Room IX. was still to remain "aristocratic"--as Weise satirically remarked--even after Baron Walther von Frielinghausen had moved over to the non-commissioned officers' quarters. A few days before the regiment left for the manoeuvres, Count Egon Plettau arrived and took possession of Frielinghausen's locker.

All kinds of wild reports had been circulating in the battery about Plettau. Judging from these he appeared to be a perfect terror. A lieutenant who had had his ears boxed, and a sergeant who had been flung against a wall, played the chief part in these reports. But, as a matter of fact, of the whole battery only Heppner and the senior non-commissioned officers knew the mad count personally, and during the five years' detention in a fortress that Plettau had had to undergo, two sets of recruits had already come and gone without having made his acquaintance.

The inmates of Room IX. expected to see a pale man, bent and bowed with long imprisonment; but the new comrade bore a tolerably healthy appearance, and had a good-tempered, friendly face.

The count was handled very tenderly by the non-commissioned officers. They had received an intimation that as far as their duty permitted they were to do all they could to enable this child of misfortune at last to complete his military service.

Count Egon Plettau received these attentions with calm complacency. "Children," he used to say--for so it was his habit to address his comrades--"people know quite well that they owe me respect. To have been eight years accomplishing a two-years' term of service, and not to have finished it yet--that is a performance that cannot be sufficiently appreciated. Really, I ought to be shown at a fair! Strive, therefore, to follow my example!"

He looked forward to the manoeuvres with a real and almost child-like pleasure; for, in spite of his eight years' service, he had never taken part in them. "Something" had always come in the way.

Even GÜntz had often to bite his lips to keep himself from laughing at Plettau's absurdities. He, too, had been curious to make the acquaintance of the notorious gunner-count, and he, too, was agreeably surprised. Plettau seemed to him to be a very good fellow, terribly frivolous, no doubt, but not bad by any means. He was glad to find he had not been mistaken in his judgment: viewed impartially, the cause of Plettau's first two acts of insubordination had been malice on the part of his superior almost amounting to cruelty; and even the last five years had been added to his term of imprisonment simply because he had knocked down a sergeant who was proved to have ill-treated a comrade. All things considered, the gay placidity of temper with which the count had borne his fate was really remarkable.

For the autumn manoeuvres the men and horses were all redistributed to serve the various guns. Vogt and Klitzing remained in their places, and for the rest gun six was served as follows:

The leader of the third column was Ensign Gysinger, who had just joined the regiment from the Military Academy, and had exchanged with Lieutenant Landsberg, transferred to the first battery. Heimert had for the first time taken over the distribution of the horses. But when Heppner saw how the six horses for gun six had been placed, he shook his head.

"That won't do," said he to Heimert. "The lead and centre horses are all right, but the wheel-driver must have another beast under him. The Turk is too old; especially as gun six has always the longest way to go on the march."

"That's just what I told the captain," put in Heimert. "It's all Wegstetten's doing. I wanted Cyrus for the wheel, and old Turk for the baggage-waggon, but as the other five are light bays, Wegstetten insisted on having the Turk, That's why he has put Sickel on him, our best driver. He thought he'd make him go at any rate, if the worst came to the worst."

Heppner remained thoughtful. At last he said, "Yes; but then old Turk hasn't much more go left in him. Don't you think we could arrange it differently?" "No," answered the deputy sergeant-major; "you know that when Wegstetten has once got a thing into his head there's nothing more to be done."

The sergeant-major shrugged his shoulders. "We two, at any rate," he said, "won't have the responsibility. I only hope it will turn out all right! We've got some damned hilly country for the manoeuvres this time, as it happens. One part lies close to the frontier, and is over 2000 feet high. Downright mountain-artillery I call it!" he growled in conclusion. But it was impossible to oppose the express orders of the captain.

On August 30 the battery was ready in the barrack square at six o'clock in the morning to start for the manoeuvres.

Shortly after reveille various rumours had been current in the stables and in the barrack-rooms that something had happened at the Heppners'; and just as the men were getting into their places the news spread from one to the other that the sergeant-major's wife was dead. As this was a private and personal matter, it could not give cause for the slightest delay. Heppner, of course, remained at home for the funeral, and KÄppchen meanwhile took over his duties as sergeant-major. However, it considerably damped the spirits of the men in setting out; and a fine rain which began to fall did not tend to restore their good humour. The sixth battery marched just behind the corps of trumpeters; but the inspiriting strains of the Hohenfriedberger March were entirely out of harmony with the moody faces of the men and the dismal weather.

