'I have sent a dozen times.'

And he sent as many times more; while we, a mere handful, tired and worn and famished, but every man with a hero's thoughts, leaned against the breastwork, and gazed down into the plain, where, under the smoke, pigmy troops rushed to and fro, and Nuremberg's fate hung in the balance. In an hour it would be night. And still no reinforcements came, no cannon.

Thrice the enemy tried to drive us out. But the neck was narrow, and, pressed along their front by three a.s.saults, they came on half-heartedly and fell back lightly; and we held it. In the mean time, it became more and more clear that elsewhere the day was going against us. Until night fell, and through long hours of darkness, forlorn after forlorn was flung against the heights--in vain. Regiment after regiment, the core of the Swedish army, came on undaunted, only to be repulsed with awful loss; with the single exception of the Waldgrave's little sconce not a foot of the hill was captured.

About nine o'clock reinforcements reached us, and some food, but no guns. Two hours later the King drew sullenly back into his lines, and the attack ceased. Even then we looked to see the fight resumed with the dawn; we looked still for victory and revenge. We could not believe that all was over. But towards three o'clock in the morning rain fell, rendering the slopes slippery and impa.s.sable; and with the first flush of sunrise came an order from Prince Bernard directing us to withdraw.

Perhaps the defeat fell as lightly on the Waldgrave as on any man, though to him it was a huge disappointment. For he alone of all had made his footing good. I thought that it was that which made him look so cheerful; but while the rank and file were falling in, he came to me.

'Well, Martin,' he said. 'We are both veterans now.'

I laughed. The rain had ceased. The sun was getting up, and the air was fresh. Far off in the plain the city sparkled with a thousand gems. I thought of Marie, I thought of life, and I thanked G.o.d that I was alive.

'I have an errand for you,' he continued, a laugh in his eyes. 'Come and see what we took yesterday, besides this sconce.'

At the back of the work were two low huts, that had perhaps been guardrooms or officers' quarters. He led the way into one, bending his head as he pa.s.sed under the low lintel.

'An odd place,' he said.

'Yes, my lord.'

'Yes, but I mean--an odd place for what I found here,' he rejoined.

'Look, man.'

There were two low bunks in the hut, and on these and on the floor lay a medley of soldiers' cloaks, pouches, weapons, and ammunition. There was blood on the one wall and the door was shattered, and in a corner, thrown one on another, were two corpses. The Waldgrave took no heed of these, but stepped to the corner bunk and drew away a cloak that lay on it. Something--the sound in that place scared me as a cannon-shot would not have--began to wail. On the bed, staring at us between tears and wonder, lay a child.

'So!' I said, and stared at it.

'Do you know it?' the Waldgrave asked.

'Know it? No,' I answered.

'Are you sure?' he replied, smiling. 'Look again.'

'Not I!' I said. 'How did it come here? A child! A baby! It is horrible.'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'We found it in this hut; in that bed. A man to whom we gave quarter said it was----'

'No!' I shouted.

'Yes,' he answered, nodding.

'Tzerclas' child! Count Leuchtenstein's child! Do you mean it?' I cried.

He nodded. 'Tzerclas' child, the man said. The other's child, I guess.

Nay, I am certain. It knows your girl's name.'

'Marie's?'

The Waldgrave nodded. 'Take it up,' he said. 'And take charge of it.'

But I only stared at it. The thing seemed too wonderful to be true. I told the Waldgrave of Tzerclas' death, and of what he had muttered about the child.

'Yes, he was a clever man,' the Waldgrave answered. 'But, you see, G.o.d has proved too clever for him. Come, take it, man.'

I took it. 'I had better carry it straight to the Count's quarters?' I said.

The Waldgrave paused, looked away, then looked at me. 'No,' he said at last, and slowly, 'take it to Lady Rotha. Let her give it to him.'

I understood him, I guessed all he meant; but I made no answer, and we went out together. The rain was still in the air, but the sky was blue, the distance clear. The spire of the distant city shone like my lady's amethysts. Below us the dead lay in thousands. But we were alive.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

A WINGLESS CUPID.

That was a dreary procession that a little before noon on the 25th of August wound its way back into Nuremberg. The King, repulsed but not defeated, remained in his camp beyond the Rednitz, and with trumpets sounding and banners displayed, strove vainly to tempt his wily antagonist into the plain. Those who returned on this day, therefore, carrying with them the certain news of ill-fortune, were the wounded and the useless, a few prisoners, two or three envoys, half a dozen horse-dealers, and a train of waggons bearing crippled and dying men to the hospital.

Of this company I made one, and I doubt if there were six others who bore in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s hearts as light, or who could look on the sunny roofs and peaked gables of the city with eyes as cheerful. Prince Bernard had spoken kindly to me; the King had sent for me to inquire where I last saw General Torstensohn; I had stood up a man amongst men; and I deemed these things cheaply bought at the cost of a little blood. On the other hand, the horrors of the day were still so fresh in my mind that my heart overflowed with thankfulness and the love of life; feelings which welled up anew whenever I looked abroad and saw the Rednitz flowing gently between the willows, or looked within and pictured the Werra rippling swiftly down the shallows under cool shade of oak and birch and alder.

Add to all these things one more. I had just learned that Count Leuchtenstein lived and was unhurt, and on the saddle before me under a cloak I bore his son. More than one asked me what booty I had taken, where others had found only lead or steel, that I hugged my treasure so closely and smiled to myself. But I gave them no answer. I only held the child the tighter, and pushing on more quickly, reached the city a little after twelve.

I say nothing of the gloomy looks and sad faces that I encountered at the gate, of the sullen press that would hardly give way, or of the thousand questions I had to parry. I hardened my heart, and, disengaging myself as quickly as I could, I rode straight to my lady's lodgings; and it was fortunate that I did so. For I was only just in time. As I dismounted at the door--receiving such a welcome from Steve and the other men as almost discovered my treasure, whether I would or no--I saw Count Leuchtenstein turn into the street by the other end and ride slowly towards me, a trooper behind him.

The men would have detained me. They wanted to hear the news and the details of the battle, and where I had been. But I thrust my way through them and darted in.

Quick as I was, one was still quicker, and as I went out of the light into the cool darkness of the entrance, flew down the stairs to meet me, and, before I could see, was in my arms, covering me with tears and laughter and little cries of thanksgiving. How the child fared between us I do not know, for for a minute I forgot it, my lady, the Count, everything, in the sweetness of that greeting; in the clinging of those slender arms round my neck, and the joy of the little face given up to my kisses.

But in a moment, the child, being, I suppose, half choked between us, uttered a feeble cry; and Marie sprang back, startled and scared, and perhaps something more.

'What is it?' she cried, beginning to tremble. 'What have you got?'

I did not know how to tell her on the instant, and I had no time to prepare her, and I stood stammering.

Suddenly,'Give it to me!' she cried in a strange voice.

But I thought that in the fulness of her joy and surprise she might swoon or something, and I held back. 'You won't drop it,' I said feebly, 'when you know what it is?'

Her eyes flashed in the half light. 'Fool!' she cried--yes, though I could scarcely believe my ears. 'Give it to me.'

I was so taken aback that I gave it up meekly on the spot. She flew off with it into a corner, and jealously turned her back on me before she uncovered the child; then all in a moment she fell to crying, and laughing, crooning over it and making strange noises. I heard the Count's horse at the door, and I stepped to her.

'You are sure that it _is_ your child?' I said.

'_Sure?_' she cried; and she darted a glance at me that for scorn outdid all my lady's.