sound of the whistle was heard through the night; from the windows of the upper story flew the fiery salvo, and from the left side of the house rose a loud cry. The forester made a sally, a crowd of dark figures rushed against the pent-house that stood nearest to the corner of the castle; for a moment there was a scuffle, then some shots fired, and the conquered foe fled from their shelter to the open plain. For the third time the deadly double-barrel flashed from the tower, and struck the pole of the wagon, and the men who were propelling it, seized with a sudden panic, retreated from its cover into the sheltering darkness. But this did not avail them. From the tower and the windows of the upper story bullets pursued them, and more than one fell. Behind them rose a cry of rage, and a dark line rapidly advanced to receive the fugitives. A universal fire against the house began. Then the enemy retreated rapidly as they had advanced, carrying the wounded and the carts back with them. The fire-ship alone, a dark mass, still stood a few yards from the door. The firing ceased, and an uncomfortable silence succeeded to the deadly conflict.

In the hall of the upper story Anton and Fink met, and were immediately joined by the forester. Each of the friends silently sought to ascertain, in the dim light, whether the other stood before him unharmed. "Capitally done, forester," cried Fink. "Demand to be admitted to the baron, and give in your report."

"And request Fraeulein Lenore to give you linen for dressings; we have had losses," said Anton, mournfully, as he pointed to the floor, where two men sat leaning against the wall and groaning.

"Here comes a third," replied Fink, as a dark shape was slowly carried down stairs from the tower. "I fear the man is dead; he lay at my feet like a log."

"Who is it?" inquired Anton, shuddering.

"Barowsky, the tailor," whispered one of the bearers.

"What a fearful night!" cried Anton, turning away.

"We must not think of that now," said Fink. "Human life is only valuable when one is ready to surrender it on a fitting opportunity. The great point is, that we have shaken off that fiery millstone from our throats. It is not impossible that the wretches may yet succeed in kindling it; but it will not do much harm at its present distance."

At that moment a bright light shone through the loop-holes of the tower. All rushed to the window. A dazzling light flamed up from the opposite side of the wagon, and a sudden impetus hurled the heavy mass against the wall of the house. A single man sprang back from the wagon; a dozen guns were pointed at him at once.

"Stop!" cried Fink, in a piercing voice. "It is too late. Spare him; he is a fine fellow; the mischief is done."

"Merci, Monsieur; au revoir!" said a voice from below; and the man sprang uninjured into the darkness.

In a moment the wagon was in a blaze, and from the straw and rushes with which it was laden on the top, the yellow flames rose crackling, while firebrands flew in all directions. The house was suddenly illuminated: masses of smoke burst through the shattered windows.

"That is powder," cried Fink. "Steady, steady, my men! We will keep the enemy off if they force an entrance. You, Anton, see whether you can put out the fire."

"Water!" cried the men; "the window-frame has caught!" Without, there were fresh orders shouted out. The drums beat; and, with a wild cry of triumph, a cordon of skirmishers neared the house. The fire of the besiegers began once more, in order to impede the quenching of the flames. Water was brought from the great butt in the yard, and poured on the burning window-frames—a dangerous task enough; for the front of the house was lighted up, and the ever-advancing skirmishers aimed at every figure as it became visible. The besieged glanced anxiously at the flames, and returned the fire of their opponents unsteadily. Even the sentinels in the court looked more behind than before them. The disorder became general. The moment of greatest danger had come. All seemed lost.

Next a man called down from the tower, "They are bringing short ladders from the village; we can see the axes in their hands."

"They will get over the palings, and break in the windows of the lower story," cried the men to each other, in utmost alarm.

The forester rushed to the court. Fink carried off a few men with him to the side of the house on which the men with ladders were advancing. All were in confusion. Even Fink's threatening voice no longer took effect upon them.

At that moment some men, with bars of iron in their hands, were seen hurrying in from the court-yard to the hall door. "Make way!" cried a stalwart figure; "this is blacksmith's work!" The man pushed back the bolts of the door. The opening was filled by the burning wagon. Spite of smoke and flames, the smith leaped upon its burning frame. "Help me, you hares!" screamed he, in angry tones.

"He is right," cried Anton. "Onward, my men!"

Boards and poles were brought, and the men unweariedly pressed onward through the smoke, and pushed and heaved away at the glowing mass. At length the smith succeeded in throwing down some of the sheaves. One could now get a glance of the dark sky, and the smoke was less stifling.

"Now we have it!" cried he, triumphantly; and bundle after bundle fell to the ground, and burned harmlessly away. The wagon was more and more quickly unloaded, blazing feather-beds and billets of wood falling with other things.

