Fink began in some agitation, "I must not, I can not leave without having spoken openly to you. I came here without any interest in the quiet life to which I had been so unaccustomed. I have here learned the worth and the happiness of a German home. You I have ever honored as the good spirit of the house. Soon after my arrival, you began to treat me with a distance of manner which I have always lamented. I now come to tell you how much my eyes and heart have clung to you. I feel that my life would be a happy one if I could henceforth ever hear your voice, and if your spirit could accompany mine along the paths of my future life."

Sabine became very pale, and retreated. "Say no more, Herr von Fink," said she, imploringly, raising her hand unconsciously, as if to avert what she foresaw.

"Nay, let me speak," rapidly continued he. "I should consider it the greatest happiness if I could take with me the conviction of not being indifferent to you. I have not the audacity to ask you to follow me at once into an uncertain life, but give me a hope that in a year I may return and ask you to become my wife."

"Do not return," said Sabine, motionless as a statue, and in a voice scarcely audible; "I implore you to say no more."

Her hands convulsively grasped the back of the chair next to her, and, supporting herself by it, she stood with bloodless cheeks, looking at her suitor through her tears with eyes so full of grief and tenderness that the wild-hearted man before her was thoroughly overcome, and lost all self-confidence—nay, forgot his own cause in his distress at her emotion, and his anxiety to soothe it.

"I grieve that I should thus have shocked you," said he; "forgive me, Sabine."

"Go! go!" implored Sabine, still standing as before.

"Let me not part from you without some comfort; give me an answer; the most painful were better than this silence."

"Then hear me," said Sabine, with unnatural calmness, while her breast heaved and her hands trembled; "I loved you from the first day of your arrival; like a childish girl, I listened with rapture to the tone of your voice, and was fascinated by all your lips uttered; but I have conquered the feeling. I have conquered it," she repeated. "I dare not be yours, for I should be miserable."

"But why—why?" inquired Fink, in genuine despair.

"Do not ask me," said Sabine, scarce audibly.

"I must hear my sentence from your own lips," cried Fink.

"You have played with your own life and with the life of others; you would always be unsparing in carrying out your plans; you would undertake what was great and noble—that I believe—but you would not shrink from the sacrifice of individuals. I can not bear such a spirit. You would be kind to me—that, too, I believe; you would make as many allowances for me as you could, but you would always have to make them: that would become burdensome to you, and I should be alone—alone in a foreign land. I am weak, spoiled, bound by a hundred ties to the customs of this house, to the little domestic duties of every day, and to my brother's life."

Fink looked down darkly. "You are punishing severely in this hour all that you have disapproved in me hitherto."

"No," cried Sabine, holding out her hand, "not so, my friend. If there have been hours in which you have pained me, there have been others in which I have looked up to you in admiration; and this is the very reason that keeps us apart forever. I can never be at rest near you; I am constantly tossed from one extreme of feeling to another; I am not sure of you, nor ever should be. I should have to conceal this inward conflict in a relation where my whole nature ought to be open to you, and you would find that out, and would be angry with me."

She gave him her hand. Fink bent low over the little hand, and pressed a kiss upon it.

"Blessings on your future!" said Sabine, trembling all over. "If ever you have spent a happy hour among us, oh! think of it when far away. If ever in the German merchant's house, in the career of my brother, you have found any thing to respect, think, oh! think of it in that far country. In the different life that awaits you, in the great enterprises, the wild struggles that you will engage in, never think slightly of us and of our quiet ways;" and she held her left hand over his head, like an anxious mother blessing her parting darling.

Fink pressed her right hand firmly in his own; both looked long into each other's eyes, and both faces were pale. At last Fink said, in his deep, melodious voice, "Fare you well!"

"Fare you well!" replied she, so low that he hardly caught the words. He walked slowly away, while she looked after him motionless, as one who watches the vanishing of an apparition.

When the merchant, after the close of his day's work, went into his sister's room, Sabine flew to meet him, and, clasping him in her arms, laid her head on his breast.

"What is it, my child?" inquired he, anxiously stroking back her hair from her damp brow.

"Fink has been with me; I have been speaking with him."

"About what? Has he been disagreeable? Has he made you an offer?" asked the merchant, in jest.

"He has made me an offer," said Sabine.

Her brother started: "And you, my sister?"

"I have done what you might expect me to do—I shall not see him again."

Tears started at the words; she took her brother's hand and kissed it.

"Do not be angry with me for weeping. I am still a little shaken: it will soon pass."

"My precious sister—dear, dear Sabine!" cried the merchant; "I can not but fear that you thought of me when you refused."

"I thought of you and of your self-sacrificing, duty-loving life, and his bright form lost the fair colors in which I had once seen it clothed."

"Sabine, you have made a sacrifice for my sake," cried her brother.

"No, Traugott; if this has been a sacrifice, I have made it to the home where I have grown up under your care, and to the memory of our good parents, whose blessing rests on our quiet life."

It was late when Fink re-entered Anton's room; he looked heated, threw his hat on the table, himself on the sofa, and said to his friend,

"Before any thing else, give me a cigar."

Anton shook his head as he reached him a bundle, and asked, "How have you fared?"

"No wedding to be," coolly returned Fink. "She plainly showed me that I was a good for nothing sort of fellow, and no match for a sensible girl. She took the matter rather too seriously, assured me of her regard, gave me a sketch of my character, and dismissed me. But, hang me!" cried he, springing up, and throwing away his cigar, "if she be not the best soul that ever preached virtue in a petticoat. She has only one fault, that of not choosing to marry me; and even there she is right."

Fink's strange bearing made Anton feel anxious.

"Why have you been so long away, and where have you been?" said he.

"Not to the wine-shop, as your wisdom seems to surmise. If a man be refused, he has surely a good right to be melancholy for a couple of hours or so. I have done what any one would in such desperate circumstances. I have walked about and philosophized. I have quarreled with the world—that is to say, with the black-haired and myself—and then ended by standing still before a lamp-lit stall, and buying three oranges." So saying, he drew them out of his pocket. "And now, my son, the past is over and gone; let us speak of the future: this is the last evening that we shall spend together; let no cloud hang over our spirits. Make me a glass of punch, and squeeze these fat fellows in. Orange-punch-making is one of the accomplishments you owe to me. I taught it you, and now the rogue makes it better than I do. Come and sit down beside me."

The next morning old Sturm himself came to carry off the luggage. Fink took Anton's hand, and said, "Before I go through my leave-taking of all the others, I repeat to you what I said in our early days. Go on with your English, that you may come after me. And be I where I may, in log hut or cabin, I shall always have a room ready for you. As soon as you are tired of this Old World, come to me. Meanwhile, I make you my heir; you will take possession of my rooms. For the rest, be perfectly sure that I have done with all bad ways. And now—no emotion, my boy!—there are no great distances nowadays on our little earth." He tore himself away, hurried into the counting-house, returned, bowed to the ladies at the window, clasped his friend once more to his heart, leaped into the carriage, and away—away to the New World.

Meanwhile Anton mournfully returned to the office, and wrote a letter to Herr Stephan in Wolfsburg, inclosing that worthy man a new price current and several samples of sugar.



CHAPTER XIX.

A bad year came upon the country. A sudden rumor of war alarmed the German borderers in the east, and our province among the rest. The fearful consequences of a national panic were soon perceptible. Trade stood still; the price of goods fell. Every one was anxious to realize and withdraw from business, and large sums embarked in mercantile speculations became endangered. No one had heart for new ventures. Hundreds of ties, woven out of mutual interest, and having endured for years, were snapped at once. Each individual existence became more insecure, isolated, and poor. On all sides were anxious faces and furrowed brows. The country was out of health; money, the vital blood of business, circulated slowly from one part of the great body to the other—the rich fearing to lose, the poor becoming unable to win. The future was overcast all at once, like the summer sky by a heavy storm.

That word of terror, "Revolution in Poland!" was not without serious effects in Germany. The people on the other side of the frontier, excited by old memories and by their landed proprietors, rose, and, led by fanatical preachers, marched up and down the frontier, falling upon travelers and merchandise, plundering and burning small towns and noblemen's seats, and aiming at a military organization under the command of their favorite leaders. Arms were forged, old fowling-pieces produced from many a hiding-place; and, finally, the insurgents took and occupied a large Polish town not far from the frontier, and proclaimed their independent national existence. Troops were then assembled in all haste by government, and sent to invest the frontier. Trains filled with soldiers were incessantly running up and down the newly-constructed railway. The streets of the capital were filled with uniforms, and the drum every where heard. The army, of course, was all at once in the ascendant. The officers ran here and there, full of business, buying maps, and drinking toasts in all sorts of wines. The soldiers wrote home to get money if possible, and to send more or less loving greetings to their sweethearts. Numberless young clerks grew pale; numberless mothers knit strong stockings through their tears, and providently made lint for their poor sons; numberless fathers spoke with an unsteady voice of the duty of fighting for king and country, and braced themselves up by remembering the damage they had in their day done to that wicked Napoleon.

It was on a sunny autumn morning that the first positive intelligence of the Polish insurrection reached the capital. Dark rumors had indeed excited the inhabitants on the previous evening, and crowds of anxious men of business and scared idlers were crowding the railway terminus. No sooner was the office of T. O. Schroeter open, than in rushed Mr. Braun, the agent, and breathlessly related (not without a certain inward complacency, such as the possessor of the least agreeable news invariably betrays) that the whole of Poland and Galicia, as well as several border provinces, were in open insurrection, numerous quiet commercial travelers and peaceable officials surprised and murdered, and numerous towns set fire to.