Klitzing again sat next to Vogt on the limber of gun six. How unlike the day on which they had started for the gun-practice at Whitsuntide!

"It's a bad beginning," said he to his friend; and half to himself he added, "Who knows how it will end?"

The rain gradually became heavier, and at the first halt the colonel ordered the men to put on their cloaks. The gunners, huddled up in their seats, kept fairly dry; but the riders got their high boots full of water, so that as they went up and down in their saddles their feet splashed with a sound like butter in a churn. During the longest halt the drivers lay on their backs in the grass, and as they stretched their legs up in the air, the water trickled down out of their boots in streams.

The manoeuvres began, and continued their course, one day very much like another, only the scene changing. The brigade would assemble in the early morning. Cavalry scouts told off for the purpose, had generally gone on in advance and sent back their reports. These hussars or Uhlans were marvellously clever fellows, who never failed to find out the enemy. Then the advance-guard was set in motion, and after a certain time the main body followed. The batteries were usually ordered to the front during the march. If they reached the scene of action unnoticed by the enemy and wanted to open fire upon him unawares, the men had to crawl almost on all-fours in line; then there was a mad gallop forwards over hedges and ditches when they found themselves within range of the hostile fire; and when the gunners were almost jolted out of their seats the men of the infantry would burst into loud peals of laughter as they lay sideways on the ground. It was all very well for them to laugh then; but when the manoeuvres were over, and they were on the march back to their quarters, they cast envious glances at the artillerymen as they took their seats and were driven home on their hard-seated chariots.

In the skirmishes, too, during the manoeuvres, it was the artillery who got the best of it. The infantry had to be always on the march, then firing off their blank cartridges either stooping or lying down, and at last making a bayonet charge on the disorganised foe. The batteries, on the other hand, generally remained in the same position, and only now and then fired a shot, reserving their ammunition for doings on a larger scale during the last few days of the manoeuvres. In this way they had a splendid view of the fighting, and could quietly look on as the dark lines of rifles approached nearer and nearer; or when an officer commanding a squadron of cavalry, thirsting for fame, made an impossible, but very daring attack.

On off-days Vogt lent a sturdy helping hand in gathering in the harvest. It delighted him to be able, as of old, to reach up and put the sheaves on the top of the well-loaded waggons, and to find that he could still wield a scythe with the same vigorous strokes, mowing the scanty second crop of grass on the mountain meadows just as close to the ground as ever. While Klitzing lay down after his exertions and rested his weary limbs, Vogt would spend hours over such field-work; and the fatigue after this heaven-blest labour was far more grateful to him than the idle, lazy time a soldier often enjoys directly the arduous period of his early training is over. In the evenings after bugle-call, out he would go again to mow a strip of grass before dusk; and when returning, scythe on shoulder to the court-yard of his quarters, he would sometimes quite forget that he still wore the uniform of a soldier.

The sight of the various couples who, lovingly entwined, promenaded the green lanes, suddenly appearing and as suddenly disappearing behind the thick hedges, would recall him to actuality. He would then bethink him how odd it seemed that he himself cared so little about womenfolk, Now and then a pretty fresh girl would take his fancy, and he might have liked well enough to take her face between his hands and give her a hearty kiss; but he was too bashful, and he felt no desire to put himself under the tutelage of the painted ladies of the garrison town who smiled so engagingly at all the lads. The rough village maidens suited him better; but one evening he had an experience which raised grave doubts in his mind as to the virtue of even those rustic beauties.

A woman's voice shrieking for help had suddenly resounded from a little shady hollow not far from where Vogt was strolling, smoking his evening pipe. He instantly ran forward, crying out in clear tones the first words that came into his head: "Halt! halt! Who goes there?" Drawing nearer he saw first a couple of soldiers in hasty flight through the trees, and afterwards a curious something which he could not at once make out.

When he came closer he discovered that some of his comrades had been playing off one of their jokes upon a village girl. They had gathered up her skirts above her head and tied them together with string; this they called "making a tulip." She was running round in a comical enough fashion, her lower limbs being entirely exposed, as she wore no under-clothes; while her arms and the upper part of her body were imprisoned in the woollen skirts, whence issued her muffled protests.

