"No," cried Eliza, vehemently, blushing deeply, "I do not love him.

I have buried my love in my heart, and it reposes there as in a shrine. It is true I think of it very often, I pray to it, but I have no unholy thoughts and feel no sinful desires. I am glad that my Elza is so happy; yes, I am glad of it and thank G.o.d for it. But how can I be merry and laugh, mother, so long as my dear, dear father has not returned to us? He must hide like a criminal; they are chasing him like a wild beast; he is always in danger, and we must constantly tremble for his safety. And I cannot do any thing for him, I cannot share his dangers, I cannot be with him in the dreadful solitude on the Alp above. I must look on in idleness, and cannot be useful to any one, neither to my father, nor to my brothers, nor to you, dear mother. I cannot help my father and brothers, and cannot comfort you, mother; for I myself am in despair, and would--what was that, mother? Did not some one knock at the window-shutter?"

"Hush, hush!" whispered her mother; "let us listen."

They listened with bated breath. Eliza had not been mistaken; some one knocked a second time at the window-shutter, and the voice of a man whispered, "Mrs. Wallner, are you in the room? Open the door to me!"

"It must be a good friend of ours, for the dogs do not bark," said Eliza; "we will let him come in."

She took the lamp and went out courageously to draw the bolt from the street-door and open it.

Yes, she had not been mistaken, it was really a good friend of theirs; the man who entered the house was one of the few friends who had not denied Anthony Wallner, and who had not turned their backs upon his family since it was outlawed and in distress.

"You bring us bad news, Peter Siebermeier?" asked Eliza, anxiously, gazing into the mountaineer's pale and dismayed face.

"Unfortunately I do," sighed Siebermeier, stepping hastily into the sitting-room and shaking hands with Eliza's mother. "Mrs. Wallner,"

he said, in breathless hurry, "your husband is in the greatest danger, and only speedy flight can save him."

Mrs. Wallner uttered a piercing cry, sank back into her chair, wrung her hands, and wept aloud. Eliza did not weep; she was calm and courageous. "Tell me, Siebermeier, what can we do for father? What danger threatens him?"

"A bad man. I believe, the clerk of the court, has informed the French that Anthony Wallner is still on one of the heights in this neighborhood. General Broussier intends to have him arrested. A whole battalion of soldiers will march to-morrow morning to the mountain of Ober-Peischlag and occupy it."

"Great G.o.d! my husband is lost, then!" cried Eliza's mother, despairing; "nothing can save him now."

"Hush, mother, hush!" said Eliza, almost imperatively; "we must not weep now, we must think only of saving him. Tell me, friend Siebermeier, is there no way of saving him?"

"There is one," said Siebermeier, "but how shall we get up to him? A friend of mine, who is acquainted with the members of the court, informed me quite stealthily that, if Aichberger could be saved yet, it should be done this very night. Now listen to the plan I have devised. I intended to set out to-morrow morning to peddle carpets and blankets, for money is very scarce in these hard times. I procured, therefore, a pa.s.sport for myself and my boy, who is to carry my bundle. Here is the pa.s.sport--and look! the description corresponds nearly to Wallner's appearance. He is of my stature and age, has hair and whiskers like mine, and might be pa.s.sed off for myself. I am quite willing to let him have my pa.s.sport, and conceal myself meanwhile at home and feign sickness. The pa.s.sport would enable him to escape safely; of course he would have to journey through the Alps, for every one knows him in the plain. However, the pa.s.sport cannot do him any good, for there is no one to take it up to him. I would do so, but the wound which I received in our last skirmish with the Bavarians, in my side here, prevents me from ascending the mountain-paths; and, even though I could go up to him, it would be useless, for we two could not travel together, the pa.s.sport being issued to two persons, Siebermeier, the carpet- dealer, and the boy carrying his bundle. The boy is not described in the pa.s.sport; therefore, I thought, if one of your sons were in the neighborhood, he might go up to his father, warn him of his danger, and accompany him on his trip through the mountains."

"But neither of the boys is here," said Mrs. Wallner, despairingly; "Schroepfel took them to the Alpine but near Upper Lindeau, and is with them. We two are all alone, and there is, therefore, no way of saving my dear husband."

"Yes, mother, there is," cried Eliza, flushed with excitement. "I will go up to father. I will warn him of his danger, carry him the pa.s.sport, and flee with him."

"You!" cried her mother, in dismay. "It is impossible! You cannot ascend the road, which is almost impa.s.sable even for men. How should a girl, then, be able to get over it, particularly in the night, and in so heavy a snow-storm?"

"You will be unable to reach your father, Lizzie," said Siebermeier; "the road is precipitous and very long; you will sink into the snow; your shoes will stick in it, and the storm will catch your dress."

"No road is too precipitous for me if I can save my father,"

exclaimed Eliza, enthusiastically. "I must reach him, and G.o.d will enable me to do so. Wait here a moment, I will be back immediately.

I will prepare myself for the trip, and then give me the pa.s.sport."

"She will lose her life in the attempt," said Mrs. Wallner, mournfully, after she had hastened out of the room. "Alas! alas! I shall lose my husband, my sons, and my daughter too! And all has been in vain, for the Tyrol is ruined, and we have to suffer these dreadful misfortunes without having accomplished anything!"