Anton had the door half closed as the enemy's bullets passed through the flames, and the men had to use their levers from the side. The wagon-ladders fell down, burned to charcoal; and with a shout of triumph, all the levers were applied at once, and the fragments of the wagon pushed a few yards from the door, which was quickly locked again from inside; while the men, black as imps, and with clothes burned, loudly congratulated each other.

"Such nights as these make strong friendships," cried the smith, in great delight, as he shook Anton's hand, which was little less black than his own.

Meanwhile the axes of the besiegers were hacking away at several windows of the lower story, the loosened boards creaked, and Fink's voice was heard saying, "Knock them down with the butt-ends!"

Anton and the forester now betook themselves upon the window through which the besiegers sought to enter. But the worst was over there too. Fink came to meet them, the bloody axe of an insurgent in his hand, and, flinging it away, he cried to Anton and his party, "Put new boards into the windows. I hope the butchery is at an end."

A few more salvos from without, and single shots from within, and all was still in the castle and in the field. The walls still glowed a while in the firelight, but it faded and faded away. The wind rose and drove away the smoke curling round the windows from the burning fragments before the door. The pure night air filled the corridors and the halls once more, and the starlight shone quietly on the sunken eyes and pale faces of the garrison. On both sides the energies of the combatants were exhausted.

"What hour of the night is it?" asked Fink, going up to Anton, who was watching the movements of the enemy through the loop-holes of the wall.

"Past midnight," replied Anton.

They went up to the tower and looked about them. The fields around the castle were empty.

"They have laid themselves down to sleep," said Fink. "Even the fires below are out, and but few isolated voices sound from the village. Those shadows all round the house alone tell us that we are besieged. We have some hours of peace before us; and as we shall hardly get sleeping-time to-morrow, our people must avail themselves of the present. Leave only the necessary sentinels, and let the posts be relieved in two hours. If you have no objection, I shall go to bed too. Let me be called as soon as any thing is stirring outside. You will take very good care of the night-posts, that I know." So saying, Fink turned away and went to his room, where he threw himself on his bed, and in a few moments was fast asleep.

Anton hurried to the guard-room, arranged the posts with the forester, and fixed the order in which they were to be relieved.

"I shall not be sleepy," said the old man; "firstly, because of my age; next, from my habits as a huntsman. I will, if you allow, arrange the posts, and look after things in general."

Once more Anton went round the court and the stables. Here, too, quiet was restored: only the horses restlessly stamped their hoofs on the hard ground. Anton gently opened the door of the women's rooms, in the second of which the wounded had been laid. As he entered, he saw Lenore on a stool near the straw beds, two of the stranger women at her feet. He bent down over the couch of the wounded: the colorless face and disordered hair of the unfortunate men looked ghastly on the white pillows which Lenore had snatched from her own bed.

"How fares it with you?" whispered Anton.

"We have tried to bind up the wounds," replied Lenore. "The forester says that there is hope of both."

"Then," continued Anton, "leave them in charge of the women, and avail yourself of these hours of rest."

"Do not speak to me of rest," said Lenore, rising. "We are in the chamber of death." She took him by the hand, and led him to the opposite corner, drew aside a dark cloak, and pointed to a human form beneath it. "He is dead!" said she, with a hollow voice. "As I raised him with these hands, he died. His blood is on my clothes; and it is not the only blood that has been spilled to-day. It was I," she wildly cried, convulsively pressing Anton's hand, "it was I who began this blood-shedding. How I am to bear this curse, I know not; how I am to live on after this day, I know not. If I have henceforth a place in this world, it is in this room. Leave me here, Wohlfart, and think no more about me."

She turned away and resumed her seat on the stool by the side of the straw bed. Anton drew the cloak over the dead, and silently left the room. He went next to the guard-room and took up his gun. "I am going to the tower, forester," said he.

"Each has his own way," muttered the old man. "The other is wiser—he sleeps. But it will be cold up there; this one shall not be without a wrap." He sent a man up with a villager's cloak, and ordered him to remain with the gentleman.

Anton told the man to lie down and sleep, and wrapped himself up in the warm covering. Then he sat in silence, resting his head against the wall over which Lenore had leaned as she fired, and his thoughts flew over the plain—from the gloomy present to the uncertain future. He looked beyond the circle of the enemy's sentinels, and over the darker boundary of the fir woods, which kept him prisoner here, and bound him to circumstances which appeared to him strange and improbable, as though he read them in a book. His wearied mind contemplated his own fate as though it were that of a stranger, and he could now calmly look down into the depths of his own spirit, which the stormy alternations of the day had hitherto hid from him. He saw his former life pass in review before him: the figure of the noble lady on the balcony of her castle; the beautiful girl in her skiff, surrounded by her swans; the waxlights in the dancing-saloon; the mournful hour when the baroness had placed her jewels in his hands—each of those moments when Lenore's eyes had lovingly met his own. All those seasons now returned to his mind, and he plainly discerned the glamour that she had cast around him. All that had chained his fancy, warped his judgment, and flattered his self-love, now appeared to him an illusion.