Vogt said, very politely: "Wait; I will set you free;" and pulling out his knife, cut the string, whereupon the petticoats fell down, and a touzled head made its appearance. The girl hid her face in her hands, as if ashamed; but through her fingers she peeped expectantly up at the soldier. Then she let her hands fall, making manifest her hard and coarse but yet undeniable beauty; and her rather large, full mouth smiled tenderly at the gunner.

But the doughty champion stood dumb and unresponsive; so after a moment the girl swung sharply round, muttering "Stupid ass!" and departed through the gathering dusk.

It was on the Monday of the third week after leaving the garrison that the two divisions of the army-corps began manoeuvring against each other. The troops, now doubled in number, presented a gay and lively picture as they assembled at the meeting-place in the brilliant sunshine. Summer seemed to have returned that day for a short while, so hot were the rays that poured down upon the earth from the deep-blue vault of heaven. The heat, however, was not oppressive, modified as it was by the cool mountain breezes.

The sixth battery of the 80th Regiment, Eastern Division Field Artillery, had been told off to join the advance-guard, and was awaiting the signal to start. Gunners and drivers stood behind the guns, or close to the horses, all ready to mount at the word of command. Vogt was lost in amazement at Klitzing's demeanour, for he had never seen his friend in such high spirits. His eyes shone and his cheeks were slightly flushed. Vogt thought to himself what a good-looking fellow the clerk was with this touch of animation. His appearance had certainly been much improved by soldiering. Vogt was quite pleased; shaking his finger good-naturedly at him, "Hullo, Heinrich!" he asked, "haven't you been liquoring up a bit on the sly? or is this one of your lucky days?"

And Klitzing answered, "Ah! I feel to-day--I don't know myself how I feel. I feel so strong, so well--I that am usually so shaky, I feel as if some great piece of luck were going to happen to me to-day. Do you know, if I had ever felt like this at home I should have bought a lottery ticket and should certainly have won the biggest prize!"

"Well," rejoined Vogt, "mind you don't miss the opportunity the next time such a day comes!"

The clerk shook his head. "Ah, no!" he returned; "such days only come once, and then never again. I shall just have to give up the Great Prize and die a poor devil. But it's good to feel so jolly for once!"

He took Vogt by the shoulders and looked into his face with happy eyes.

Suddenly, a gruff voice called out from beyond the horses: "You fellows have far too good a time of it! I don't know what you're always grinning about!"

Bombardier Sickel was looking round at them with a surly expression, and he shook his head contemptuously. He, being a driver, did not think much of the gunners. What an easy life fellows like them had! While he--what had he not got to see to? He went up to his team and looked anxiously at Turk, the horse he was to ride. With drooping head the gelding stood there limp and spiritless. He had refused his food that morning. What could one do mounted on a sick wheeler? Sickel had told the gun-leader about this; but it was too late to replace the horse, as the baggage-waggon was already under weigh. Poor Turk must do for to-day somehow.

The advance-guard began to move, a battalion of infantry in front, then the battery, and behind it the two other battalions of the regiment. They made their way upwards from the bottom of the valley along a moderately steep road, on each side of which was very hilly ground.

They had proceeded for about an hour or more when at last the cavalry-scouts bringing further orders were seen returning; coming not from in front but from the left, down a hill covered with undergrowth. They seemed in a great hurry, and their horses were covered with foam. The fore-most portion of the advance-guard at once, therefore, wheeled round, and leaving the road took the nearest way up the hill: a steep zig-zag, and a stiff piece of work. The gun-teams strained every muscle and took short, quick steps, trying to overcome the weight of the guns. Sergeant-major Heppner, who was riding behind the last gun, growled out: "I tell you, it's downright mountain artillery, this!" and he trotted a few steps on in front to find out how the Turk was getting on. The light bay was panting with exhaustion and dripping with sweat. Heppner scratched his head: little more could be expected of the poor beast that day. But worse was to come.

The battery had scarcely accomplished the climb up the hill when the order came to form line. A gentle slope of even ground had still to be covered, and the battery was to get into position as quickly as possible behind the crest of the hill. The words of command rang out in quick succession: "Trot!" and "Gallop!" The ensign wheeled his column much too far to the right, just where the lie of the land was steepest; and Corporal Vertler, the leader of gun six, thinking it too near, took a circuit twice as great as was necessary. To get to the crest of the hill in this way was utterly impossible.