This intelligence threw Anton into the greatest consternation, and with good cause. A short time before, an enterprising Galician merchant had undertaken to dispatch an unusually large order to the firm; and, as is the custom of the country, he had already received the largest part of the sum due to him for it (nearly twenty thousand dollars) in other goods. The wagons that were to bring the merchandise must now, Anton reckoned, be just in the heart of the disturbed district. Moreover, another caravan, laden with colonial produce, and on its way to Galicia, must be on the very confines of the enemy's land. And, what was still worse, a large portion of the business of the house, and of the credit granted it, was carried on in, and depended upon, this very part of the country. Much—nay, every thing, he apprehended, would be endangered by this war. So he rushed up to his principal, met him coming down, and hastily related the news just heard; while Mr. Braun hurried to deliver a second edition in the office, with as many further particulars as were compatible with his love of truth.

The principal remained for a moment silent where he stood, and Anton, who was watching him anxiously, fancied that he looked a shade paler than usual; but that must have been a mistake, for the next moment, directing his attention to the porters beyond, he called out, in the cool, business-like tone which had so often impressed Anton with respect, "Sturm, be good enough to remove that barrel: it's in the very middle of the way; and bestir yourselves, all of you; the carrier will set out in an hour." To which Sturm, with a sorrowful look upon his broad face, replied, "The drums are beating, and our men marching off. My Karl is there as a hussar, with gay lace on his little coat. It is unlucky, indeed. Alas for our wares, Mr. Schroeter!"

"Make the more haste on that account," replied the principal, smiling. "Our wagons are going to the frontier too, laden with sugar and rum; our soldiers will be glad of a glass of punch in the cold weather." Then turning to Anton, he said, "These tidings are not satisfactory, but we must not believe all we hear." And then, going into his office, he spoke rather more cheerfully than usual to Mr. Braun; and, having quietly heard his whole story, made a few comforting observations as to the probability of the wagons not having yet reached the frontier.

And so the great subject of interest was laid aside for the day, and office-work went on as usual. Mr. Liebold wrote down large sums in his ledger; Mr. Purzel piled dollar on dollar; and Mr. Pix wielded the black brush and governed the servants with his wonted decision. At dinner the conversation was as calm and cheerful as ever; and after it, the principal went out walking with his sister and a few ladies of his acquaintance, while all business men who met him exclaimed in amazement, "He goes out walking to-day! As usual, he has known it all before the rest of us. He has a good head of his own. The house is a solid house. All honor to him!"

Anton sat all day at his desk in a state of nervous excitement till then unknown to him. He was full of anxiety and suspense, and yet there was something of enjoyment in his feelings. He was keenly alive to the danger in which his principal and the business were placed, but he was no longer dejected or spiritless—nay, he felt every faculty enhanced; never had he written so easily; never had his style been so' clear, or his calculations so rapidly made. He remarked that Mr. Schroeter moved with a quicker step, and looked round with a brighter glance than usual. Never had Anton so honored him before; he seemed, as it were, transfigured in his eyes. In wild delight, our hero said to himself, "This is poetry—the poetry of business; we can only experience this thrilling sense of power and energy in working our way against the stream. When people say that these times are wanting in inspiration, and our calling wanting most of all, they talk nonsense. That man is at this very moment staking all he has at a single cast—all that he holds dearest, the result of a long life, his pride, his honor, his happiness; and there he sits coolly at his desk, writes letters about logwood, and examines samples of clover-seed—nay, I believe that he actually laughs within himself." So mused Anton while locking up his desk and preparing to join his colleagues. He found them discussing, over a cup of tea, the news of the day, and its probable effect upon business, with a pleasant sort of shudder. All agreed that the firm must indeed suffer loss, but that they were the men to retrieve it sooner than ever was done before. Various views were then propounded, till at length Mr. Jordan pronounced that it was impossible to know beforehand what turn things would take, which profound opinion was generally adopted, and the conference broke up. Through the thin wall of his room Anton heard his neighbor Baumann put up a fervent prayer for the principal and the business, and he himself worked off his excitement by walking up and down till his lamp burned low.

It was already late when a servant noiselessly entered, and announced that Mr. Schroeter wished to speak to him. Anton followed in all haste, and found the merchant standing before a newly-packed trunk, with his portfolio on the table, together with that unmistakable symptom of a long journey, his great English cigar-case of buffalo hide. It contained a hundred cigars, and had long excited the admiration of Mr. Specht. Indeed, the whole counting-house viewed it as a sort of banner never displayed but on remarkable occasions. Sabine stood at the open drawers of the writing-table, busily and silently collecting whatever the traveler might want. The merchant advanced to meet Anton, and kindly apologized for having summoned him so late, adding that he had not expected him to be still up.

When Anton replied that he was far too excited to sleep, such a ray of gratitude for his sympathy shone from Sabine's eyes that our hero was mightily moved, and did not trust himself to speak.

The principal, however, smiled. "You are still young," he said; "composure will come by-and-by. It will be necessary that I go and look after our merchandise to-morrow. I hear that the Poles show special consideration to our countrymen; possibly they imagine that our government is not disaffected toward them. This illusion can not last long; but there will be no harm in our trying to turn it to advantage for the safety of our goods. You have conducted the correspondence, and know all that is to be done for me. I shall travel to the frontier, and, when there, shall decide what steps should next be taken."

Sabine listened in the utmost excitement, and tried to read in her brother's face whether he was keeping back any thing out of consideration for her. Anton understood it all. The merchant was going over the frontier into the very heart of the insurrection.

"Can I not go in your stead?" said he, imploringly. "I feel, indeed, that I have hitherto given you no grounds for trusting me in so important an affair, but, at least, I will exert myself to the utmost, Mr. Schroeter." Anton's face glowed as he spoke.

"That is kindly said, and I thank you," replied the principal; "but I can not accept your offer. The expedition may have its difficulties, and as the profits will be mine, it is but fair that the trouble should be so too." Anton hung his head. "On the contrary, I purpose leaving definite instructions with you, in case of my not being able to return the day after to-morrow."

Sabine, who had been anxiously listening, now seized her brother's hand, and whispered, "Take him with you."

This support gave Anton fresh courage. "If you do not choose to send me alone, at least allow me to accompany you; possibly I may be of some use; at least I would most gladly be so."

"Take him with you," again implored Sabine.

The merchant slowly looked from his sister to Anton's honest face, which was glowing with youthful zeal, and replied, "Be it so, then. If I receive the letters I expect, you will accompany me to-morrow to the frontier; and now good-night."

The following morning, Anton, who had thrown himself ready dressed on the bed, was awakened by a slight knock. "The letters are come, sir." And, hurrying into the office, he found the principal and Mr. Jordan already there, engaged in earnest conversation, which the former merely interrupted for a moment by the words "We go." Never had Anton knocked at so many doors, run so quickly up and down stairs, and so heartily shaken the hands of his colleagues, as in the course of the next hour. As he hurried along the dim corridor, he heard a slight rustling. Sabine stepped toward him and seized hold of his hand. "Wohlfart, protect my brother." Anton promised, with inexpressible readiness, to do so; felt for his loaded pistols, a present from Mr. Fink, and jumped into the railway carriage with the most blissful feelings a youthful hero could possibly have. He was bent on adventure, proud of the confidence of his principal, and exalted to the utmost by the tender relation into which he had entered with the divinity of the firm. He was indeed happy.

The engine puffed and snorted across the wide plain like a horse from Beelzebub's stables. There were soldiers in all the carriages—bayonets and helmets shining every where; at all the stations, crowds of curious inquirers, hasty questions and answers, fearful rumors, and marvelous facts. Anton was glad when they left the railroad and the soldiers, and posted on to the frontier in a light carriage: The high road was quiet, less frequented indeed than usual, but when they drew near the border they repeatedly met small detachments of military. The merchant did not say any thing to Anton about the business in hand, but spoke with much animation on every other subject, and treated his traveling companion with confidential cordiality. Only he showed an aversion to Anton's pistols, which a little damped the latter's martial ardor; for when, at the second station, he carefully drew them out of his pocket to examine their condition, Mr. Schroeter pointed toward their brown muzzles, saying, "I do not think we shall succeed in getting back our goods by dint of pocket pistols. Are they loaded?"

Anton bowed assent, adding, with a last remnant of martial vanity, "They are at full cock."

"Really!" said the principal, seriously, taking them out of Anton's pocket, and then calling to the postillion to hold his horses, he coolly shot off both barrels, remarking good-naturedly as he returned the pistols to their owner, "It is better to confine ourselves to our accustomed weapons: we are men of peace, and only want our own property restored to us. If we can not succeed in convincing others of our rights, there is no help for it. Plenty of powder will be shot away to no purpose—plenty of efforts without result, and expenditure which only tends to impoverish. There is no race so little qualified to make progress, and to gain civilization and culture in exchange for capital, as the Slavonic. All that those people yonder have in their idleness acquired by the oppression of the ignorant masses they waste in foolish diversions. With us, only a few of the specially privileged classes act thus, and the nation can bear with it if necessary; but there, the privileged classes claim to represent the people. As if nobles and mere bondsmen could ever form a state! They have no more capacity for it than that flight of sparrows on the hedge. The worst of it is that we must pay for their luckless attempt."

"They have no middle class," rejoined Anton, proudly.

"In other words, they have no culture," continued the merchant; "and it is remarkable how powerless they are to generate the class which represents civilization and progress, and exalts an aggregate of individual laborers into a state."

"In the town before us, however," suggested Anton, "there is Conrad Gaultier, and the house of the three Hildebrands in Galicia as well."

"Worthy people," agreed the merchant, "but they are all merely settlers, and the honorable burgher-class feeling has no root here, and seldom goes down to a second generation. What is here called a city is a mere shadow of ours, and its citizens have hardly any of those qualities which with us characterize commercial men—the first class in the state."

"The first?" said Anton, doubtingly.