It had been an error of his childish spirit which vanity had fostered. Alas! the brilliant mirage had long been dissipated in which the life of the aristocratic family seemed great, noble, enviable to the poor accountant's son. Another feeling had replaced it, and a purer—a tender friendship for the only one in that circle who had retained her strength when the others sank. Now, she too parted from him. He felt this was, and must be so more and more. He felt this now without pain, as natural, as inevitable. And further, he felt that he was thus free from the ties that detained him here. He raised his head, and looked over the woods into the distance. He blamed himself, first, that this loss did not grieve him more, and, next, that he was conscious of a loss. Had there, then, been a silent hope at the bottom of his heart? Had he thought to win the beauteous girl to share his future life? had he dreamed of becoming a member of the family by whom he was employed? If he had occasionally been weak enough to do this, he now condemned himself.

He had not always felt rightly; he had secretly cherished many a selfish thought when looking at Lenore. That had been wrong, and it served him right that he now stood alone among strangers, in relations that pained him because they were indefinite, and in a position from which his own resolve could not free him at present, could hardly free him for some time to come.

And yet he felt himself free. "I shall do my duty, and only think of her happiness," said he, aloud. But her happiness? He thought of Fink—thought of the character of his friend, which always impressed, but often angered him. Would he love her in return, and would he allow himself to be bound? "Poor Lenore!" he sighed.

In this way Anton stood till the bright aspect of the northern horizon passed over to the east, and thence a pale gray spread over the sky, the chilly forerunner of the rising sun. Then Anton looked once more at the landscape round him. He could hardly count the enemy's sentinels, who surrounded the castle in pairs, and here and there a scythe shone in the brightening light. Bending down, he woke the man, who had gone to sleep on the flags stained by his comrade's blood; then he went to the guard-room, threw himself on the straw that the forester carefully shook down for him, and fell asleep just as the lark soared from the dewy ground, by its joyous call to summon forth the sun.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

After an hour the forester woke the sleeper. Anton started up and looked round, stupefied at the unfamiliar scene.

"It is almost a sin to disturb you," said the good old man; "all is quiet outside, only the enemy's cavalry have gone off to Rosmin."

"Gone off!" cried Anton; "then we are free."

"Except for the foot-folks," said the forester, "and they are still two to one of us. They hold us fast. And I have something else to say. There is no more water in the butt. Our men have drunk half of it, the rest was thrown on the fire. For my part, I can do without it, but the castle is full of men, and they will hardly get through the day without a drink."

Anton sprang up. "This is a melancholy good-morning, my old friend."

"The well is broken," continued the old man; "but how if we were to send some of the women to the brook? The sentinels would not do much to the women; perhaps they would not prevent them from getting a few bucketfuls of water."

"A few buckets would not do much for us," replied Anton.

"They would raise the spirits," said the old man; "they would have to be shared. Were Rebecca here, she would get us the water. We must try what we can do with the others. Those confounded fellows are not bad to women, if they be but bold. If you approve, I will see what I can make of some of our girls."

The forester called down to the kitchen—"Suska!" The young Pole sprang up stairs.

"Listen to me, Suska," said the forester, anxiously; "when, the baron awakes, he will call for his hot water; all the water in the castle is done; we have beer and schnapps enough, indeed, but what Christian can wash his hands in beer? so take the buckets, and get us water. Run down to the brook; you will get on very well with your countrymen. Don't stay too long chattering, or we shall get a scolding. And, I say, just ask our neighbors why they stand there still with their lances; their horsemen have gone away; we have no objection to their moving off too."

The girl willingly caught up the buckets, the forester opening the yard door for her, and down she went to the water. Anton watched her in anxious suspense. She got to the brook without any hinderance, and without troubling herself about the sentinels, who were some twenty yards off, and who looked with much curiosity at her. At length one of the men with scythes went up to her. The girl put down her buckets, crossed her arms, and both began a peaceful conversation. Then the Pole took up the buckets, filled them with water, and gave them to the girl, who slowly returned to the castle, the forester opening the gate for her, and saying, in a caressing tone, "Bravo, Susan! what did the sentinel say to you?"

"Stupid things," replied she, blushing. "He told me that I must open the door for him and his comrades when they return to the castle."

"As if that were all?" said the forester, slyly. "So they mean to return to the castle?"

"To be sure they do," said the girl. "Their horsemen are gone to meet the soldiers from Rosmin. When they return, the man said they would all run together to the castle."

"We shall hardly admit them," replied the forester. "None shall enter the gate but your sweetheart yonder. You have, I suppose, promised him admittance, if he comes alone and late?"