Heppner looked anxiously across. With swift determination he gave over his duties as sergeant-major to Sergeant Wiegandt, then galloped to the right flank to try and mend matters somehow if possible. But the disaster had already begun.

Gun six had from a gallop dropped into a trot, and from a trot into a walk. At last the six horses could not drag the gun one inch further.

The ground was covered with smooth coarse grass that gave the horses very little foothold. Trembling and snorting, the animals just managed to support the weight of the gun, while, straining forwards and pawing the ground, they tried to get a firmer footing. The gunners had got down, and grasping the spokes of the wheels did what they could to assist.

The sergeant-major kept close by and tried especially to egg on the wheel-driver.

"Buck up, Sickel!" he cried. "Show us what you can make of this! You want to be thought our best driver, and you can't get up a little hill like this! Get on! Put your back into it!"

The bombardier almost hung on the Turk's neck so as to release the weight on his haunches, while the gun actually moved forward two or three fractions of an inch. But suddenly Turk's hind legs gave way under him, the animal collapsed and slid down upon the slippery ground.

The jerk caused by the fall made the other five horses also lose their hold. They began to tread backwards.

"Put on the dag-chain!" roared Heppner.

Vogt darted forward, quick as lightning, and slung the chain on the spokes of the wheel. It bore the strain for a moment, then there was a sharp metallic sound: the chain had snapped.

The gun began to roll down the hill, faster and faster, dragging the six powerless horses behind it. One after the other they stumbled, slipped down, and were whirled away, kicking wildly, or entangled in the drag-ropes.

The sergeant-major swore a terrible oath when he saw what had happened. Springing from his horse he threw the reins to Plettau, who was standing near, and ran down the hill. Chance had prevented the worst from happening. At the upper edge of the precipice there was a hollow where formerly stones may have been broken after having been quarried below; the surface was now level, and here the gun had come to a standstill.

But the scene was terrible enough. The six horses lay together in a heap. Again and again they tried to raise themselves, but in such close proximity one hindered the other. Amidst the panting and snorting of the frantic animals could be heard the groans of Sickel, who was lying somewhere under one of them.

Heppner had recovered his self-possession in a moment. He called the four gunners to him, and was himself the first to jump down into the hollow. Vertler, the gun-leader, was close by on his horse, but scarcely seemed able to grasp what had happened. Heppner caught sight of Sickel at once. He lay with his left leg under the Turk's body, and was shielding himself behind the neck of the gelding to avoid being struck by the hoofs of the centre horse, who was kicking furiously.

"Here! Vogt and Truchsess!" commanded Heppner. "We'll pull him out." They grasped the bombardier under the arms and tried to drag him out from under the horse. But it was not so easy, and at the very moment when they stooped for a second attempt, one of the lead horses made a sudden movement which knocked Vogt down. The gunner got entangled in the drag-ropes and could not get up again.

Eidechse, the centre horse, again began to kick. She had a yawning wound in the buttock from which the blood streamed, and she writhed, mad with pain. Lying on her back she turned herself to and fro, and the gleaming iron shoes flashed nearer and nearer to Vogt's head, at last striking him so that his helmet flew off and the blood gushed from beneath his fair, close-cropped hair.

Klitzing saw the increasing peril, and of a sudden flung himself blindly beneath the infuriated, plunging hoofs.

Like lightning it had flashed across his brain how Vogt had once shed his blood for him. Was not this the time to show his gratitude? This was perhaps the object of his existence to save the life of that other, stronger than he. And was not this his lucky day? He felt in him the strength of a giant. Yes, he would stop those terrible hoofs until his friend could get free. And in an ecstasy of confidence he threw himself like a shield between his friend and danger.

The next moment he had received a furious kick in the side. He was hurled to a distance, and fell lifeless to the ground.

Vogt in the meanwhile had freed himself and risen quickly, only to turn faint a moment later. He sat down on the hill-side and supported his aching head in his hands.

Again the sergeant-major swore violently. In despair he looked up for a moment from the terrible medley and noted the gun-leader still staring down into the hollow with vacant eyes.

"You fellow!" he shouted, "it's no time to go to sleep, at any rate!" With admirable clearness he gave his orders: "Ride as fast as your beast will go, and fetch the doctor and the veterinary surgeon! And ambulance-orderlies as well!" And immediately afterwards he added: "And send the team belonging to gun five here, and report the mess we're in!" For the service must not suffer, and the gun should be brought up to the line of fire as soon as possible.