"Yes, dear Wohlfart, the first. Originally individuals were free, and, in the main, equal; then came the semi-barbarism of the privileged idler and the laboring bondsman. It is only since the growth of our large towns that the world boasts civilized states—only since then is the problem solved which proves that free labor alone makes national life noble, secure, and permanent."

Toward evening our travelers reached the frontier station. It was a small village, consisting, in addition to the custom-house and the dwellings of the officials, of only a few poor cottages and a public house. On the open space between the houses, and round about the village, bivouacked two squadrons of cavalry, who had posted themselves along the narrow river that defined the border, and who were appointed to guard it in company with a detachment of riflemen. The public house presented a scene of wild confusion: soldiers moving to and fro, and sitting cheek by jowl in the little parlor; gay hussars and green coats camped round the house on chairs, tables, barrels, and every thing that could by any contrivance be converted into a seat. They appeared to Anton so many Messrs. Pix, such was the peremptoriness with which they disposed of the little inn and its contents. The Jew landlord received the well-known merchant with a loud welcome, and his zeal was such that he actually cleared out a small room for the travelers, where they could at least spend the night alone.

The merchant had scarcely dismounted when half a dozen men surrounded him with shouts of joy. They were the drivers of the wagons that had been recently expedited. The oldest of their party related that, when just beyond the frontier, they had been induced to make a hasty retreat by the alarming spectacle of a body of armed peasants. In turning round, the wheel of the last wagon had come off; the driver, in his fright, had unharnessed the horses and left the wagon. While the delinquent stood there, flourishing his hat in the air, and excusing himself as well as he could, the officer in command came up and confirmed the story.

"You may see the wagon on the road, about a hundred yards beyond the bridge," he went on to say; and when the merchant begged leave to cross the bridge, he offered to send one of his officers with him.

A young officer belonging to a squadron just returned from a patrol was curbing his fiery steed at the door of the tavern.

"Lieutenant von Rothsattel," called the captain, "accompany the gentlemen beyond the bridge."

It was with rapture that Anton heard a name linked with so many sweet recollections. He knew at once that the rider of the fiery charger could be no other than the brother of his lady of the lake.

The lieutenant, tall and slender, with a delicate mustache, was as like his sister as a young cavalry officer could be to the fairest of all mortal maidens. Anton felt at once a warm and respectful regard for him, which was perhaps discernible in his bow, for the young gentleman acknowledged it by a careless inclination of his small head. His horse went prancing on by the side of the merchant and his clerk. They hurried to the middle of the bridge, and looked eagerly along the road. There lay the colossal wagon, like a wounded white elephant resting on one knee.

"A short time ago it had not been plundered," said the lieutenant; "the canvas was stretched quite tightly over it; but they have been at it now, for I see a corner fluttering."

"There does not appear to have been much mischief done," replied the principal.

"If you could get over a wheel and a pair of horses, you might carry off the whole affair," replied the lieutenant, carelessly. "Our men have had a great hankering after it all day. They were very anxious to ascertain whether there was any thing drinkable in it or not. Were it not that we are commanded not to cross the borders, it would be a mere trifle to bring the wagon here, if the commanding officer allowed you to pass the sentinels, and if you could manage those fellows yonder." So saying, he pointed to a crowd of peasants, who were camping behind some stunted willows just out of reach of shot, and who had stationed an armed man on the high road as sentinel.

"We will fetch the wagon if the officer in command permit us to do so," said the principal. "I hope we may find a way of dealing with those people yonder."

Meanwhile Anton could not refrain from murmuring, "The whole day long these gentlemen have allowed two thousand dollars' worth to lie there on the highway; they have had plenty of time to get back the wagon for us."

"We must not be unreasonable in our demands upon the army," replied the merchant, with a smile. "We shall be satisfied if they only allow us to rescue our property from those boors;" and, accordingly, they turned back to make their wishes known to the captain.

"If you can find men and horses, I have nothing to object," replied he.

As soon as the wagoners were reassembled, the principal inquired which of them would accompany him, engaging to make good any harm that might happen to the horses.

After some scratching and shaking of their heads, most of them declared their willingness to go. Four horses were speedily harnessed, a child's sledge belonging to the landlord produced, a wheel and some levers placed thereon, and then the little caravan set off in the direction of the bridge, pursued by the jocular approbation of the soldiers, and accompanied by some of the officers, who showed as much interest in the expedition as comported with their martial dignity.

On the bridge the captain said, "I wish you success, but unfortunately I am unable to send any of my men to assist you."

"It is better as it is," answered the principal, bowing; "we will proceed to recover our goods like peaceable people, and while we do not fear those gentry yonder, we do not wish to provoke them. Be so good, Mr. Wohlfart, as to leave your pistols behind you; we must show these armed men that we have nothing to do with war and its apparatus."

Anton had replaced his pistols in his pocket, whence they peeped out with an air of defiance, but now he gave them to a soldier called by Lieutenant von Rothsattel. And so they crossed the bridge, at the end of which the lieutenant reluctantly reined up his charger, muttering, "These grocers march into the enemy's country before us;" while the captain called out, "Should your persons be in danger, I shall not consider it any departure from duty to send Lieutenant Rothsattel and a few soldiers to your aid." The lieutenant rushed back and gave the word of command to his troop, which was not far off, to sit still, and then he dashed again to the end of the bridge, and watched with great interest and warlike impatience the progress of the grocers, as he called them. To his and his country's honor, be it here said, that they all alike wished the poor civilians a warm reception, and some serious inconvenience, that they might have a right to interfere, and cut and hack a little on their behalf.

Meanwhile, the march of the merchants into the enemy's country had nothing very imposing about it; lighting his cigar, and walking with a brisk step, the principal went on, Anton close by his side, and behind them three stout wagoners with the horses. When they had got within about thirty yards of certain peasants in white smock frocks, these brandished their weapons, and cried out to them in Polish to halt.

The principal, raising his voice, addressed them in their own tongue, desiring that they would call their leader.

Accordingly, some of the savages began by wild gesticulations to communicate with their companions at a distance, while others held their weapons in readiness, and aimed, as Anton remarked without any particular satisfaction, pretty exactly at him. Meanwhile the leader of the band advanced with long strides. He wore a blue coat with colored lace, a square red cap trimmed with gray fur, and he carried a wild-duck gun in his hand. He seemed a dark-hued fellow, of a formidable aspect, enhanced by a long black mustache falling down on each side of his mouth. As soon as he came near, the merchant addressed him in a loud voice, and rather imperfect Polish. "We are strangers. I am the owner of that wagon yonder, and am come to fetch it; tell your people to help me, and I will give them a good gratuity." At which word all the weapons were reverentially lowered. The chief of the krakuse, or irregulars, now placed himself pathetically in the middle of the highway, and began a long oration, accompanied by much action, of which Anton understood very little, and his principal not all, but which, being interpreted by one of the wagoners, was found to signify that the leader much regretted his inability to serve the gentlemen, as he had received orders from the corps stationed behind him to keep watch over the wagon till the horses should arrive which were to take it to the nearest town.

The merchant merely shook his head, and replied, in a tone of quiet command, "That won't do. The wagon is mine, and I must carry it off. I can not wait the permission of your expected wagoners;" and, putting his hand into his pocket, he displayed to the owner of the blue coat half a dozen shining dollars, unseen by the rest. "So much for you, and as much for your people." The leader looked at the dollars, scratched his head vehemently, and turned his cap round and round; the result of which was, that he at last arrived at the conclusion that, since things stood thus, the worthy gentleman might drive off his wagon.

The procession now triumphantly proceeded; the drivers seized the levers, and, by their united efforts, raised the fallen side, detached the fragments of the broken wheel, put on the new one, and harnessed the horses; and all this with the active assistance of some of the peasants, and the brotherly support of their commandant, who himself wielded a lever. Then the horses were set off with a good will, and the wagon rolled on toward the bridge amid the loud acclamations of the krakuse, which were perhaps intended to drown a dissentient voice in his innermost breast.

"Go on with the wagon," said the merchant to Anton; and when the latter hesitated to leave his principal alone with the boors, the command was still more peremptorily repeated. And so the wagon slowly progressed toward the frontier; and Anton already heard from a distance the laughing greetings of the soldiers.

Meanwhile the merchant remained in animated conversation with the peasant band, and at length parted on the best possible terms with the insurgents' leader, who, with true Slavonic politeness, acted the part of landlord on the public road, and, cap in hand, accompanied the travelers till within gunshot of the military on the bridge. The principal got into the wagon, underwent the warlike ceremonial of "Halt!" &c., on the part of the sentinels, and received the smiling congratulations of the captain, while the lieutenant said satirically to Anton, "You have had no cause to lament the want of your pocket pistols."

"All the better," answered Anton; "it was a tame affair indeed. The poor devils had stolen nothing but a small cask of rum."

An hour later, the travelers were sitting with the officers of both regiments, in the little tavern parlor, over a bottle of old Tokay, which the host had disinterred from the lowest depths of his cellar. Not the least happy of the party was Anton. For the first time in his life he had experienced one of the small perils of war, and was, on the whole, pleased with the part he had played; and now he was sitting by a young soldier, whom he was prepared to admire to the utmost, and had the privilege of offering him his cigars, and discussing with him the day's adventures.

"The boors pointed their guns at you at first," said the young nobleman, carelessly curling his mustache; "you must have found that a bore."

"Not much of one," replied Anton, as coolly as he could. "For a moment I felt startled as I saw the guns aimed at me, and behind them men with scythes, pantomiming the cutting off of heads. It struck me uncomfortably at first that all the muzzles should point so directly at my face; afterward I had to work away at the wagon, and thought no more about it; and when, on our return, each of our wagoners affirmed that the guns had pointed at him and no one else, I came to the conclusion that this many-sidedness must be part of the idiosyncrasy of guns—a sort of optical unmannerliness that does not mean much."

