The surgeon then approached and said, "He is extremely weak, and in a critical condition!" Restoratives were applied and he opened his eyes.

After a while he said, "How did you know that I--"

"Be quiet! don't speak so much! Don't exert yourself too much. Your eyes have already told me everything. And now, yes, it was the vicar, Waldfried's grandson, who wrote me where you were."

"I am hungry. Give me something to eat!"

"I have brought you one of our hens; I brought it all the way from home," said the old woman.

"I must eat, I must eat!" exclaimed Carl. His strength, wasted and exhausted through loss of blood, appeared to return, and he seemed rescued by the magic of love.

His mother ought to have left him, but she would not obey the surgeon.

She obeyed me, however. When she saw Bertha, she cried out, "My son, my Carl, my child lives! Bertha! I tell you, your husband who lies there--Bertha, your husband is saved too: he will be saved."

"Bertha!" We heard a call from the adjoining room; it was the voice of the colonel.

Bertha almost swooned; I caught her in my arms. She collected herself and hurried towards the door; it was closed. Annette called to us from within, that we should wait quietly, for it was a critical moment.

What anxious moments were those, while we stood at the door listening to the movements and groans within.

After a while, the surgeon hastily opened the door, and said, "Now go away softly! There has been a hemorrhage, and the ball has come with it. There is now a chance of his recovery, but I must insist on perfect quiet!"

Bertha sank to the floor, while she placed her finger on her lips, and motioned me to be silent. They say that we were only waiting a quarter of an hour. But oh! how long it seemed! Then the surgeon opened the door again, and, seeing Bertha on the floor, said, "You may go in now and shake hands with the Colonel, but do not say anything to him, as he is not allowed to speak for the present."

Bertha went in. She reached her hand to her husband. He moved his eyes in recognition; then the surgeon motioned us to depart.

We went away. From afar, we could hear the rattle of musketry and the roar of artillery, and the reports constantly became louder and more frequent.

CHAPTER XVI.

Evening was approaching, when the surgeon sent us word that his patient had been sleeping. He had awakened and asked for Bertha and me.

We went to him. He could only recognize us by glances, and a wonderful smile overspread his features. He turned his eyes to the surgeon, who understood him, and said, "Yes, your wife may sit here for a quarter of an hour. But you must both be perfectly quiet."

And so we sat there speechless, and heard the din of battle gradually cease; only occasional shots were now fired.

I was called to the front of the house. Martella and Rothfuss stood before me. Martella, breathless, told me that Ernst's company had again been in the fight, many were missing, and, among them, Ernst; he ought to be hunted up.

Rothfuss desired that I should stay behind; but Martella exclaimed, seizing my arm, "What do you mean? Father goes with us!"

She had made a wreath to take to Ernst, and she held it in her trembling hands. She carried Ernst's prize-cup and a bottle of wine in a basket on her arm.

We went through the village towards the hill. Four men approached with a litter.

"Ernst! Ernst!" cried Martella.

The two men stopped, and one asked, "Who's there? Who calls?" It was Ikwarte's voice.

"Set it down!" commanded the other. "Isn't that Martella?" It was Wolfgang who spoke.

We stepped nearer. They carried a man who had been shot in the leg. The man raised his head, and said, "That is his father." It was the son of the owner of the saw-mill down in the valley. "He commissioned me to carry his love to you. He made himself known to me."

"Where is he? Is he dead?"

"He must be lying up there. Oh! he has done great things."

"What has he done? Where is he?" anxiously inquired Martella. "Speak!

be quick! listen, father!"

The wounded man raised himself with difficulty and spoke:

"We stood within range of the enemy's batteries. Shot after shot tore through our ranks. Many were falling. Everybody sheltered himself.

Ernst stood upright, and said in a clear voice, 'Stand firm! Face the bullets! That's the way to be brave.' Finally, we advanced, when a lieutenant was shot in the forehead; our sergeant stepped into his place, and he also fell. Then Ernst took command, and marched along by the drummer. Bang! then the drummer was shot. Ernst unloosened the drum from his body, and drummed for us. He beat a powerful flourish, and cried out, 'Give it to them!' Then there came a sh.e.l.l, and I lay on the ground and saw nothing more. When I came to myself, I still heard drumming. But all at once there was a report, a cry--and the drumming ceased."

Martella tore up the wreath; but she quickly seized the gra.s.ses and flowers and held them with a convulsive grasp.

"Away! away! we must find him!" she exclaimed. "We must find him! He is living!"

Ikwarte and Wolfgang hastened with the wounded man into a neighboring house. Not far off, a wagon stopped. They returned with it, and Wolfgang and Martella sat in it with me. So we drove on through the entire night. Ikwarte knew where the miller's son was sheltered. We were silent; only Martella murmured to herself, "Keep up, Ernst; keep up! We are coming! Oh! mother in heaven, look down upon him!"

We were obliged to get out--the road crossed the fields. I went a little distance, but could go no farther. Both of the faithful servants begged that Wolfgang would stay with me. We sat down by the roadside, and noticed a moving object quite near us. It was a wounded horse, that raised its head, and then, with a rattle in its throat, fell back dead.

We heard Martella, across the field, calling, "Ernst! Ernst! my Ernst!

where are you! Ernst! we are here, your father and I!" Then we heard nothing more.

A chill seized me. The ground was damp, and Wolfgang insisted that I should sit upon the dead horse, whose body was still warm. We quietly waited. In the heavens the clouds were scudding by, and here and there the stars sparkled. In the village a clock commenced striking. Wolfgang counted aloud: it struck eleven.

Now some one approached; my name was called. It was Ikwarte.

"We have found him," he joyfully exclaimed. "Come quickly!"

"Is he living?"

"Yes."

Accompanied by Ikwarte and Wolfgang, I went along. Oh! I cannot tell the horrors I then saw and heard.

"There, by the torch, there he is!"

My knees shook under me. Then a man came again towards us, and cried out, "Grandfather, come! There is yet time!"

It was my grandson, the vicar. We reached the place. There lay Martella on the ground bending over a figure. Rothfuss stood by her with the torch, and Martella cried, "Ernst, wake up! Your father is here!"

I kneeled down by him. I saw his face. His eyes were closed, but his breast rose and fell quickly.