The corporal galloped away and was soon out of sight.

Heppner now approached the entangled heap of bodies from the other side. He then set himself to extricate the lead horses from the different parts of the harness that trammeled them, and helped them to get up. They appeared to be uninjured, shook themselves and moved restlessly to and fro. He made the lead-driver take them to one side, and then turned to the centre horses. Inoslavsky gave him a helping hand. The near centre horse was uninjured, but Eidechse had a gaping wound in the buttock. Wolf had to hold her by the snaffle, and found it difficult to manage her. The near wheeler got up readily; but the Turk, beneath whose body Sickel was writhing in agony, was badly hurt. The near hind fetlock seemed to be crushed. At last the gelding managed to raise himself a little on his fore-legs, and at the same moment Truchsess dragged out the wheel-driver from under the saddle. Sickel made a weak attempt to stand up, but fell back in a swoon.

The sergeant-major wiped the perspiration from his brow. Damnation! That had been a bad piece of work! He looked round him: three men and two horses knocked out of time. Well, it might have been even worse.

Klitzing's was the most serious case. The clerk still lay there motionless, and only the blood-stained froth at his mouth, stirring as he breathed, showed there was still life in the motionless body. The sergeant-major went up to the unconscious man and carefully placed his head on the haversack. He had never been able to endure this sickly fellow, but, by Jove, what he had done that day was first-class! It was grand! Would he never recover from his swoon? Heppner took a brandy-flask from his saddle-bag, and gently moistened the gunner's forehead with the spirit. He tried to force a drop between his lips, but in vain; there was no sound or movement in response.

The sergeant-major looked impatiently for some sign of the doctor's arrival. The other two wounded men seemed in less serious case. The bombardier regained consciousness as the brandy touched his lips; he took a good mouthful, and answered the sergeant-major's question as to his condition with: "All right, sir. Only my left leg feels a bit queer. I must have given it a wrench."

Vogt even tried to stand up and assume the regulation attitude in speaking to the sergeant-major but he staggered back again, and said faintly that his head was going round, otherwise there was nothing wrong with him.

From the heights above was now heard the sound of horses' hoofs and the clanking of harness. It was Corporal Vertler with the team belonging to gun five; he announced that a trumpeter had gone to find a doctor, and that the ambulance-orderlies would soon be here.

The sergeant-major had now no more time to bestow on the wounded men, who could be left to wait for the doctor. He busied himself with the harnessing of the gun.

Vogt leaned against the slope of the hill, resting his dizzy head in his hands.

The blood trickled through his fingers and dropped upon his knees. Although he tried to think it all over, he could not understand what had happened to him. The horse had kicked him on the forehead--that much he was able to recollect, and he also clearly remembered that afterwards he had again seen the hoof coming in his direction; but from that moment his memory was a blank.

Sliding and slipping, the hospital-orderly now came hurrying down the hill. He saw that three men were lying there; two of them had their eyes open, but not the third, so he addressed himself to the latter. He gave him ether to smell, tried to administer a stimulant, and moistened his forehead. He unfastened and opened his coat and shirt, and slapped the palms of his hands. All in vain; but at least the poor devil still breathed, though with a gurgling and rattling in his chest.

The orderly then turned to the two others. He gave Vogt a piece of medicated cotton-wool to press on his wound, put the bottle of cordial to his lips and made him drink. Vogt took a good mouthful; the liquid tasted acid and refreshing, and cleared his head wonderfully.

Sickel declined the draught with impatience. "Get away with your slops, you bone-breaker!" he said; "but if you've got any brandy I'll have it."

The hospital-orderly had none. "Well, what's the matter with you, then?" he asked.

"Something's wrong with my pins," answered the driver, and pointed to his leg.

"Is that it?" said the orderly. "You don't seem very bad on the whole. But what's wrong with this one? I can't get him to come to," and he pointed to the motionless form of Klitzing.

"Perhaps cold water would bring him round," said Sickel. "Down there to the left there must be a stream. You can hear it running."

"Then I'll just go down there," returned the orderly. He laid the bottle of cordial at Vogt's feet and climbed down through the brushwood.