"No!" answered Susan, indignantly; "but I dared not be uncivil."

"Perhaps we may try it once more," suggested the forester, glancing at Anton.

"I don't think it," replied the latter. "An officer is riding round the posts, and the poor fellow will get a rough return for his gallantry. Come, and let us divide our little store. Half of this first bucket for the family—half for us men; let the other make a breakfast for the women and children."

Anton himself poured the water into the different vessels, and appointed the smith to guard it. While so doing, he said to the forester, "This is the hardest task that we have had as yet. I do not know how we are to hold out during the day."

"Many things may happen," replied the forester, consolingly.

A bright spring day now began; the sun rose cloudlessly behind the farm-yard, and soon warmed the mist that hung around the walls; the people sought out the sunny corner of the court; the men sat in little groups with their wives and children, and all seemed in good heart. Anton went in and out among them. "We must have patience till noon—perhaps till the afternoon; then our troops will come."

"If those fellows yonder do no more than at present," replied the smith, "we may be easy enough. They stand there like so many wooden posts."

"They lost their courage yesterday," said another, contemptuously.

"It was a mere straw-fire; the smith threw it down, and they have nothing to follow it up with," cried a third.

The smith folded his arms and smiled proudly, his wife looking at him with delight.

Next the upper story began to show symptoms of life. The baron rang and demanded a report. Anton went up to give it him, then entered Fink's room and woke his friend, who was still fast asleep.

"Good-morning, Tony," cried Fink, comfortably stretching himself. "I shall be down in a moment. If you can send me a little water through some of your connections, I shall be very grateful to you."

"I will get you a bottle of wine from the cellar," replied Anton; "you must wash in wine to-day."

"Ha!" cried Fink, "is it come to that? At all events, it is not Port wine, I hope."

"We have but a few bottles of either kind," continued Anton.

"You are a bird of ill omen," said Fink, looking for his boots. "You have doubtless the more beer in your cellars."

"Just enough to give the garrison one draught. A small cask of brandy is our chief treasure."

Fink whistled the Hessian march. "You will own, my son, that your tenderness for the women and children was somewhat sentimental. I already see you, in my mind's eye, with your shirt sleeves tucked up, killing the lean cow, and, with your old conscientiousness, administering mouthfuls to the famished household—you in the middle—fifty gaping mouths around you. Be sure that you prepare a dozen birch rods; in a few hours the screams of the hungry children will rise to heaven, and, in spite of your philanthropy, you will be obliged to scourge the whole troop of them. Otherwise, I think we managed pretty well yesterday. I have had a famous sleep, and so things must take their chance another day. Now let's go and have a look at the enemy."

The two friends mounted to the tower. Anton reported what he had heard. Fink carefully explored the sentries' posts and the line of road till lost in the wood. "Our situation is too quiet to be comfortable," said he, shutting up the glass.

"They mean to starve us out," said Anton, gravely.

"I give them credit for that clever notion; and they do not judge ill, for, between ourselves, I have strong doubts whether we have any relief to hope for."

"We may depend upon Karl," said Anton.

"And upon my bay too," replied Fink; "but it is very possible that my poor Blackfoot may have the misfortune to be carrying the carcass of one of the insurgents at this very moment; and whether the youth Karl may not have fallen into the hands of one of the bands who, no doubt, swarm throughout the country; whether he ever found our soldiers; whether they chose to march to our aid; whether, in short, they will have the sense to come in time; and whether they are strong enough, after all, to disperse the troop gone out to meet them—these, my boy, are all questions which may reasonably be put, and I, for one, dare not answer them hopefully."

"We might attempt a sally, but it would be bloody work," said Anton.

"Pooh!" said Fink; "it would be useless, which is worse. We might disperse one set of them, and another would be there in an hour; nothing but having a strong party to relieve us can get us out of the scrape. As long as we keep within these walls we are strong; on the open field, encumbered with women and children, a dozen horsemen might ride us down."

"We must wait, then," said Anton, gloomily.

"Well said, after all. The whole of human wisdom consists in never putting to one's self or to others questions which nobody can answer. The affair threatens to be tedious."

The friends came down again, and hour after hour passed—weary hours of leaden inactivity. First Anton, then Fink, looked through the glass at the opening into the wood. There was little to be seen; patrols came and went; armed peasants entered the village, and were dispatched in different directions; the sentinels were regularly inspected and relieved every two hours; the besiegers were busy in searching and disarming the surrounding villages, in order to make a more vigorous assault than ever on the castle.

The Germans were pent up in their fortress like a wild beast in his lair, and the huntsmen waited with calm confidence for the time when hunger, or else fire, should complete their conquest.