"We should soon have cut you out if the peasants had been in earnest," replied the lieutenant, benevolently. "Your cigars are remarkably good."

Anton was rejoiced to hear it, and filled his neighbor's glass. And so he entertained himself, and looked at his principal, who seemed to be unusually inclined to converse with the gay gentlemen around him on all subjects connected with peace and war. Anton remarked that he treated the officers with a degree of formal politeness, which considerably checked the free and easy tone which they had at first adopted. The conversation soon became general, and all listened with attention to the merchant while he spoke of the disturbed districts, with which former journeys had made him familiar, and sketched some of the leaders of the insurrection. Young Von Rothsattel alone, to Anton's great distress, did not seem to like the attention lent by his comrades to the civilian, nor the lion's share of the conversation conceded him. He threw himself carelessly back on his chair, looked absently at the ceiling, played with his sword-hilt, and uttered curt observations, intended to denote that he was not a little bored. When the captain mentioned that he expected their commander-in-chief to arrive in the morning, and the merchant said in reply, "Your colonel will not be here till to-morrow evening, so at least he said to me when I met him at the station," the demon of pride in the young officer's breast became uncontrollable, and he rudely said, "You know our colonel, then? I suppose he buys his tea and sugar from you."

"At all events, he used to do so," politely replied the merchant; "indeed, as a younger man, I have sometimes weighed out coffee for him myself."

A certain degree of embarrassment now arose among the officers, and one of the elder attempted, according to his light, to rectify the intentional rudeness by saying something about a most highly-respectable establishment where civilians or military alike might procure, with perfect satisfaction, whatever they needed.

"I thank you, captain, for the confidence you repose in my house," replied the merchant, with a smile, "and I am indeed proud that it should have become respectable through my own active exertions and those of my firm."

"Lieutenant Rothsattel, you head the next patrol; it is time that you should set out," said the captain. Accordingly, with clink and clatter, the lieutenant rose.

"Here comes our landlord with a new bottle on which he sets great value; it is the best wine in his cellar. May not Herr von Rothsattel take a glass of it before he goes to watch over our night's rest?" inquired the merchant, with calm politeness.

The young man haughtily thanked him and clattered out of the room. Anton could have thrashed his new favorite with all his heart.

It was now late; and Anton saw, with some astonishment, that the merchant still continued with the utmost politeness to play the host, and to evince a pleasure in every fresh experience of the Tokay not easy to reconcile with the purpose of his journey. At last, another bottle having been uncorked, and the captain having taken and commenced a fresh cigar of the merchant's, the latter casually observed, "I wish to travel to the insurgent capital to-morrow, and request your permission, if it be necessary."

"You do!" cried all the officers round the table.

"I must!" said the merchant, gravely, and proceeded briefly to state the reasons for his resolve.

The captain shook his head. "It is true," said he, "that the exact terms in which my orders are couched leave it optional whether I bar the frontier against all alike, but yet the chief aim of our occupying this position is the closing up of the disturbed district."

"Then I must make known my wishes to the commander-in-chief; but this will delay me more than a day, and this delay will very probably defeat the whole object of my journey. As you have kindly informed me, there still exists a certain degree of order among the insurgents, but it is impossible to say how long this may last. Now it is upon the existence of this very order that I must depend for the recovery of my property, for I can only get the loaded wagons out of the town with the consent of the revolutionary party."

"And do you hope to obtain it?"

"I must endeavor to do so," was the reply; "at all events, I shall oppose might and main the plundering and destroying of my goods."

The captain mused a while. "Your plans," said he, "place me in a strait; if any harm should befall you, which is, I fear, only too likely, I shall be reproached for having allowed you to cross the frontier. Can nothing persuade you to give up this undertaking?"

"Nothing," said the merchant—"nothing but the law of the land."

"Are the wagons, then, of such consequence to you, that you are willing to risk your life for them?" asked the captain, rather morosely.

"Yes, captain, of as much consequence as the doing your duty is to you. To me their safety involves far more than mere mercantile profit. I must cross the frontier unless prevented by a positive prohibition. That I should not actually resist, but I should do all in my power to have an exception made in my favor."

"Very good," said the captain; "I will lay no hinderance in your way; you will give me your word of honor that you will disclose nothing whatever as to the strength of our position, the arrangement of our troops, or as to what you have heard of our intended movements."

"I pledge my word," said the merchant.

"Your character is sufficient guarantee that your intentions in taking this journey are upright; but officially I could wish to see the papers connected with it, if you have them by you."

"Here they are," said the merchant, in the same business-like tone. "There is my passport for a year, here the bill of goods of the Polish seller, the copies of my letters to the custom-house officer, and the replies to them."

The captain glanced over the papers, and gave them back. "You are a brave man, and I heartily wish you success," said he, in a dignified tone. "How do you mean to travel?"

"With post-horses. If I can not hire, I shall buy, and drive them myself. Our host will let me have a carriage, and I shall set out to-morrow morning, as I might cause more suspicion traveling by night."

"Very well, then, I shall see you again at break of day. I believe that we ourselves are to move over into the enemy's country in three days' time; and if I hear no tidings from you in the mean time, I shall look you out in the conquered city. We must disperse, gentlemen; we have already sat here too long."

The officers then retired with clank of arms, and Anton and his principal remained alone with the empty bottles. The merchant opened the window, and then turning to Anton, who had listened to the foregoing conversation in the greatest excitement, began, "We must part here, dear Wohlfart—"

Before he could finish his sentence Anton caught hold of his hand, and said, with tears in his eyes, "Let me go with you; do not send me back to the firm. I should reproach myself intolerably my whole life through if I had left you on this journey."

"It would be useless, perhaps unwise, that you should accompany me. I can perfectly well do alone all that has to be done; and if there be any risk to run, which, however, I do not believe, your presence could not protect me, and I should only have the painful feeling of having endangered another for my sake."

"Still, I should be very grateful to you if you would take me with you," urged Anton; "and Miss Sabine wished it too," added he, wisely keeping his strongest argument for the last.

"She is a terrible girl," said the merchant, with a smile. "Well, then, so let it be. We will go together; call the landlord, and let us make all our traveling arrangements."



CHAPTER XX.

It was still night when Anton stepped over the threshold of the tavern. A thick cloud hung over the plain. A red glare on the horizon marked the district through which the travelers had to pass. The mist of night covered, with a gray veil, a dark mass on the ground. Anton went nearer, and found that it consisted of men, women, and children, cowering on the earth, pale, hungry, and emaciated. "They are from the village on the other side of the boundary," explained an old watchman, who stood wrapped in his cavalry cloak. "Their village was on fire; they had run into the forest, and during the night they had come down to the river, stretching out their hands, and crying piteously for bread. As they were mostly women and children, our captain allowed them to cross, and has had a few loaves cut up for them. They are half famished. After them came larger bodies, all crying 'Bread! bread!' and wringing their hands. We fired off a few pistol-shots over their heads, and soon scattered them."

"Ha!" said Anton, "this is a poor prospect for us and our journey. But what will become of these unfortunate creatures?"

"They are only border rascals," said the watchman, soothingly. "Half the year they smuggle and swill, the other half they starve. They are freezing a little just now."

"Could one not have a caldron full of soup made for them?" inquired Anton, compassionately, putting his hand into his pocket.

"Why soup?" replied the other, coldly; "a drink of brandy would please the whole fry better. Over there they all drink brandy, even the child at the breast; if you are inclined to spend something upon them in that way, I'll give it out, not forgetting a loyal old soldier at the same time."

"I will request the landlord to have something warm got ready for them, and you will have the goodness to see that it is all right." And again Anton's hand went into his pocket, and the watchman promised to keep his warlike heart open to compassion.

An hour later the travelers were rolling along in an open britzska. The merchant drove; Anton sat behind him, and looked eagerly out into the surrounding landscape, where, through darkness and mist, a few detached objects were just beginning to appear. When they had driven about two hundred yards, they heard a Polish call. The merchant stopped, and a single man cautiously approached. "Come up, my good friend," said the merchant; "sit here by me." The stranger politely took off his cap, and swung himself up to the driving-box. He turned out to be the chief krakuse of the day before—the man with the drooping mustache.

"Keep an eye on him," said the merchant in English to Anton; "he shall serve us as a safe-conduct, and be paid for it too; but if he touches me, lay hold of him from behind."

Anton took his despised pistols out of an old leathern pouch on one side of the carriage, and, in sight of the krakuse, arranged them ostentatiously in the pocket of his paletot. But the latter only smiled, and soon showed himself a creature of a friendly and social nature, nodding confidentially to both travelers, drinking some mouthfuls out of Anton's traveling flask, trying to keep up, over his left shoulder, a conversation with him, calling him "your grace" in broken German, and giving him to understand that he too smoked, though he did not happen to have any tobacco. At last he requested the honor of driving the gentlemen.

In this manner they passed a group of fallen houses, which lay on a flat close to a marsh, looking like giant fungi that had shot up on a malarian soil, when they suddenly found themselves surrounded by a band of insurgents. It was a general levy, such as they had seen the day before. There were flails in abundance, a few scythes, old muskets, linen smock-frocks, a strong smell of spirits, and wild, staring eyes. This troop at once seized the horses by the bridles, and quick as lightning began to unharness them. The krakuse now sprang up lion-like from his seat, and displayed, in his Polish tongue, a vast amount of eloquence, aided by much gesticulation with hands and feet. He declared that these gentlemen were great noblemen, who were traveling to the capital that they might speak with the government, and that it would cost the head of every man who presumed to pull a hair out of one of their horses' tails. This speech provoked several animated replies, during which some clenched their fists, and some took off their caps. Upon that the driver began a still more powerful oration, setting before the patriots a prospective quartering if they even ventured to look askance at the heads of the horses. This had the effect of diminishing the number of clenched fists, and increasing that of the doffed caps. At length the merchant put an end to the whole scene by suddenly flogging the horses, and thus compelling the last recusants to jump aside as fast as they could. The horses galloped off, loud interjections were heard in the distance, and a few shots passed harmlessly over the heads of the travelers, probably fired out of a general enthusiasm for fatherland rather than with any definite purpose.