Vogt slowly raised his head and looked about him in surprise. The draught had revived him wonderfully. Where was he? A horse was standing near him bleeding from a gaping wound in the flank. Not far off lay one of his comrades stretched out like a corpse, and pale as death, with eyes closed and blood-stained froth on his lips. Why, it was Klitzing! He clutched at his forehead, and all at once the curtain that had clouded his memory parted. He realised what had happened after he had seen the hoof coming in the direction of his skull. A dark body had thrown itself between him and the glistening iron--and then the blow had been struck. There had been a terrible, hollow sound, and then--then that body had been hurled into the air.

Suddenly he understood it all: Klitzing had sacrificed himself for him, his friend had saved him from the death-dealing blow of that iron-shod hoof, and there he now lay upon the grass, pale, unconscious--perhaps dead.

At this moment the unconscious man's eyelids opened at last with difficulty, his dull gaze went searching round, then rested upon Vogt with an expression of boundless devotion. Vogt darted to the clerk's side, threw himself down, and took the pale face between his hands.

"Heinrich!" he cried. "My dear good Heinrich! What have you done for me?"

Bright tears ran down his cheeks, and through his sobs he could only stammer again and again: "Heinrich! my dear good fellow!"

Klitzing tried to speak. His lips moved slightly, but no word came from them. A feeble hand was raised to his friend's shoulder, stroked it languidly, then fell heavily back. Again the eyes closed and remained shut, although Vogt went on earnestly begging and praying: "Heinrich! Heinrich! Tell me what is the matter! Can't I help you?"

Sickel gazed thoughtfully at the two friends. He remembered the moment of departure, and how gay and merry the two gunners had been together. Suddenly he turned his head to one side and listened.

"The doctor is coming," he said.

Immediately afterwards the portly assistant medical-officer, Rademacher, came down into the hollow. "Well, what is the matter here?" he asked.

He turned first of all to the driver, but Sickel motioned him away; "Excuse me, sir, but there's plenty of time for me. The other man there needs you more."

Rademacher bent down over Klitzing. When he saw the blood-stained froth on the lips his face involuntarily put on a grave expression. He laid his ear to the chest and listened for a long time.

"What happened to the man?" he inquired.

Vogt pointed to Eidechse, who was gazing across at them with dull eyes, and answered: "She kicked him in the chest."

"Badly?"

"Yes, sir. He threw himself between, so that I should not be kicked again."

The fat doctor looked up surprised. This was an unusually touching incident in the rough life of a soldier. He saw the tears in the young man's honest eyes, and he understood.

"Then you were great friends?"

"Yes, sir. And--and--how is he now?"

Rademacher looked hesitatingly down at the mortally wounded man, and answered evasively: "Well--we must wait and see."

Once more he listened to the breathing, then stood up. According to his diagnosis the injured man had but a few hours to live, at the most--perhaps even only minutes.

"Has he recovered consciousness at all?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; but only for a very short time."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"But what's wrong with you?" he said, turning to the bombardier.

"My leg's rather queer, sir. Old Turk fell on it, and it's sprained, I suppose. But I expect you can soon put it right, sir."

Rademacher removed the driver's riding-trousers with the aid of the hospital-orderly.

His examination was soon over.

"You have a double fracture of the thigh," he said. "But we'll soon set it for you."

Sickel listened open-mouthed.

"Then I shall be ready to leave when I get my discharge?" he inquired.

The medical officer smiled. "No, my friend, it will take from four to six weeks."

This was too much for the driver, and he grumbled loudly. He would cheerfully have been more hurt, although, as it was, he had had a narrow shave--but not to be able to get his discharge--it was hard lines indeed!

Meanwhile the ambulance-orderly had put a bandage round Vogt's head. Rademacher gazed thoughtfully down on Klitzing. At last he turned away; it was a hopeless case. He sent the trumpeter, who had come with him for an ambulance-waggon. He had seen one standing in the road not far off.

Restlessly he walked up and down, trying to shorten the time of waiting. Every time he passed the clerk he looked at the lips through which still came that heavy breathing. It was a perfect marvel that the man still lived. Three ribs were broken, and they had wounded the lung so severely that a violent hÆmorrhage had ensued.

Four stretcher-bearers came down the hill at last, carrying two stretchers. Klitzing was first placed on one of them.

"Where is he to go?" asked the foremost stretcher-bearer. Rademacher considered a moment, and then answered:

"Up yonder, right on the brow of the hill, there's a farm, manor-house, or something of the sort. Take him there. On my responsibility."