Meanwhile Fink tried to employ his people; made the men clean and brighten their arms, and himself inspected them all; next, powder and lead were given out, bullets cast, and cartridges made. Anton showed the women how to clean the house and the court, as well as they could, without water. All this had the good effect of keeping the prisoners occupied for a few hours.

The sun rose higher, and the breeze wafted the peaceful chime of bells from the nearest village.

"Our breakfast will be sparing enough," said Anton to his comrades. "The potatoes are roasted in the ashes, meat and bacon are finished; the cook can not bake, for we are again without water."

"As long as we have the milch-cow in the stable," replied Fink, "we still possess a treasure which we can display to the hungry ones. Next, we have the mice in the castle, and, finally, our boots. He who has been condemned to eat beefsteaks in this country ought not to find boot-leather a tough diet."

The forester interrupted them. "A single horseman is coming from the farm-yard to the castle with a woman behind him. I lay any thing it is Rebecca."

The horseman approached the front door, waving a white handkerchief, halting near the burnt fragments of the great wagon, and looking at the windows of the upper story. It was the envoy of the preceding day.

"We will not be so unpolite as to keep the gentleman waiting," said Fink, pushing back the bolts, and appearing unarmed on the threshold. The Pole silently bowed; Fink raised his cap.

"I told you yesterday evening," began the former, "that I should have the pleasure of seeing you again."

"Ah!" replied Fink; "you, then, were the gentleman who occasioned all that smoke? It was a pity to spoil the wagon."

"You prevented your men from firing on me yesterday," continued the Pole, in German, spoken with a hard foreign accent. "I am grateful to you for it, and anxious to prove myself so. I hear that there are ladies in the castle; this girl brings them milk. We know that you are without water, and I should not wish the ladies to be inconvenienced by our conflict."

"Jackanapes!" muttered the forester.

"If you will permit me to give you a few bottles of wine in exchange for your milk," replied Fink, "I will accept your present with thanks. I presume you have no superfluity of this commodity at your command."

"Very good," said the Pole, smiling. Rebecca hurried with her pitcher to the yard gate, gave in the milk, and received the wine from the growling forester. The Pole continued: "Even if you be well supplied with wine, it can not serve instead of water. Your garrison is numerous, and we hear that you have many women and children in the house."

"I should consider it no hardship," replied Fink, "for these women and children to drink wine, as well as we men, till you do us the favor which I yesterday requested, of leaving this estate and the brook yonder altogether."

"Do not hope it, sir," said the Pole, gravely; "we shall employ all our strength to disarm you; we know now that you have no artillery, and it would be at any time in our power to force an entrance. But you have held out like brave men, and we do not wish to go further than is absolutely necessary."

"Prudent and sensible," replied Fink.

"Therefore I make you a proposal which need not offend your self-respect. You have no relief to hope for. Between your soldiers and this village there is a strong body of our troops. A collision of the armies is expected in the course of the next few days at no great distance from here, and your generals are, therefore, unable to detach any number of men. I am telling you no news; you know this as well as I; therefore I promise to you and to all within these walls a safe-conduct, if you will give up the castle and your fire-arms. We are ready to escort you and the ladies in any direction that you may wish, as far as our occupation of the country extends."

Fink replied more seriously than he had hitherto done, "May I ask who it is whose word of honor would be pledged to me?"

"Colonel Zlotowsky," replied the horseman, with a slight bow.

"Your offer, sir," returned Fink, "demands our thanks. I have no doubt of its sincerity, and will assume that you have influence enough over your companions to carry it out. But, as I am not the master of this house, I must communicate your proposal to him."

"I will wait," replied the Pole, retreating to a distance of about thirty yards, and stopping opposite the door.

Fink closed it, and said to Anton, "Let us go to the baron at once. What should you think best?"

"To hold out," replied Anton.

They found the baron in his room, his head resting on his hands, his face distorted, a picture of distress and nervous agitation. Fink told him of the Pole's offer, and begged for his decision.

The baron replied, "I have perhaps suffered more hitherto than any of the brave men who have risked their lives in this house. It is a horrible feeling to be obliged to sit still when honor summons one to the foremost ranks. But, for this very reason, I have no right to dictate to you. He who is incapable of fighting has no right to decide when the fighting shall cease; nay, I have hardly a right to tell you my views, because I fear that they may influence your high-hearted minds; besides which, unfortunately, I do not know the men who defend me; I can not judge of their mood or of their strength. I confidently leave every thing to you, and place the fate of my nearest and dearest in your hands. May Heaven reward you for what you do for me. Yet not for me—for God's sake, not for me—the sacrifice would be too great," cried he, in utmost excitement, raising his folded hands and sightless eyes to heaven; "think of nothing but the cause that we defend."

"Since you repose so generous a trust in us," said Fink, with chivalrous bearing, "we are resolved to hold your castle so long as we have the very least hope of relief. Meanwhile there are serious contingencies to be anticipated; our men may refuse to fight longer, or the enemy may force an entrance."