"And the enemy acts with merciless cruelty in the country," said Siebermeier, furiously; "he sets whole villages on fire if he thinks that one of the fugitives is concealed here; he imposes on the people heavy war-taxes, which we are unable to pay; and if we say we have no money, he takes our cattle and other property from us. Wails and lamentations are to be heard throughout the valley; that is all we have gained by our b.l.o.o.d.y struggle!"

At this moment the door opened, and Eliza came in, not however in her own dress, but in the costume of a Tyrolese peasant-lad.

"Heavens! she has put on her brother William's Sunday clothes,"

cried her mother, with a mournful smile; "and they sit as well on her as if they had been made for her."

"Now, Siebermeier," said Eliza, holding out her hand to him, "give me the pa.s.sport. The moon is rising now, and I must go,"

"But listen, my daughter, how the wind howls!" cried her mother, in deep anguish. "It beats against the windows as if to warn us not to go out. Oh, Lizzie, my last joy, do not leave me! I have no one left but you; stay with me, my Lizzie, do not leave your poor mother! You will die in the attempt, Lizzie! Stay here; have mercy upon me, and stay here!"

"I must go to father," replied Eliza. disengaging herself gently from her mother's arms. "Give me the pa.s.sport, friend Siebermeier."

"You are a brave girl," said Siebermeier, profoundly moved; "the good G.o.d and the Holy Virgin will protect you. There, take the pa.s.sport; you are worthy to carry it to your father."

"And I shall carry it to him or die on the road," cried Eliza, enthusiastically, waving the paper. "Now, dear mother, do not weep, but give me your blessing!"

She knelt down before her mother, who had laid her hand on her head.

"Lord, my G.o.d," she exclaimed, solemnly, "protect her graciously in her pious effort to save her father. Take your mother's blessing, my Lizzie, and think that her heart and love accompany you."

She bent over her, and imprinted a long kiss on her daughter's forehead.

"I must go now, it is high time," said Eliza, making a violent effort to restrain her tears. "Farewell, friend Siebermeier; G.o.d and the saints will reward you for the service you have rendered us."

"My best reward will be to learn that Wallner is safe," said Siebermeier, shaking hands with her.

"Now, a last kiss, dearest mother," said Eliza. She encircled her mothers neck with both her arms, and kissed her tenderly. "Pray for me and love me." She whispered; "and if I should not come back, if I should lose my life, mother, write it to Elza and to HIM, and write that I died with love and fidelity in my heart. Farewell!"

She disengaged herself quickly and hastened out of the room, regardless of the despairing cries of her mother, and not even looking back to her. It was high time for her to set out.

She was in the street now. The snow rushed furiously into her face; the bowling storm dashed madly against her cheeks until they became very sore, but the moon was in the heavens and lighted her path. It was the same path which she had ascended with Ulrich when saving him. She was alone now, but her courage and her trust in G.o.d were with her; strengthened and refreshed by her love for her father, she ascended the steep mountain path. At times the piercing wind rendered her breathless and seized her with such violence that she had to cling to a projecting rock in order not to fall from the barrow path into the abyss yawning at her feet. At times avalanches rolled close to her with thundering noise into the depth and enveloped her in a cloud of snow; but the moon shed her silver light on her path, and Eliza looked up courageously.

Forgetful of her own danger, she prayed in her heart only, "G.o.d grant that I may save my father! Let me not die before reaching him!"

CHAPTER XLIII.

THE FLIGHT.

Anthony Wallner sat in his lonely Alpine hut on the height near the village of Ober-Peischlag, and listened to the storm, which howled so loudly to-night that the but shook and he was unable to sleep on his couch of straw. He had lighted his lamp, and sat musingly at the pine table, leaning his head on his hand, and brooding mournfully over his dreary future. How long would he have to remain herein his open grave? How lone would he be chased yet, like a wild beast, from mountain to mountain? How long would he be obliged yet to lead an idle and unprofitable life in this frozen solitude, exposed to the fury of the elements, and in constant dread of losing this miserable life? These were the questions that he asked himself; intense rage seized his heart, tears of bitter grief filled his eyes--not however, at his own misfortunes, but at the miseries of his fatherland.

"What am I suffering for? What did I fight and risk my life for?

What did we all shed our blood for? What did our brethren die for on the field of battle? The fatherland was not saved, the French defeated us, and our emperor abandoned us. We were brave defenders of our country, and now they call us criminals; we intended to save the fatherland, and now they call us rebels and traitors! The emperor gives us away like a piece of merchandise, regardless of his sacred pledges, and the French are chasing us as though we were thieves and murderers! And Thou sufferest it, G.o.d in heaven? Thou-- Hark! did not that sound like a shot? Is it the wind that is knocking so loudly at my door?"

He sprang to his feet, took up his rifle, c.o.c.ked it, and aimed at the door.

There was another knocking at the door; no, it was a.s.suredly not the storm that was rapping and hammering at it so regularly. No, no, it was the enemy! He had spied him out, he had discovered his track, he had come to seize him!

"I will sell my life dearly," murmured Anthony Wallner, grimly. "I will shoot down the first man who opens the door; then I will force a pa.s.sage through the ranks with the b.u.t.t-end of my rifle, and--"

"Father," cried a voice outside, "father, open the door!"

"Great G.o.d!" murmured Wallner, "did not that sound like my Lizzie calling me? But that is impossible; it cannot be she; she cannot have ascended the mountain-path; the storm would have killed her, and--"