So the hours passed on. They not unfrequently met bands of armed peasantry screaming and brandishing their cudgels, or else following, with bent heads and hymn-singing, a priest who bore a church banner displayed. The travelers were sometimes, indeed, stopped and threatened, but at other times saluted with the utmost reverence, especially Anton, who, sitting as he did behind, was taken for the most important personage.

At length they approached a larger village, the bands grew closer, the uproar greater, and here and there a uniform, a cockade, or a bayonet appeared among the smock-frocks. Here, too, the driver began to show symptoms of disquiet, and announced to the merchant that he could not take them any farther, and that they must report themselves to the leader in command. To this Mr. Schroeter made no objection, but paid the driver and stopped the carriage.

A young man with a blue head-piece, and a red and white scarf about his waist, stepped forward, obliged the travelers to dismount, and with a great display of zeal led them to the chief. The merchant still held the reins in his hand, and whispered to Anton that he was on no account to lose sight of the carriage. Anton pretended the utmost unconcern, and pressed a coin into the hand of the friendly krakuse, who had crept behind the carriage, that he might go and get the horses a bundle of hay.

The sentry was in a house whose thatched roof had been dignified by the whitewashing of the walls. A few muskets and guns leaned up against it, watched by a youthful volunteer in blue coat and red cap. Near at hand sat the commanding officer, whose flat face was surmounted by an immense white plume, and whose person was adorned by an enormous white scarf, and a sword with elaborate hilt. This dignitary was considerably excited when he beheld the strangers; he clapped his hat more firmly on his head, stroked his unkempt beard, and began to give audience. After a few preliminary remarks, the travelers told him that they had weighty business to transact with the heads of the government. They refused, however, to give any account of its purport. This statement wounded the dignity of the authority before them. He made harsh allusions to suspicious characters and spies, and called to his guard to stand to their arms. Instantly five youths in blue caps rushed out of the house, ranged themselves in order, and were commanded to hold their guns in readiness. Involuntarily Anton sprang between them and his principal. Meanwhile the man of the giant sword, on seeing that the merchant still stood quietly by the post round which he had fastened the reins, changed his murderous intent, contenting himself with assuring him that he considered him a very dangerous character, and was much inclined to shoot him as a traitor.

The merchant shrugged his shoulders, and said, with calm politeness, "You are entirely mistaken as to the object of our journey. You can not seriously believe us to be spies, for we have just been brought to you by one of your own people, in order that we might obtain from your kindness a convoy to the capital. I must once more request you not to detain us, as our business with the government is of a pressing nature, and I shall be obliged to make you responsible for all unnecessary delay." This address led to another volley of oaths on the part of the man in authority, who snorted violent defiance against the travelers, drank off a large glass of brandy, and finally came to a decision. He called three of his men, and desired them to take their seats in the carriage, and to convey it to the capital. A bundle of fresh straw was thrown in, two youths with arms in their hands placed themselves behind the travelers, while a white-frocked peasant sat on the box, took the reins, and indifferently drove the whole cargo, suspicious characters, patriots, and all, at a gallop toward the capital.

"Our condition has changed for the worse," said Anton. "Five men in this little carriage, and the poor horses tired already."

"I told you," replied the merchant, "that our journey would have some inconveniences. Men are never more troublesome than when they play at being soldiers. In other respects, this guard over us does no harm; at least, with such an escort, we are sure to be admitted into the city."

It was evening when they reached the capital. A red glare in the sky showed them their goal while they were still far from it. As they approached, they met numerous companies of armed men moving in and out. Next came a long detention at the gates—an interchange of questions and answers—an examination of the travelers by the aid of lanterns and pine torches, angry looks, and even intelligible threats, and, finally, a long drive through the streets of the old capital. Sometimes all around them was still as death; sometimes a wild cry resounded from the crowd, all the more alarming because the words were not understood.

At length the driver turned into a square, and stopped before a handsome house. The travelers were surrounded and pushed up a broad staircase by a crowd of gay uniforms, laced coats, and clean smock frocks. Next they were thrust into a large apartment, and placed before a gentleman wearing white silk gloves, who looked into a written report, and briefly informed them that, according to the report of the commandant at the station, they were suspected of being spies, and were to undergo a court-martial. The merchant at once broke out in high displeasure: "I am sorry that your informant should have told you a great falsehood, for we have undertaken this journey on the highway and in broad daylight, for the express purpose of speaking to your governors. The horses and carriage which brought me here are both mine, and it was an uncalled-for act of politeness on the part of your commandant to furnish me with an escort. I wish to see the gentleman in command here as soon as possible; it is to him alone that I mean to impart the motive of my journey; be so good, therefore, as to hand him my passport."

The official examined the passport, and, looking at Anton, proceeded to inquire, with somewhat more consideration, "But this gentleman? He has the appearance of an officer in your army."

"I am a clerk of Mr. Schroeter's," returned Anton, with a bow; "and out and out a civilian."

"Wait a while," said the young man, superciliously, going with the passport into a neighboring room.

As he remained away some time, and no one interfered with the travelers, they sat down on a bench, and tried to appear as unconcerned as possible. Anton first cast an anxious glance at his principal, who was looking down gloomily, and then gazed about him in amazement. The room in which they were was lofty, and the ceiling much ornamented, but the walls were dirty and smoke-stained; tables, chairs, and benches stood about in confusion, and seemed as if just brought in from the nearest tavern. A few writers bent over their papers, while soldiers sat or lay along the walls, asleep or talking loudly, several of them in French. A room like this, dimly lighted, was not calculated to make a cheerful impression upon Anton, who whispered to the merchant, "If revolutions in general look like this, they are ugly things."

"They always destroy, and seldom recreate," was the reply. "I am afraid that this room is an emblem of the whole town: the painted coat of arms on the ceiling, and the dirty bench on which we are sitting. When such contrasts as these are brought into juxtaposition, it is enough to make a sober-minded man cross himself in horror. The nobles and the people are bad enough, taken separately, when they each try their hands at government; but when they unite, they are sure to bring down the house that holds them."

"The nobles are the most troublesome," said Anton. "Commend me to our krakuse; he was a polite insurgent, and knew the value of a half dollar; but these gentlemen seem to have no business notions at all."

"Let us wait a little," said the principal.

A quarter of an hour had passed, when a young man, tall in stature and stately in aspect, followed by the white-gloved gentleman, politely approached the merchant, saying so loudly that even the sleepers could hardly fail to hear, "I rejoice to see you here, and have indeed been expecting it; have the goodness to follow me with your companion."

"By Jove, we are looking up!" thought Anton.

They followed their majestic guide into a small corner room, which was evidently the boudoir of the quarters, for it contained an ottoman, easy chairs, and a handsome writing-table. Different uniforms and articles of dress were carelessly thrown upon the furniture; and on the table lay, in the midst of papers, a pair of double-barreled pocket pistols, and a large seal richly set in gold.

While Anton was noticing that the whole room was very elegant, but, at the same time, very untidy, the young chief turned to the merchant and said, with somewhat more reserve and less amenity, "You have, through a misunderstanding, been exposed to some rudeness, as is indeed often unavoidable in troubled times. Your escort has confirmed your statements. I now beg you to impart to me the reason of your visit."

The merchant accordingly briefly but precisely explained the purpose of his journey, named those men in the place with whom he was connected in business, and appealed to them to ratify his statements.

"I know both those gentlemen," answered the officer, carelessly. Then looking fixedly at the merchant, he asked, after a pause, "Have you nothing further to communicate?"

The principal said he had not; but the other rapidly continued, "I quite understand that our peculiar position prevents your government from treating with us directly, and that, in the event of your being charged with a commission, you must proceed with the utmost caution."

Here the merchant hastily interrupted him. "Before you say more, I again assure you, as a man of honor, that I am come merely on my own business, and that my business is only what I have already stated. But as I conclude from your words, as well as much that I have heard on my way hither, that you take me for a delegate, I feel constrained to tell you that I never could have been charged with any commission such as you seem to expect, its very existence being an utter impossibility."

The noble looked grave, and said, after a moment's silence, "Very well; you shall not suffer on that account. The wish that you express is so singular, that it would be impossible, in the common course of things, to grant it. If we are not permitted to consider you a friend, the rules of war command us to deal with you and yours as enemies. But the men of my nation have ever possessed, in taking up arms, the rare virtue of trusting to the virtue of others, as well as of acting nobly, even when they could expect no gratitude in return. Be assured that I will, as far as in me lies, assist you to recover your property."

So said the nobleman with self-conscious dignity; and Anton was keenly alive to the true nobility of the words, though too thoroughly a man of business to give himself up to the impression they made, his budding enthusiasm being frostbitten by a very matter-of-fact thought: "He promises to help us, and yet he is not quite convinced that the property we wish to carry off is of right our own."

"I am not, alas! so absolute," continued the chief, "as to be able to gratify you at once. However, I hope in the morning to furnish you with a pass for your wagons. First of all, try to find out where your property now is, and I will send one of my officers with you as a protection. The rest to-morrow."

With these words the travelers were courteously dismissed; and as Anton went out he saw the officer wearily throw himself back into an easy-chair, and with bent head begin to play with the trigger of his pistols.