"My wife and daughter beg, as I do also, that you will not consider them at a time like this. Go, gentlemen," cried the baron, with outstretched arms; "the honor of an old soldier is in your hands."

Both bowed low before the blind man, and left the room. "After all, there is honor in the man," said Fink, nodding as he went along. Then he opened the door and the officer rode up.

"The Baron Rothsattel thanks you for your proposal; but he is resolved to defend his house, and the property of those who have trusted to him, to the very utmost. We can not accept your offer."

"Take, then, the consequences," cried the officer, "and the responsibility of all that must ensue."

"I will take the responsibility," said Fink; "but I have still one request to make from you. Besides the wives and children of the country people, there are two ladies in the castle, the wife and daughter of the Baron Rothsattel; if an accident should enable you to occupy this house, I recommend these defenseless ones to the protection of your honor."

"I am a Pole!" cried the officer, proudly rising in his stirrups. Then taking off his hat, he galloped back to the farm-yard.

"He looks a bold fellow," said Fink, turning to the men who had gathered round him from the guard-room; "but, my friends, when one has the choice of trusting to an enemy's promises or to this little iron barrel, I always think it best to rely upon what we have in our hand."

He shook his rifle as he spoke.

"The Pole promises safe-conduct," continued Fink, "because he knows that in a couple of hours his band will be dispersed by our soldiers. We should be a good bite for him with our thirty guns. And then, if our cavalry came, and instead of us, who sent for them, found the house full of that rabble yonder, they would send a rattling curse after us, and we should be disgraced forever."

"I wonder whether he meant fair?" inquired one of the men, doubtingly.

Fink took him confidentially by the lappet of his coat. "I do believe, my boy, that he meant fair; but I ask you how far one could calculate upon the discipline of those men? We should not get much beyond the wood yonder before another party would overtake us, and the women and our property would be maltreated before our eyes; and so I calculate we shall do the best to show them our teeth."

Warm approbation followed this speech, and a few hurrahs were raised for the young gentlemen in the castle.

"We thank you," said Fink; "and now all of you to your posts, my men, for it may chance that you will get a few cracks on your heads again. That will keep them quiet for an hour or two," said he, turning to Anton. "I don't expect an attack by day, but it is better for them to stand at their posts than to be putting their heads together. It was unlucky that they should have heard the negotiations."

But even the severe discipline which Fink maintained did not avail to ward off the depression which fell upon the little garrison as the day wore on. The Pole's proposal had been heard by many; even the women had in their curiosity opened their door and pushed into the hall. Quietly, gradually, fear began to take possession of the men's hearts, and, contagious as a disease, it spread from one to the other. It broke out, too, in the women's apartments. Suddenly some of them felt a great desire for water, complaining of thirst, first timidly, then louder, pressing against the door of the kitchen, and beginning to sob aloud. Not long after, all the children took to screaming for water, and many who, under other circumstances, would not have thought about drinking at all, now felt themselves unspeakably wretched.

Anton had the last bottle of wine brought out of the cellar, cut the last loaf and soaked it in the wine, giving a piece to each, assuring them that it was the best remedy against thirst, and that if one held it in the mouth, he would be quite unable to drink water, even if paid for it. This expedient answered for a time, but terror found other avenues by which to enter. Many began to consider whether they would have lost any thing in giving up an old gun, and gaining thereby their liberty, and the right to go where they would. This view of things was loudly combated by the forester, who placed himself in the midst of the guard-room, and resolutely replied: "I tell you, Gottlieb Fitzner, and you, you stout Boekel, that the giving away our guns would be a mere trifle to any of us; the only thing is, that any one of you to whom this vile thought could occur would be a low, mean, cowardly scoundrel, who would make me sick whenever I saw him." To which proposition Fitzner and Boekel eagerly acceded, and Boekel declared that, for his part, he could stand such a fellow just as little as the forester himself; so that danger was averted. But the unemployed sentinels were engaged in anxious conversation. The castle forces were contrasted with those of the enemy, and finally the slight nature of the palings in the yard became the leading object of a searching criticism. It was clear that the next attack would be directed against them, and the most stout-hearted admitted that they could offer little resistance. Even the faithful smith shook them with his strong hand, and by no means admired the manner in which they were nailed together.