The stretcher-bearers set out, Vogt joining them. The doctor had nodded assent to his beseeching glance.

Sickel was just going to be carried away when two veterinary surgeons arrived to look after the injured horses.

"Beg pardon, sir," said the driver, "but I should like so much to know what's wrong with my beast."

Rademacher told the stretcher-bearers to wait. The case of the horse was diagnosed as quickly as that of the rider. The vet. raised himself and said to his colleague: "The off hind-pastern is fractured."

"Can anything be done?" asked the driver.

The other shrugged his shoulders: "No, it's all up with him," he said.

Sickel looked across at the Turk. "Poor old fellow!" he muttered to himself. Then he made them carry him up to the bay's head, and gently took hold of the tuft of hair on his forehead, caressing him. Turk raised himself with difficulty, and rubbed his nose against his driver's leg. Then the bombardier turned himself impatiently on to the other side, and cried to the stretcher-bearers to make haste. "Now get me away quickly!" Turk gazed after the stretcher with his large, mournful eyes, and as it disappeared behind the edge of the declivity he snorted piteously.

Soon after the hollow was just as peaceful and deserted as it had been early that morning, with blackbirds building their nests in the wild luxuriance of the beech-trees. But the grass and the bushes were trampled down everywhere; the spot looked like the scene of a fight, and in the middle of the battle-field lay the carcase of poor Turk. Late that evening some soldiers came with lifting apparatus and took the ponderous dead beast to the nearest knacker's yard.

When Vogt and the stretcher-bearers had climbed to the top of the hill and saw the building to which the doctor had directed them, they stopped short. Dr. Rademacher had spoken of a manor-house or farm; but what they saw before them looked more like a castle. However, as there was not another roof to be seen near or far, they could not be making any mistake.

The stretcher-bearers looked through a gate surmounted by a count's coronet, and saw the front door of the building. Not a sign of life was anywhere visible. Vogt pulled the bell; but a considerable time elapsed before there was any movement on the other side of the grating. Just as he was about to ring a second time, a white-haired old woman appeared on the threshold of the door at the top of the front steps. She was dressed like any other old peasant woman of the neighbourhood. She walked slowly to the gate along the paved pathway, a bunch of keys in her hand.

One of the soldiers addressed her:

"Tell us, please, can you give this man here a bed, and let us have one for another as well? They have both met with an accident, and for the present cannot be moved any further."

The old woman looked at the unconscious corpse-like form on the stretcher for a time without speaking, then said, in a tranquil voice:

"Oh, yes, there is room enough here."

She unlocked the gate, and let Vogt and the stretcher-bearers in.

"Where is the other?" she then asked; and the soldier answered: "He will soon follow."

The woman nodded silently. She locked the gate behind them, and then turned towards a wing of the building. The stretcher-bearer, walking close behind her, whispered: "This one won't be a burden to you long. The end must soon come." Again the old woman gazed thoughtfully at the face that looked so deathly pale on the grey linen cushion of the stretcher. She hesitated; then all at once she turned right round and went up the front steps of the main building. "We can find him a bed here," she murmured. The three soldiers stepped into a lofty hall. A softened, mellow light from without fell through a stained-glass window, and the floor was paved with shining tiles, on which the soldiers' nail-studded boots clattered discordantly. Vogt and the other two men opened their eyes in wonder; but the woman went on further, threw wide open two high folding-doors, and ushered them into a spacious room. "I will bring sheets," she said, and did not herself enter.

The stretcher-bearers put down their burden and gave a deep breath, gazing round them in surprise. The room was square. The bright daylight streamed in through two windows that reached to the ceiling. The floor was beautifully inlaid with wood of different colours, and carved oak panelling covered the walls. Against a side wall stood a broad, low bed, over which a faded quilted silk coverlet was spread, and there was a carved wooden canopy fixed to the wall above, from which curtains had formerly hung. The design of the wood-work was surmounted by a royal crown.

The old woman soon returned with a pair of fine snow-white linen sheets.

"He's to go in there?" asked the soldier, pointing to this bed of state. She assented with a nod of the head, and made haste to prepare the bed, which she had ready in a few moments.

The loud, clear sound of the bell was heard once more. "That's the other one," said the soldier; and the woman left the room with her quiet, shuffling steps.