A slight youth, with a large scarf, almost a child in years, but of a most noble bearing, accompanied our friends. As they left the house, they were politely saluted by several present, and it was plain that the ante-chamber still believed in their diplomatic character.

The officer inquired whether he should accompany the gentlemen, as it was his duty not to lose sight of them.

"Is this by way of protection or surveillance?" inquired Anton, who now felt in good spirits.

"You will give me no occasion, I am sure, to exercise the latter," returned the small warrior in exquisite French.

"No," said the merchant, looking kindly at the youth; "but we shall weary you, for we have yet to get through a good deal of uninteresting and commonplace business this evening."

"I am only doing my duty," replied their escort, with some haughtiness, "in accompanying you wherever you wish."

"And in order to do ours, we must make all the haste we can," said the merchant. And so they traversed the streets of the capital. Night had set in, and the confusion and bustle seemed sadder still under her cloak. Crowds of the lowest of the populace, patrols of military, bands of fugitive peasantry jostled each other, snatching, shrieking, cursing. Many windows were illuminated, and their brilliance cast a shadowless, ghostly glare over the streets. Thick red clouds rolled above the roofs of the houses, for one of the suburbs was on fire, and the wind blew swarms of golden sparks and burning splinters over the heads of the travelers. Meanwhile the bells of the churches kept up a monotonous tolling. The strangers hurried silently along, the imperious tones of their escort always making way for them through the most unruly throng. At length they reached the house of the agent of their firm. It was shut up, and they had to knock long and loud before a window was opened, and a piteous voice heard asking who was there.

When they entered the agent ran to meet them, wringing his hands, and tearfully falling on the merchant's neck. The presence of the young insurgent prevented him from expressing his feelings. He threw open the nearest door, and in lamentable tones apologized for the exceeding disorder in which the room was. Chests and coffers were being packed up; male and female servants were running to and fro, hiding silver candlesticks here, thrusting in silver spoons there. Meanwhile the master of the house never left off wringing his hands, lamenting his misfortunes and those of the firm, welcoming, and, in the same breath, regretting the arrival of the principal, and every now and then assuring the young officer, with choking voice, that he too was a patriot, and that it was only owing to an unaccountable mistake on the part of one of the maids that the cockade had been taken off his hat. It was plain that the man and his whole family had quite lost their wits.

The merchant had much trouble before he could get him into a corner and hear some business details. It appeared that the wagons had arrived in town on the very day that the insurrection broke out. Through the foresight of one of the wagoners, they had been taken into the great court-yard of a remote inn, but as to what had become of them since then the agent knew nothing.

After some further conversation the merchant said, "We shall not claim your hospitality to-night; we shall sleep wherever our wagons are." All the persuasions of the agent were peremptorily rejected.

This worthy but weak man seemed really distressed at the new danger into which his friend was determined to run.

"I shall call you up early," said the merchant, as he left; "I propose setting out to-morrow with my wagons, but first I wish to make a few, as you know, necessary visits to our customers, and to have your company during them." The agent promised to do his best by daylight.

Again our travelers went forth into the night, accompanied by the Pole, who had scornfully listened to the half-whispered conversation. As they went along the street, the principal, angrily throwing away his cigar, said to Anton,

"Our friend will be of little use to us; he is helpless as a child. In the beginning of the disturbance, he neglected to do his duty—to collect money, and seek for reimbursement."

"And now," said Anton, sorrowfully, "no one will be inclined to pay or reimburse us."

"And yet we must bring this about to-morrow, and you shall help me to do so. By heaven, these warlike convulsions are in themselves inconvenient enough to trade without this addition, paralyzing as they do all useful activity, which is the only thing that prevents us from becoming mere animals. But if a man of business allows himself to be more crushed than is absolutely unavoidable, he does an injury to civilization—an injury for which there is no compensation."

They had now reached a part of the town where empty streets, and the silence of the grave immediately at hand, only enhanced the horrors of the distant clamor and the red glare in the sky. At length they stopped before a low building with a large gateway. Entering, they looked into the bar, a dirty room with blackened rafters, in which loud-voiced and brandy-drinking patriots clustered on bench and table. The young officer called for the landlord. A fat figure with a red face appeared.

"In the name of the government, rooms for myself and my companions," said the young man. The host sullenly took up a bundle of rusty keys and a tallow candle, and led them to an upper floor, where he opened the door of a damp room, and morosely declared that he had no other for them.

"Bring us supper and a bottle of your best wine," said the merchant; "we pay well, and at once."

This announcement occasioned a visible improvement in the mood of the fat landlord, who even made an unsuccessful attempt to be polite. The merchant next asked for the wagons and wagoners. These questions were evidently unwelcome. At first Boniface pretended to know nothing about them, declaring that there were a great many wagons coming and going in his court-yard, and that there were several wagoners too, but that he did not know them.

It was in vain that the merchant tried to make him understand the object of his coming; the landlord remained obtuse, and was about to relapse into his former moroseness, when the young Pole came forward, and informed Mr. Schroeter that this was not the way of dealing with such people. He then faced the landlord, called him all manner of hard names, and declared that he would arrest and carry him off on the spot unless he at once gave the most exact information.

The landlord looked timidly at the officer, and begged to be allowed to retire and send up one of the wagoners.

Soon a lanky figure with a brown felt hat came lumbering up stairs, started at the sight of the merchant, and at last announced, with pretended cheerfulness, that there he was.

"Where are the wagons? where are the bills of lading?"

The wagons were in the court-yard. The bills were reluctantly produced from the dirty leather purse of the wagoner.

"You guarantee me that your load remains complete and undisturbed?" asked the merchant.

The felt hat ungraciously replied that he could do nothing of the kind. The horses had been unharnessed and hid in a secret stable, that they might not be confiscated by the government; as to the fate of the wagons, he could neither prevent nor ascertain it, and all responsibility ceased in troublous times like these.

"We are in a den of thieves," said the merchant to his escort; "I must request your assistance in bringing these people to reason."

Now bringing people to reason was just what the young Pole believed to be his speciality; so, with a smile, he took a pistol in one hand, and said aside to Anton, "Do as I, and have the goodness to follow me." Next he seized the wagoner by the throat, and dragged him down the stair. "Where is the landlord?" cried he, in the most formidable tone he could raise. "The dog of a landlord and a lantern!" The lantern being brought, he drove the whole pack—the strangers, the fat landlord, the captured wagoner, and all others assembled by the noise, before him into the court-yard. Arrived there, he placed himself and his prisoner in the centre of the circle, bestowed a few more injurious epithets upon the landlord, rapped the wagoner on the head with his pistol, and then courteously observed in French to the merchant, "This fellow's skull sounds remarkably hollow; what next do you require from the boobies?"

"Have the goodness to summon the wagoners."

"Good," said the Pole; "and then?"

"Then I will examine the freight of the wagons, if it be possible to do so in the dark."

"Every thing is possible," said the Pole, "if you like to take the trouble to search through the old canvas in the night. But I should be inclined to advise a bottle of Sauterne and a few hours' repose instead. In times like these, one should not lose an opportunity of refreshing one's self."

"I should prefer to inspect the wagons at once," said the merchant, with a smile, "if you have no objection to it."

"I am on duty," replied the Pole, "therefore let's to work at once; there are plenty of hands here to hold lights for you. You confounded rascals," continued he, in Polish, again cuffing the wagoner and threatening the landlord, "I will carry you all off together, and have a court-martial held upon you, if you do not instantly bring all the drivers belonging to this gentleman into my presence. How many of them?" inquired he, in French, from the merchant.

"There are fourteen wagons," was the reply.

"There must be fourteen wagoners," thundered the Pole again to the people; "the devil shall fly away with you all if you do not instantly produce them." With the help of an old domestic servant, a dozen of the drivers were at length brought forward; two, however, were in no way to be recovered, and finally the landlord confessed that they had gone to join the patriots.

The young Pole did not seem to attach much value to this instance of patriotism. Turning to the merchant, he said, "Here you have the men, now see to the freight; if a single article be found wanting, I will have the whole of these fellows tried by court-martial." Then he carelessly sat down on the pole of a carriage, and looked at the points of his polished boots, which had got a good deal bemired.

A number of lanterns and torches were now brought, and after a few encouraging words from the merchant, the wagoners proceeded to roll away some empty carts, and to open out a passage to their own goods. Most of these men had been employed by him before, and knew him and Anton personally; some of them proved themselves trustworthy and obliging; and while Mr. Schroeter was cross-questioning the most intelligent of their number, Anton hastened to ascertain, as well as he could, the condition of the freight, which mostly consisted of wool and tallow. Some wagons were untouched; one was entirely unloaded, and many had lost their canvas covering, and been otherwise plundered. The merchant had once more recourse to the young Pole. "It is just as we supposed," said he; "the landlord has persuaded some of the drivers that, now the revolution has set in, their obligations have ceased, and they have begun to unload the wagons. Had we been a day later, every thing would have been carried off. The landlord and a few of his associates have been the instigators, and some of the wagoners have been frightened into compliance."

At this announcement a new volley of imprecations proceeded from the lips of the small authority, and the landlord, from whose face all ruddiness had vanished, was soon on his knees before the officer, who pulled him by the hair, and treated him very roughly indeed. Meanwhile Anton and some of the men laid siege to a locked-up coach-house, broke open the door, and disclosed the bales of wool and the remainder of the stolen goods.

"Let these people reload," said the merchant; "they may well work the night through as a punishment." After some opposition, the wagoners set to, overpowered by a combination of threats and promises. The Pole drove the drunken guests out of the tavern, had the outer door closed, and all the candles and lanterns of the establishment brought into the court-yard. Next he dragged the host by the hair of his head to the upper story, and then, by the help of some patriots with great cockades, tied him to a bedpost, and gave him to understand that that was the nearest approach to a night's rest which he had to expect. "In the event of the freight being found entire, and safely removed from your premises, you shall be forgiven," said the Pole; "in the opposite case, I shall have you tried at once, and shot."

