In truth, my heart was exceedingly sad both for the dying man and for his dear ones in Vienna, who would await his return in vain.

The manner of his death also sorely grieved me. Certainly my hand had not struck him down, but Sandor had slain him to save my life.

It was foolish, perhaps, to dwell on the thought, but I could not thrust it out. I felt that but for me the baron would still have been at the head of his regiment.

The house was very still, and even the noises from the captured town failed to reach me.

The fires in the street had been extinguished, but now the glowing crimson of the setting sun flooded the room, and as its light fell athwart the bed the dying man moved restlessly.

"Let it burn!" he muttered. "All the better for us. Ready? Mind your aim! Fire!"

His eyes were wide open, gazing with intense keenness across the room.

"Ach!" he continued. "They have it now! Who? The colonel? That will stop them! Sorry--knew him--Vienna. What? Again? Steady now! Here they come!"

His brow was wet with perspiration, and, as I bent over to wipe it off, the dying glory of the sun shone full into my face.

At this the baron's excitement increased, and he muttered to himself at a great rate, while I, dipping a rag in water, bathed his forehead continually.

By degrees he became calmer; the wild light died from his eyes; he ceased to mutter, and presently looked into my face with a reasoning though puzzled expression.

"George Botskay," I said, trying to help his memory. "Don't you know?

You stood my friend in Vienna."

He smiled faintly, but with intelligence, and, moving his hand, pointed to the window, as if wishing to direct my attention to something outside.

"The barricade?" I ventured questioningly.

He smiled again and dropped his hand in mine.

"Good lad," he murmured; "I saw and understood--afterwards."

"I am sorry," I began; but he checked me, saying,--

"A soldier's death, my boy. That is best--for me."

He was getting very weak now, and I heard him with great difficulty.

Some words I did not hear at all, and others only imperfectly; but I managed to understand what he wished done, and promised to do it.

His requests, poor fellow, were very simple. He desired only that the miniature of his wife, which hung round his neck, should be given to Theresa, and his ma.s.sive wedding-ring to the baroness.

As I gently drew the latter from his finger, his mind wandered once more, and he talked to himself of bygone days and events of which I knew nothing.

From the delights of peace he pa.s.sed to the horrors of the battlefield, and then right back to the time of his childhood, when he was a happy, careless boy at his mother's side.

Here he ended, and, rather to my surprise, just as the last gleam of the setting sun faded, he died with the sacred name of "mother" on his lips.

Taking a long look at the face now so calm and still, I covered it reverently, and went away on tiptoe, as if the noise of my footsteps could disturb the dead.

Outside I met the colonel, and returned with him to the room.

"Poor fellow!" he exclaimed, after gazing a moment at the white face.

"What a blow for the pretty fraulein! I'll warrant he made an idol of her. War's an awful thing, George, when you come to strip the gilding off. I would not like to have the responsibility of one on my shoulders, though I'm a soldier born and bred. How many thousands of widows and orphans are cursing us at this very moment! Well, well; we must give the baron a decent funeral in the morning," and he led me away.

The town seemed very quiet after the tremendous uproar of the day.

The fires had been put out; the Austrians were in retreat; and our army was chasing them into that very mountain district where Gorgei had led us in January.

Our own regiment, having suffered so severely, was left behind, and I really felt glad of the change.

The colonel had taken up his quarters in a decent house, and there at supper we were joined by the surviving officers of the regiment.

Several of the absentees were dead, but the majority were in hospital, and, though badly wounded, expected to recover.

"Just like our luck!" said the colonel, as we sat chatting over what had happened. "We took the very strongest street in the town. The other fellows had a pleasure jaunt, compared with our march."

"Who was the Austrian officer?" asked a sublieutenant. "I hope he escaped; he was a splendid chap."

"That was Baron von Arnstein," the colonel replied. "I'm sorry to say he was killed. I mean to bury him to-morrow with military honours."

"He deserves all the respect we can show him," Dobozy chimed in.

"There's one thing puzzles me, colonel," I said, "and that is, how you escaped. I saw you fall, and thought you were dead."

For the first time that night Rakoczy's face lit up with his genial smile.

"I carry a bullet-catcher," he answered pleasantly; and taking a ma.s.sive gold watch from his breast-pocket, he handed it to me.

"They've spoiled it as a time-keeper," he continued, "but it will come in as a curiosity."

The watch had a double cover, and was enclosed in a bag of thick chamois leather, a part of which had been forced into the case by the impact of the bullet.

The case itself was badly battered and the works smashed.

I pa.s.sed it to the other fellows, who examined it in profound astonishment and warmly congratulated the colonel on his marvellous escape.

"Yes," said he brightly; "but for that watch Gorgei might have looked for a new colonel."

"We prefer to keep our old one, though he does wear a watch that won't tell the time," I remarked.

Dobozy asked if it could be mended, but the colonel said he preferred keeping it as it was, which I certainly should have done.

We did not sit long, having to rise early; and in the morning, as soon as it could be managed, Rakoczy turned out the regiment to pay the last honours to our valiant opponent.

We buried him in the Catholic cemetery, where I made arrangements for a handsome stone to be erected in his memory. It stands there to this day.

When all was over, the men marched back to the strains of martial music, while I felt as sorrowful as if we had been a.s.sisting to bury a valued friend.