"You come just in time, Fritz; the adventure which we began here years ago will conclude to-day. The treasure of Brother Tobias is discovered."

After some hours the whole party started for the cave; the laborers followed with iron crows and levers.

The Proprietor examined the block of stone at the back of the cave. At the bottom on one side he saw a hole, the same through which the dog had crawled.

"This opening is new," he exclaimed; "it was closed by a stone which has fallen in."

The large stone bench was with some exertion rolled away, and an opening wide enough for a man to creep in without difficulty became perceptible. The lights were lowered into it, and showed a continuation of the cave sloping downwards, which went many yards further into the mountain. It was a desolate s.p.a.ce. In the time of the monks it had undoubtedly been dry, but was no longer so. Roots of trees had driven the crevices of the rock asunder, or the strata had sunk, owing to the penetration of the damp. Thus an entrance had been given to water and animals, and there was a confused ma.s.s of litter from the wood and bones. The workmen cleared it with their tools, and the spectators sat and stood by, full of curiosity. The Professor, in spite of his composure, kept as close to the spot as he could. But the Doctor could not long bear to look on. He took off his coat and descended into the opening. Mouldy pieces of thick cloth were brought up; probably the treasure had been conveyed in a large bag to its place of concealment.

Then came altar covers and ecclesiastical robes.

There was a cry of joy, and the Doctor handed out a book. The face of the Professor was suffused with color as he took it. It was a missal on parchment. He gave it to the Proprietor, who now looked on with great interest. The Doctor handed out a second book; all pressed near. The Professor sat on the ground and read. It was a ma.n.u.script of St.

Augustine in a deplorable condition.

"Two!" he said, and his voice sounded hoa.r.s.e from inward emotion.

"The Doctor handed a third book, again spiritual Latin hymns with notes. The fourth, a Latin Psalter. The Professor held out his hand, and it trembled.

"Is there more?" he exclaimed.

The Doctor's voice sounded hollow from the cave.

"There is nothing more."

"Look carefully," said the Professor, with faltering voice.

"Here is the last," cried the Doctor, handing out small square board, "and here another."

They were two book-covers of solid wood, the outside ornamented with carved ivory. The Professor perceived at once from the style of the figures that it was Byzantine work of the latest Roman period--the figure of an Emperor on a throne, and over him an angel with a halo.

"A large quarto of the fifth or sixth century. It is the cover of the ma.n.u.script, Fritz; where is the text?"

"There is no text to be found," again replied the sepulchral voice of the Doctor.

"Take the lantern and throw the light everywhere."

The Doctor took the second lantern in. He felt with his hand and pickaxe all round in every corner of the rock. He threw the last blade of straw out, and the last remnant of the bag. There was nothing of the ma.n.u.script to be seen--not a page, not a letter.

The Professor looked at the cover.

"They have torn it out," he said, in a faint voice; "probably the monks took the Roman Emperor in ivory for a saint."

He held the cover to the light. On the inner side of one of the pieces, amidst dust and decay, might be read, in old monkish writing, the words:

"THE TRAVELS OF THE SILENT MAN."

The silent man was now drawn from his hiding-place. But he spoke not: his mouth remained mute for ever.

"Our dream is at an end," said the Professor, composedly. "The monks have torn out the text from the cover, and left it behind; there was no more room for the ma.n.u.script in the crowded bag. The treasure is lost to science. Our hand touches what was once the cover of the ma.n.u.script, and we cannot help having the bitter feeling of sorrow for what is irreparable, the same as if it had pa.s.sed away in our sight. But we return to the light in possession of our faculties, and must do our duty in making available to our generation, and those who come after us, what remains."

"Was this genius called Bachhuber?" exclaimed Mr. Hummel; "judging from appearances, he was an a.s.s."

The Proprietor laid his hand on the shoulder of his son-in-law.

"After all, you learned men have been in the right," he said, "Close the opening by the stone bench again," he said, addressing the laborers; "the cave shall remain as it was."

The party returned silently to the old house. The boys carried the books, the girls the bundles of torn monks' dresses, and made plans for drawing out the gold threads for themselves. The Professor kept the cover of the lost ma.n.u.script.

As they entered the house there was a sound of horse's feet on the other side. The Proprietor went to the door. The old Chief Forester drew in his black horse.

"I have ridden in haste through the farm to bring you news. Everything with us is topsy-turvy. We have Court Officials and Ministers, and doctors are fetched from every quarter. My people have all been sent out, and I myself have come to Rossau to order a courier. I fear his Serene Highness is very low; he knows no one. The Hereditary Prince is now awaiting the arrival of the Court physician; as soon as he gives permission the party will start for the capital. All these terrible things are owing to the unfortunate additions to my quiet dwelling. One thing more, while it occurs to me--your son-in-law is searching for old papers and books. There are some chests at our place containing such lumber of ancient times, when the ranger's lodge was still a royal shooting-box. Over the door, from under the plaster, one can discover a foreign word, _solitudini_, which means, they say, 'in solitude.' The chests are rotten: in the course of the building they have been moved from their place. When things become quieter with us the Professor will, perhaps, look over them."

"Then here is the Castle Solitude, with the genuine chests of the official," exclaimed the Professor. "I shall never go to that house."

The Doctor seized his hat, and spoke in a low tone to Laura and the Proprietor.

"I beg leave of absence for to-day," he said, going out.

He did not return till evening.

"In the chest there are accounts for repairs to the monastic buildings and for the estate at the end of the seventeenth century; there are, besides, some volumes of Corneille. The vicar who went to America is related to the Chief Forester."

"We have been led astray," said the Professor, calmly. "It is well that every doubt has disappeared."

"But," replied the Doctor, "there is still no proof that the old ma.n.u.script is destroyed. It is yet possible that it may come to light somewhere in fragments. Who knows but there may be strips on the back of some books?"

"On the books which the Swede has written in characters of fire at Rossau," replied the Professor, with a sad smile. "It is well, Fritz, that the tormenting spirits are forever banished."

Early on the morning of the following day a line of carriages left the ranger's lodge; the first was closely curtained--it was the prostrate Sovereign, guarded by his physicians. Before starting, the Hereditary Prince beckoned the Chief Forester to his carriage:

"Is there any other way to Rossau than that by the manor-house through the Bielstein estate?"

"Over the ridge through the wood," replied the Chief Forester; "but it is a roundabout way."

"We will take the road through the wood," commanded the Hereditary Prince. On the way he said to his attendant: "I expect from you, Weidegg, that, should occasion present itself, you will show considerate attention to the people who dwell in that house. I am the son of the sick Sovereign to whom a voice refused reception there. I shall, therefore, never again cross the threshold of that house; and I wish that you never again mention the name of that woman in my presence."

The sad procession pa.s.sed close by the spot where once the lightning had struck the pine-tree. The carriages moved at a slow pace along the ridge of hills upon the forest-road.

"Drive on ahead," said the Prince; "I will walk a short distance alone."

He stepped to the edge of the hill; the early dawn tinged the dark bushes of heather with a golden green. From that same height, where once a merry party had rested, the Prince looked down on Bielstein, which stood out in the white morning mist, on the roof and balconies of the old house. Long he stood motionless; the bell sounded from the village church through the mountain air; he bent his head till the last echoes of the melancholy tones pa.s.sed away; then he stretched his hand greetingly towards the manor, turned quickly back, and went along the forest-road.

The c.o.c.ks crowed in the farmyard at Bielstein, the sparrows twittered in the vine arbor, and the people were preparing for the day's work.

Then Mr. Hummel knocked three times with his ponderous fist at the door of the room in which his daughter slept.