In the middle of the day these attacks of timidity were not actually dangerous, for the greatest portion of the men were waiting ready armed for the enemy's approach. But as the sun began to decline without any attack, and without the sentinels on the top of the tower announcing any prospect of relief, inactivity and exhaustion combined to increase the universal distress. Their dinner had been unsatisfying: potatoes burnt to a cinder, and a little salt; no wonder that they should again begin to be thirsty, and that the women should return and complain to Anton that his expedient had only availed for a very short time. Among the men, too, fear, hunger, and thirst spread fast from one story to another. Anton had served out a double ration of brandy, but that did not avail. Several of the men became, not rebellious, but weaker and more depressed. Fink looked with contemptuous smile at these symptoms of a condition of which his elastic spirit and iron nerves had no experience; but Anton, to whom all came with petitions and laments, felt the whole distress of these hours. Something must be done to help efficiently, or all was lost. Accordingly, he went into the court-yard, determined to sacrifice the cow. He walked up to her, stroked her neck: "Lizzie, my poor beast, you must go," said he. As he led her out, his eye fell upon the empty water-butt, and a happy thought flashed across him. The yard was only raised a few feet above the brook. The whole district was full of springs; it was probable that, if dug for here, water might be found, and it would be an easy thing for the garrison to dig a well. If the earth excavated were pushed up against the palings, their strength would be considerably increased, and, what was the chief thing, the work would set all idle hands going, and might last for hours, nay, days. He knew, indeed, from former attempts, that the water immediately about the castle was muddy, and in ordinary times undrinkable, but that did not signify to-day. Anton looked up at the sun; there was not a minute to be lost. He called the superintendent into the court, and the latter joyfully agreeing to the proposal—all the unoccupied hands about the castle, and the women and children too—the laborers' implements were produced, and in a few minutes ten men with spades and rakes were occupied in digging a large hole in the middle of the court, while the women and children heaped the thrown-up earth against the palings. Some men, and such of the women as were to be had, were summoned by Anton to the slaughter of the poor cow, who was once more exhibited before she fell a victim to the exigencies of the day. Soon all were in full employment. The well-mouth, which was far wider than would have been required for an ordinary shaft, deepened visibly, and a wall rose inside the palings, which seemed the work of friendly underground gnomes. The people worked as they had never in their life done before; the men's spades emulated each other; little bare legs sprang actively over the ground; wooden shoes and slippers left deep traces in the mound of earth. Each wanted to work; there were more hands than space in which to move them. All sadness and anxiety were over and gone. Jests were bandied about. Even Fink came to look on, and said to Anton, "You are a missionary, and you know how to promote the spiritual good of your people."

"They work!" replied Anton, with greater cheerfulness than he had felt for the last four-and-twenty hours.

The well had now become so deep that it became necessary to have a ladder to descend by; the ground got damper and damper, till the men worked in a perfect swamp. The mud had to be taken out in buckets; but the people were more eager than ever, and the buckets flew from hand to hand, while all laughed like little children at the mud-sprinkling their impatience got. The mud wall rose rapidly above the palings, and wood and stones were thrown in to consolidate it. Anton could hardly get the little doorway kept open. Meanwhile there was restless agitation among the enemy. Horsemen rode rapidly along the line of sentries, and watched the progress of the new fortification: from time to time, one would venture nearer than the rest, then withdraw as soon as the forester raised his gun above the wall. Thus hour after hour passed; the sun sank down, and the red light of evening suffused the sky. But those in the court-yard took no heed of it, for at the bottom of the well the men were standing up to their waists in water. It was a yellow, dirty liquid enough; but the people stared down the hole as though streams of gold were flowing there. At last, when the twilight shadows lay dark on its mouth, Anton ordered the diggers to leave the well. A coarse sheet was brought, and laid over the water-butt, and the water strained through it.

"My horses first," cried one of the servants, snatching a bucketful for the thirsting animals.

"When it has settled a little, it will be as good as river-water," exclaimed the smith, in delight.

As for the diggers, they were never tired of tasting, and each triumphantly corroborated the worthy man's assertion. Meanwhile, Anton had fresh palings driven into the mud rampart, and the strong planks of the potato-carts securely fastened to them. At nightfall all was finished. The women kept straining water into the butt. Great joints of meat were taken to the kitchen, where a brisk fire was crackling away, and the cheerful hopes of an excellent supper rose in the hearts of the besieged.

Then the drums of the enemy were again heard, and the shrill call of Fink's whistle vibrated through the castle. For a moment the men in the court-yard stood still; they had, during the last few hours, thought little about the foe; then all rushed into the guard-room and caught up their arms. The lower story was doubly occupied. The forester hurried off with a strong detachment to the court-yard, and clambered up the new wall.

"The crisis approaches," whispered Fink to Anton; "in the course of the last few hours strong parties have come into the village, and just now a troop of horsemen has joined them. We shall not be able to hold out for a second night. They will attack on both sides at once, and with the help of short ladders they will soon make their way into the castle. And that they know, for you may see that every band that leaves the village is armed with axes and ladders. Let us meet our inevitable doom with spirit; the praise is yours if we are beaten like men and not like cowards. I have been with the baron; he and the ladies are prepared; they will all remain together in his room. If you have a few words to spare when one of the Messieurs of the party walks in over you, remind him of the ladies. God willing, Anton, I'll take the court-yard side—you the front."

