"You are bleeding--let it be bandaged."

Hartmut shook his head hastily.

"Later--I must first see the retreat--the rescue."

The awful excitement sustained him; he did not falter again, but followed with feverish attention every movement of the troops.

Falkenried looked at him and then asked:

"Which way did you come?"

"Over the mountain pa.s.ses."

"Over the pa.s.ses! The enemy stands there."

"Yes, there they stand."

"And you came over that way?"

"I had to, otherwise the news would not have reached here in time. I started only last night."

"But that is an heroic deed without an equal! Man, how could you accomplish it?" exclaimed one of the higher officers, who had just brought a report and heard the last words.

Hartmut was silent; only he slowly raised his eyes to his father. He no longer feared the eyes he had feared so long, and what he read in them now told him that here, too, he was free from that awful suspicion.

But even the greatest will power has its limits, and this was reached with the man who had rendered almost superhuman a.s.sistance. The face of his father was the last thing he saw--then it disappeared as behind a b.l.o.o.d.y veil; something hot and wet flowed over his forehead--all became night around him, and he sank to the ground.

And now resounded a crash, under the appalling force of which the whole town trembled and quaked. The citadel, whose outlines had just stood out sharp and clear against the blue sky, was suddenly transformed into a crater, vomiting forth fire and destruction. In those walls a h.e.l.l seemed to open; showers of rocks and stones rose high in the air, only to come down with thunderous clatter, and immediately there leaped and flickered over all the huge pile of debris a giant pillar of fire and smoke which rose up to the heavens--a terrible sign of flame!

The warning had arrived at the last possible moment. But, in spite of it, there was a sacrifice of life, for whoever had been still in the neighborhood of the citadel had been crushed or severely injured. Still the loss was small in comparison with the incalculable disaster which would surely have taken place had not the warning been brought.

The General, with his officers and nearly all his troops, had been saved. Falkenried had made all the arrangements required by the dreadful catastrophe with his usual prompt.i.tude and circ.u.mspection. He was everywhere, and his activity and example succeeded in giving back to the men who had been betrayed in the height of victory their equilibrium. Only when the commander had done his duty did the father seek his natural rights.

Hartmut still lay unconscious in one of the neighboring houses, into which he had been carried when he sank to the ground. He neither saw nor heard the father, who stood at his bedside with one of the physicians.

Falkenried silently gazed down upon the pale face and closed eyes, then turned to the physician.

"You do not consider the wound fatal?"

The doctor sadly shrugged his shoulders.

"Not the wound in itself, but the great overexertion of that life and death ride--the heavy loss of blood, the bitter cold of the night. I fear, Herr General, you must be prepared for the worst."

"I am prepared for it," said Falkenried, solemnly. Then he knelt down and kissed the son whom perhaps he had found only to lose again; and hot, burning tears fell upon the deathly white face.

But it was not granted the father to remain with his child for any length of time; he was forced to leave after a few moments, requesting the doctor once more to give his greatest care and skill to the patient.

At the open square were collected the General's staff and other officers, awaiting their chief. They knew he was at present with the wounded man who had brought the warning, and whom n.o.body knew.

It had become known that he had come over the mountain pa.s.ses, through the midst of the foe--that he had ventured upon a ride the like of which n.o.body in the army could imitate--and when the General at last appeared, everybody gathered around him, questioningly.

Falkenried was deeply serious, but the rigid, gloomy look which his face was accustomed to bear had disappeared and given place to an expression which the attendant officers saw now for the first time. In his eyes tears still glistened, but his voice sounded firm and clear as he answered:

"Yes, gentlemen, he is desperately injured, and perhaps it was his last ride that brought rescue to us. But he has done his duty as a man and a soldier, and if you want to know his name--he is my son, Hartmut von Falkenried!"

CHAPTER LIX.

The old mansion of Burgsdorf lay peaceful and cosy in the brightest sunlight. It had but recently received back its lord, who had been absent nearly a year, and who returned now after the war was over, to his home and his young wife.

The large estate, with its extensive work, had not suffered through his long absence, for it had been under safe guidance. The master's mother had stepped into her old place, and held the reins with her usual firm hand, until the return of her son; but now she laid those reins solemnly into his hands again and insisted, in spite of all prayers and entreaties, upon leaving Burgsdorf and returning to her city home.

At present Frau von Eschenhagen was standing upon the terrace, the broad stone steps of which led into the garden, talking with Willibald, who stood beside her.

Her glance rested with undeniable satisfaction upon the powerful, manly form of her son, who appeared even more stately now because of the acquired military bearing. Perhaps she felt that something different and better had been made of the young country squire than she could have done with her education. But she would not have confessed it at any price.

"And so you wish to build," she was saying; "I thought about as much.

The plain old house in which your father and I lived so many years is, of course, not good enough for your little princess. She must be surrounded by every available splendor. Well, I don't mind; you have the money for it, and can allow yourself that pleasure. I am glad to say I have not the responsibility of it any longer."

"Do not act so grim, mamma," laughed Willibald. "If any one should hear you, they would think you the worst of mothers-in-law, whereas if I did not know it from Marietta's letters, I see it daily now, how you spoil her and carry her upon your hands."

"Oh, well, one likes to play with pretty dolls sometimes, even in old age," replied Regine, dryly; "and your wife is such a delicate little doll, who is only good for play. Do not imagine that she will ever get to be a competent farm manager. I saw that from the first moment, and have not allowed her to do it at all."

"And you were right in that," joined in the young lord. "Work and management are my part. My Marietta shall not be worried with it. But, believe me, mamma, one can live and work quite differently when such a sweet little _singvogel_ sings courage and love of work into one's heart."

"Boy, I believe you are crazy still," said Frau von Eschenhagen, with her old grim manner. "Has it ever been known that a _sensible_ man--a husband and estate owner--speaks so of his wife--'sweet little _singvogel_'! Perhaps you get that from your bosom friend, Hartmut, who is considered by you all as such a great poet. You always did imitate him as a boy."

"No, mamma, it is really my own. I have composed poetry but once in my life, on the night when I saw Marietta in Hartmut's 'Arivana.' The poem fell into my hands the other day, when I was putting my desk in order, and I gave it to Hartmut, begging him to change it a little, for, strange to say, the rhymes would not fit, and I had not done very well with the meter. Do you know what he said? 'My dear w.i.l.l.y, your poem is very beautiful as far as sentiment is concerned, but I advise you to abandon poetry. Such verse is not to be tolerated, and your wife will seek a divorce if you sing to her in this style.' That is how my 'bosom friend' judges my poetical talent."

"It serves you right, too. What does an estate owner have to do with poetry?" said Regine, caustically.

The door of the dining room was opened and a small head, running over with dark curls, peeped out.

"Is it permitted to disturb the a.s.sembly in their important business discourse?"

"Come along, you small elf," said Frau von Eschenhagen. But the permission was superfluous, for the young wife had already flown into her husband's open arms. He bent over her affectionately and whispered something in her ear.

"Are you commencing again?" scolded the mother. "It is really unbearable in your presence nowadays."

Marietta only turned her head, without freeing herself from the embrace which held her so closely, and said, roguishly: "We are celebrating our honeymoon after the long separation, and you must know from your own experience how people act then, _nicht wahr_, mamma?"

Regine shrugged her shoulders. Her honeymoon with the late Eschenhagen had been of a different kind.

"You received a letter from your grandfather, Marietta," she said, changing the subject; "was it good news?"