Meanwhile the uproar in the court was great indeed. Anton had the wagons reloaded and the freight properly secured. Full of his work, he scarcely looked around, and only realized at odd moments his singular entourage, and the exciting nature of the scene. It was a large square court, surrounded by low, ruinous wooden buildings, stables, and coach-houses, and having two entrances, one through the inn itself, and one through a gate opposite. It occupied a space of several acres, as is often the case with these hostelries of eastern Europe, stationed on great thoroughfares; and afforded, as do the caravanseries of Asia, shelter for large transports of goods, as well as for multitudes of the poor and needy. All sorts of wagons were now assembled in the square court in question, and it was crowded besides with ladders, poles, wheels, gigantic hampers, gray canvas coverings, bundles of hay and straw, old tar-barrels, and portable racks. Besides the stable lanterns and flaming pine torches, there was the red glare in the sky, and the lurid clouds of smoke and sparks rolling still over the heads of the travelers. This strange sort of twilight shone here at least upon a peaceful task. The wagoners worked hard, shouting loudly the while; dark forms now vanished in the shadow of the bales, now sprang on the top of them, while their animated gesticulations made them look, in the red light, like a crowd of savages holding some mysterious nocturnal orgies.

The merchant, meanwhile, walked up and down between the inn and the scene of action. It was in vain that Anton implored him to rest for a few hours. "This is no night for us to sleep in," said he, gloomily; and Anton read in his dark glance the resolve of a man who is ready to stake his all upon the accomplishment of his inflexible will.

It was nearly morning when the last giant bale was firmly secured with ropes and chains on the wagon top. Anton, who had himself been lending a hand, now slipped down, and announced to his principal that their work was done.

"At last!" replied the merchant, drawing a long breath; and then he went up to announce the fact to their friendly escort.

He, for his part, had contrived to get through the night in his own way; first, he thoroughly enjoyed the supper and wine brought him by the terrified maids, and found leisure to say a few encouraging words to the prettiest of them. Then he contemplated the dirty bed, and at last threw himself, with a French oath, upon it, looking now at the distorted countenance of the roguish host, who sat opposite him on the ground, now at the ceiling; and, while half asleep himself, complimenting the merchant, who looked in from time to time, upon his capacity of keeping awake a whole night. At length the youth fell fast asleep. At least the merchant found him in the morning outstretched on the coarse coverlet, his delicate face shaded by his long black hair, his small hands crossed, and a pleasant smile playing around his lips.

As he lay there he afforded no incorrect type of the aristocracy of his nation: noble child that he was, with the passions, and perhaps the sins of a man; while over against him crouched the coarse build of the fettered plebeian, who pretended to sleep too, but often cast a malicious glance at the recumbent form before him.

The aristocrat sprang up when the merchant approached the bed, and, throwing the window open, said, "Good-day: it is morning, I see; I have slept admirably." Next he called to a patrol passing by, briefly informed the leader how things stood, made over to him the landlord and the remainder of the supper, and desired him to stop at once, and keep guard over the house until he should return. Then he ordered the wagoners to harness the horses, and led the travelers out into the gray dawn of a comfortless-looking day.

On their way to the agent the merchant said to Anton, "We shall divide the most necessary visits between us. Tell our customers that we have no kind of intention of oppressing them; that, on the restoration of some degree of order, they may reckon upon the greatest forbearance and consideration—nay, under conditions, upon an extension of credit, but that at present we insist upon securities. We shall not effect much in this confusion; but that these gentlemen should be, at a time like this, even reminded of our firm, is worth a good deal." Then, in a lower tone, he added, "The town is doomed: we shall do little business here for some time to come; remember that, and be firm." And, turning to the Pole, he said, "I request you to allow my fellow-traveler to pay a few business calls in the company of our agent."

"If your agent will answer with his person for the gentleman's return," returned the Pole, with some reluctance, "I consent."

The light of day had exercised its gracious office of giving color to flowers and courage to the faint-hearted, even in favor of the agent. He declared himself ready to accompany Anton upon the terms proposed. Accordingly, under the protection of the great cockade upon his companion's hat, Anton hurried from house to house, pale indeed from loss of rest, but with an undaunted heart. Every where he was received with amazement not always free from confusion. "How could people think in such a time about winding up matters of business, with the noise of arms all round, and in deadly fear of a horrible future?"

Anton coolly replied, "Our firm is not accustomed to trouble itself about rumors of war when not absolutely obliged to do so. All times are suited for the fulfillment of obligations; and if this be a fit season for us to come here, it is also a fit season for you to arrange matters with me;" through which representations he succeeded here and there in obtaining definite promises, commissions, nay, even reimbursement.

After a few hours' hard work, Anton met his principal in the agent's house. When he had made his report, the merchant said, reaching out his hand to him, "If we can succeed in getting our wagons safely out of the town, we shall have done enough to enable us to bear the unavoidable losses that we must undergo. Now, then, to the commandant." He gave a few further instructions to the agent, whispering to him in parting, "In a few days our troops will enter; I take it for granted that you will not leave your house till then. We shall thus meet again."

With upraised hands the agent invoked the protection of all the saints in the calendar upon the travelers, locked and bolted the house door behind them, and hid his revolutionary cockade in the stove.

Our friends now hurried on through the tumult, led by the Pole. The streets were full again; bands of armed men passed by, the populace was in wilder excitement, and the noise greater than on the previous evening. The houses were thundered at, and an entrance insisted on. Brandy-casks were rolled on to the flags, and surrounded by drunken men and women. Every thing denoted that the authorities were not sufficiently strong to enforce street-discipline. Even in the house of the commandant there was agitation and restlessness, soldiers were hurrying to and fro, and the messages which they brought were evidently unfavorable, for there was much whispering going on in the great ante-chamber, and anxious suspense was visible on every face.

As soon as the young Pole entered he was surrounded by his friends and drawn into a corner. After some hasty questions, he seized a musket, called off a few soldiers by name, and left the room, without troubling himself any further about the travelers.

The merchant and Anton were shown into the next room, where the young commander-in-chief received them. He too looked pale and dejected, but it was with the bearing of a true nobleman that he addressed Mr. Schroeter: "I have forwarded your wishes; here is a passport for you and your wagons. I pray you to infer from this that we are anxious to treat the citizens of your state with consideration, possibly even more than the duty of self-preservation would dictate."

The merchant received the important document with shining eyes. "You have shown me a remarkable degree of kindness," said he; "I feel myself deeply indebted to you, and wish that I may one day be permitted to prove my gratitude."

"Who knows?" answered the young commandant, with a melancholy smile; "he who stakes all upon a cast may lose all."

"He may lose much," replied the merchant, courteously, "but not all, if he has striven honorably."

At that moment a hollow sound was heard, a sound like the sweep of a howling wind, or the roaring of a rushing flood. The commandant stood motionless and listened. Suddenly a discordant scream of many voices resounded close by, and some shots followed. Anton, made susceptible by a night of wakefulness and long-continued excitement, started with terror, and remarked that his principal's hand, in which was the passport, shook violently. The door of the cabinet now burst open, and a few stately-looking men rushed in, with garments torn, arms in their hands, the traces of a street combat visible on their excited countenances, and at their head the young escort of the travelers.

"Mutiny!" cried the youth to his commanding officer; "they are seeking you. Save yourself. I will keep them off."

Quick as thought Anton sprang toward his principal, dragged him away, and both flew through the ante-chamber, and down the staircase to the ground floor. Here they came upon a band of soldiers who were endeavoring to garrison the house against masses of the populace. But, swift as were the movements of the travelers, those of their last night's escort were quicker still, as, with a loud shout, he rushed to head his friends in their resistance to the invaders. His black hair flew wildly around his bare head, and his eyes shone out from his beautiful and now pallid face with the unconquerable energy of a brave man.

"Back!" he cried, with a loud, clear voice, to the raging people, and sprang like a panther in among them, dealing sword-strokes round. The masses gave way; the comrades of the brave youth ranged themselves behind him. Again Anton seized his principal's arm, and dragged him off with such speed as is only possible to men under the influence of strong excitement. They had just got behind a projection of the house when they heard a shot fired, and saw with horror the young Pole fall backward bleeding, and heard his last cry, "The canaille!"

"To the wagons!" said the merchant, dashing down a narrow cross-street. They still heard in the distance shots and cries of discord; and breaking through bands of curious and terrified inhabitants, who hindered their progress, they arrived breathless, and fearing the worst, at the door of the inn.

Here, too, there was mutiny. The soldiers left in charge of the house had loosed the landlord, and speedily made their retreat as soon as news of the tumult reached them. The court-yard was now a scene of wrangling and confusion. The landlord, supported by a number of idlers collected from the street, was disputing violently with the wagoners. Some of the wagons were harnessed and ready for departure, but from others the canvas covering had been again dragged off. The case was a desperate one. The merchant tore away from Anton, who tried to detain him, and, rushing into the midst of the disputants, called out in Polish as loudly as he could, while holding the passport above his head, "Stop, I say; here is the order of the commander-in-chief authorizing the departure of our wagons. Whoever resists it will be punished. We are under the protection of the government."

"What government, you rogue of a German?" screamed the landlord, with ominous face; "the old government is done away with; the traitors have had their reward, and their spies shall be hanged as well;" and, rushing at the merchant, he brandished an old sword at his head.