"It seems to me impossible," cried Anton, "that we should be beaten. I have never had so good a hope as in this very hour."

"Hope of relief!" said Fink, shrugging his shoulders, and pointing through the window at the enemy. "If it comes in an hour's time it comes too late. Since Rebecca's cannon exploded, we are in the hands of the foe as soon as they choose to storm in earnest. And they will choose. One must not indulge in illusions that glow no longer than a cigar. Give me your hand, my dear fellow, and farewell."

He pressed Anton's hand, and a proud smile beamed again over his face. So stood the friends, each looking affectionately at the face of the other, uncertain whether he should ever behold it again. "Farewell!" cried Fink, taking up his rifle as their hands parted; but all at once he seemed rooted to the ground, and intently listened, for above the drums of the foe and the tramp of their approach a clear sound rang through the night air, a merry pealing fanfare, and in reply to it there came from the village the regular beat of a drum of the line, then a loud discharge of artillery, and a distant hurrah.

"They come!" was the cry on all sides; "our soldiers come!"

The forester rushed into the hall. "The red-caps!" he screamed out. "They are riding up along the brook to the bridge, and the infantry are storming the village from behind."

"Now our side!" cried Fink; "prepare for a sally!"

The bolts were shot back; the whole garrison was out in a moment; and Anton could hardly get the superintendent and a few of the servants to return and take care of the house. The forester rapidly marshaled the men into order while Fink looked at the position of the combatants. The columns of infantry advanced through the village. The ceaseless discharges showed how inveterate the fight was; but the soldiery slowly approached, the enemy yielded, a few fugitives had already run out of the farm-yard. Meanwhile a detachment of hussars crossed the brook opposite the castle, driving small parties of the besiegers before them. Fink led his men round the house, and stationed them at the corner that lay nearest to the village. "Patience!" cried he; "and when I lead you on, don't forget your password, or you will be ridden and trodden down in the dark like the others."

It was with the greatest difficulty that the men were kept in rank, such was their impatience.

A single horseman now came riding toward them. "Hurrah! Rothsattel!" cried he, while still at a distance.

"Sturm!" called out a dozen voices; and Anton sprang forward to greet his ally.

"We have them," said Karl. "They had occupied the Rosmin high road, but I led our men by by-paths through the woods."

A dark mass was visible at the end of the village, with riders in advance. The enemy halted and assembled in the farm-yard.

"Now for it!" cried Fink.

The garrison marched at a quick pace over the meadow, placed themselves sideways near the first barn, and a salvo from five-and-twenty guns burst upon the flank of the enemy, who fell into confusion and fled across the plain. Again the trumpet sounded, behind them the hussars came galloping up, and cut down those that still kept their ground. Karl joined them, and vanished in the fray. The enemy were thus driven into the fields.

The Polish cavalry now sprang forward from the village, at their head the spokesman of the morning, who with loud shouts urged his men against the hussars.

"Rothsattel!" cried a youthful voice close to Anton, and, heading a detachment of hussars, a tall, slight officer rushed against the Poles. Fink raised his rifle and aimed at the Polish colonel.

"Thanks!" cried he, reeling on his horse, firing his pistol with his last breath at the breast of the hussar who was riding him down. The hussar fell from his horse, and the Pole's charger galloped away with his master's lifeless body.

In a few minutes more the vicinity of the castle was cleared of all foes. Night concealed the fugitives, and the trees of the forest spread their sheltering branches over the sons of the soil. In small detachments, the conquerors followed the last remnant of the enemy's troops.

Before the castle, Anton knelt on the ground and supported the head of the prostrate horseman on his arm. With tears in his eyes, he looked from the dying man up to his friend, who stood on one side with a group of sympathizing officers. Their triumph was rendered a mute one, the peasants surrounding the spot in solemn silence. The motionless form was slowly carried on their crossed hands to the castle.

The baron stood on the hall steps with his daughter, ready to greet the welcome guests. As soon as Lenore saw the wounded officer, she rushed down among the bearers, by whom the body was silently laid at the baron's feet, and sank to the ground with a scream.

"Who is it?" groaned the blind man, groping in the air. No one answered him; all drew back in terror.

"Father!" murmured the wounded youth, and a stream of blood gushed from his mouth.

"My son! my son!" cried the baron, in agony, and his knees sank under him.

The youth had left his garrison to join the troops which were to be stationed near his parents. He had succeeded in exchanging into another regiment, and in accompanying the squadron sent to his father's assistance. He wished to give his father a happy surprise, and, with the raising of the siege, he brought them his bleeding breast into their house, and death into their hearts.