Our Anton shuddered; but man being in the most critical moments liable to strange associations of idea, which play like meteors across the anguish of his spirit, it chanced that the broad back of the landlord suddenly reminded him of the back of a squat schoolfellow of his at Ostrau, a good-natured baker's son, upon whom, in many a scuffle, he had often practiced the boyish trick of tripping an adversary from behind. Quick as lightning he sprang upon the landlord, and most skillfully threw him. The falling sword swerved from its fatal aim, only striking the arm of the merchant, cutting through the coat and into the flesh. As the fat fellow lay struggling on his back like a beetle, Anton drew out his trusty pistols, and cried, with the inspiration of despair, "Back, you rascals, or I shoot him dead!"

This rapid diversion had more effect than could reasonably have been hoped; the people that the landlord had collected around him, and who, after all, were only working for his interest, fell back, while half a dozen wagoners, with bars of iron and other implements of the kind, crowded round the merchant, and now screamed as loudly as the other party had done a short time before, declaring that no harm should happen to the gentleman and his wagons. The merchant cried, "Drive these strangers out!" and, taking up the sword that the landlord had dropped, at the head of his adherents stormed the latter's abettors, and drove them through the house. The most stiff-necked of them tried to intrench themselves in the bar, but one after the other was cast out, roaring and cursing the while. The door was then locked, and the merchant hastened back to the court-yard, and found Anton still kneeling by the incorrigible landlord to prevent him from rising. The rest of the wagoners having timidly got out of the way, the merchant now summoned them all, and ordered them to put the horses to, saying to Anton, "We must leave this place. Better the street pavement than this den of thieves."

"You bleed!" cried Anton, in great distress, his eye falling on the merchant's arm.

"It must be a mere scratch; I can move the arm," was the prompt reply. "Open the gate; out with the wagons. Forward, my men! Anton, one of the wagoners will help you to bind the landlord."

"And where shall we go?" inquired Anton, in English. "Are we to take these wagons into the bloodshed of the streets?"

"We have a passport, and will leave the town," answered the merchant, doggedly.

"They will not respect our passport," cried Anton in return, while he held a pistol at the head of the obstreperous landlord.

"If the worst come to the worst, there are other inns in this part of the town; any of them will be a better refuge."

"But we have not the full complement of drivers, and some of our number are disaffected."

"I will manage the disaffected," answered the merchant, sternly; "we have the full number of horses, we only want the men. Those to whom the horses belong will remain with them. The gate is open—out with the wagons!"

The gate led to an open space covered with building-stones and debris, and surrounded by a few poor houses. The merchant hastened thither to superintend the departure. A stout youth came to Anton's assistance. They were anxious moments these. Near the house, he and his helper were struggling with the prostrate man, whose ugly wife and her two maid-servants were howling at the house door. As the first wagon rolled away, their screams became louder: the landlady called out "help" and "murder!" and the maids wailed all the louder the more fervently the young wagoner assured them that no harm would befall his worship, the landlord, if he would only lie still, and that, moreover, they would all pay their bills besides.

Just then loud knocks were heard at the house door; the women rushed in and unlocked it at once; and so great had been the hopeless excitement of the last few minutes, that it was almost with a sense of relief that Anton saw a strong body of soldiery defile into the court. He rose from the ground, and left the landlord free. But the merchant walked slowly, and with uncertain steps, like a broken-down man, to meet the enemies who, at this decisive moment, frustrated his will.

The leader of the band, one of those whom the young Pole had in the morning summoned to the inn, said to the merchant, "You are prisoners; neither you nor your wagons can leave the town."

"I have a passport," eagerly replied Mr. Schroeter, feeling for his pocket-book.

"The new government forbids your journey," was the curt rejoinder.

"I must submit," said the merchant, mechanically sitting down on a wagon-pole, and clinging to the body of the vehicle.

Anton held the half-unconscious man in his arms, and said, in utmost indignation, "We have been twice robbed in this inn; we were in danger of being killed; my companion is wounded, as you see; if your government is determined to detain us and our wagons, at least protect our lives and our property. The wagons can not remain here, and if we are separated from them, it will be still more difficult to prevent their being plundered."

The soldiers now held a consultation, and at length their leader called Anton to share in it. After much discussion, it was finally arranged that the wagons should be moved to a neighboring establishment, equal to this in accommodation, but superior in character. Anton obtained leave to move to it with his companion, and there remain under surveillance till something further should be decided. Meanwhile the merchant sat leaning against the canvas covering, and taking, apparently, no interest in what was going on. Anton now rapidly told him the decision arrived at.

"We must bear it," said the principal, rising slowly and with difficulty. "Ask the landlord for our bill."

"We will pay the landlord," said the soldier in command, roughly pushing the functionary aside. "Think of yourself," added he, kindly catching hold of the wounded man's arm to support him.

"Pay for us and for the horses," repeated Mr. Schroeter to Anton; "we can not remain in these people's debt."

Anton accordingly took out his pocket-book, called the drivers together, and, in their presence, made over a banknote to the landlord, saying to him, "I now pay you this sum provisionally, until you shall have made out your account. You men are witnesses." The drivers respectfully bowed, and hurried back to their wagons.

The procession now set forth. First a portion of the armed escort, then the heavy wagons, which slowly and helplessly rumbled along over the stones; some of them without drivers, but kept in line by their well-trained horses.

Mr. Schroeter stood at the gate, leaning upon Anton, and counted each wagon as it passed; and as the last rolled off, he said, "Done at last," and consented to be led away.

In the very next cross-street the procession turned into the great court-yard of another inn. When the last of the wagons had at length had its horses unharnessed, and the soldiers had barred the gate from within, the merchant fell down in a swoon, and was carried into the house.

He was placed in a small room, a guard stationed at his door, and another in the court. Anton remained alone with the sufferer. Full of anxiety, he knelt by his bed, unfastened his clothes, and bathed his face with cold water. After a time Mr. Schroeter revived, opened his eyes, looked gratefully at Anton, and pointed to the window.

Anton looked out, and said, joyously, "It opens upon the court-yard. I can overlook and count the wagons. I really think that here, although prisoners, we are tolerably safe. But, first of all, allow me to look to your wound: your clothes are much stained with blood."

"My weakness proceeds more from over-excitement than loss of blood," replied the merchant, raising himself up.

Anton opened the door, and begged for a surgeon. Their guard was prepared to go for one, and after an anxious hour had passed, he introduced a shabby-looking individual, who hurriedly produced a razor and a dirty pocket-handkerchief, wiping the razor on his sleeve, and bringing the handkerchief into alarming proximity with Anton's chin. It was with some difficulty that the reason of his being sent for was conveyed to him.

Anton cut away the sleeve of the coat and shirt, and himself examined the wound. It was a cut in the upper arm; not a deep one, indeed, but the arm was stiff, and Mr. Schroeter suffered severely. The barber attempted to bandage it, and went off, promising to return on the morrow. The merchant fell back, exhausted with the pain of the bandaging, and Anton sat by him the remainder of the day, laying wet cloths around the arm, and watching the feverish slumber of the patient.

Soon he sank himself into a sort of half sleep, a dull apathy, which made him indifferent to all that was going on without. Thus evening wore away, and night came on. Anton occasionally dipped his fingers in cold water, and crept from the bed to the window to watch the wagons, or to the door to exchange a whisper with the guard, who showed a friendly interest in the case.

Meanwhile the fire continued its ravages, and the sound of musketry thundered at the gates. Anton looked carelessly at the burning fragments which the wind drove over the unhappy town, and heard, with a faint degree of surprise, that the noise of the firing grew louder and louder, and at last became a deafening crash; all the sounds that struck his ear from the street appearing to him as unimportant as the ringing of a little early church-bell which he had often heard from his own room in the principal's house, and which never disturbed any one out of his morning repose. The whole night through he kept mechanically wetting and applying cold-water poultices to the patient's arm, and rising whenever the latter groaned or turned; but when, toward morning, the merchant fell into a sounder sleep, Anton forgot his task, his head fell heavy upon his hands outstretched on the table, he neither saw nor heard; and amid the screams of the wounded, and the thundering of cannon which attended the taking of a stoutly-defended town, amid all the horrors of a bloody conflict, he slept like a tired boy over his school-task.

When he awoke, after the lapse of a few hours, it had long been morning. The merchant smiled kindly at him from his bed, and reached out his hand. Anton pressed it with all his heart, and hurried to the window. "They are all right," said he. He then opened the door; the guard of the previous night had vanished; and on the street he heard the beat of drums, and the regular tramp of regiments marching in.



CHAPTER XXI.

"We gave you up for lost," cried the newly-arrived captain to Mr. Schroeter. "They manage inns wretchedly here, and all my inquiries after you proved fruitless. It was a fortunate thing that your letter found me out in this confusion."

"We have accomplished our purpose," said the merchant, "but not, as you see, without drawbacks;" and he pointed, smiling, to his wounded arm.

"First and foremost, let me hear your adventures," said the captain, sitting down by the bedside. "You have more tokens of the fight to show than I."

The merchant told his story. He dwelt warmly upon Anton's courage, to which he ascribed his safety, and ended by saying, "My wound does not prevent my traveling, and my return is imperative. I shall go with the wagons as far as the frontier."

"Early to-morrow morning one of our companies returns to the frontier; you can send your wagons under its escort; besides which, the high roads are now safe. To-morrow the mails begin to run again."

"I must still further request your assistance. I am anxious to write home by a courier this very day."

"I will take care," promised the captain, "that your return to-morrow shall meet with no impediments."

As soon as the officer had left the room, Mr. Schroeter said to Anton, "I have a surprise for you, dear Wohlfart, which will, I fear, be an unwelcome one. I wish to leave you here in my place." Anton drew nearer in amazement. "There is no relying on our agent at a time like this," continued the merchant, "and I have, during the last few days, rejoiced to discover how perfectly I can depend upon you. What you have just done to save my head-piece will be unforgotten as long as I live. And now draw a writing-table here beside me; we have still some plans to arrange."