The two stretcher-bearers now began to undress Klitzing with their practised hands, and the clerk was soon lying beneath the silken coverlet, the royal crown over his head. Then one of the men asked: "What shall we do now?" and the other answered: "Well, we'd better go back to the ambulance waggon, anyhow. The doctor will have arrived by this time. You can stop here," he said to Vogt, and they left the two friends alone.

Vogt had been standing still in the middle of the room, his head feeling quite clear again; but suddenly once more all became dark before his eyes, and he had to sit down on one of the huge armchairs that stood against the wall. Was this not all a bad dream? There on the white pillow lay Klitzing, still unconscious, looking more dead than alive. Vogt went and knelt down beside him, and pressed his hot face against the cool silk of the coverlet. Would his faithful friend never wake again, not even for a moment, so that he might thank him? But Klitzing's eyelids remained closed, and there was no movement of the body, only the rapid, stertorous breathing.

The shrill sound of the bell broke the silence for the third time, and immediately after the senior staff-surgeon, Andreae, entered the room, followed by Dr. Rademacher and a hospital orderly. He gave a rapid glance of surprise at the unusual surroundings, and went at once to the bed.

Vogt had risen at his entrance. Andreae nodded to him, and pointing to Klitzing, asked: "Has he never recovered consciousness?"

"No, sir."

The medical-officer then bent his head to the injured man's chest, and listened to his breathing for some time. Finally he felt his pulse. The hand fell back as if lifeless upon the coverlet.

"Unfortunately you are right," he said to Rademacher; and as the other looked questioningly at him he added, shrugging his shoulders, "Nothing can be done."

So saying he went up to Vogt, and laid his hand kindly upon the young man's arm: "Dr. Rademacher has told me," he said, "how the poor fellow sacrificed himself for your sake. It grieves me very much to have to say it, but I cannot hide the truth from you. Your friend has indeed given his life for yours; he has but a short time to live."

Vogt remained fixed in the stiff soldierly attitude he had assumed; otherwise he felt he would have fallen to the ground. "Then, sir," he stammered, "will he never wake up again?"

"That no one can tell," answered the surgeon. "I hardly think so."

"But I may stay with him?"

"Yes, certainly. You are quartered here for to-night. You yourself are invalided in any case, and to-morrow your friend will not last till then, I fear, probably not even till this evening. So pull yourself together, my man, and be proud that you have had such a brave fellow for a friend. Friendship even unto death! There are not many like that nowadays. God knows, I wish we could help the poor fellow!"

Andreae was quite affected by the unusual circumstances of the case; but he had other duties, and dared not indulge his feelings. He drew himself up, and continued in firm tones: "We must dress your wound for you too, Vogt; but first I ought to set the driver's leg."

"We must go," he said, turning to the others; "the gunner will remain with his comrade for the present."

Vogt followed the doctor with his eyes. When the door closed he turned them towards the pale face of his dear friend. It was true then? Klitzing had given his life for him. And no one could do anything to help. There was a hot sensation in his throat, and then at last his sorrow found relief in a flood of tears.

After a time he looked again at his friend. How white he looked as he lay there! And how thin the face appeared against the white sheet! Klitzing had indeed refined, distinguished-looking features, and one could easily take him for a real gentleman lying in that magnificent bed, if the shabby dust-covered uniform were not hanging over the back of the chair close by. Vogt remembered how he had sometimes teased his friend about his sickly pallor; he racked his brains to think whether he had not wounded his feelings in other ways, and reproached himself for every harsh word he could remember using towards Klitzing. How much more friendly and affectionate he might often have been!

The doctors left the castle at last, having given the hospital-orderly the necessary instructions to carry out during their absence. As Rademacher was the medical officer on duty, he went the rounds once more before leaving; and Vogt, whose head had been re-bandaged and who had scarcely thought of meat and drink, now took some milk-soup at his desire.

Nerve-exhaustion and loss of blood soon made themselves felt. Ensconcing himself on a hard sofa that stood at the head of Klitzing's bed, he fell into a heavy sleep.

The sound of voices roused him. He opened his eyes, and it was a considerable time before he realised where he was. Again the voices spoke. A conversation was evidently going on in the garden outside between two people, a man and a woman. Vogt went to the window and looked out. Close to the wall of the house vegetables had been planted. A bearded man was digging the beds with a spade; the old woman was assisting him by breaking up the clods of earth with a hoe.

"But I can't understand, mother," said the man, "why you gave him the Princes' Room."

The old woman stopped her work for a moment and leant upon the handle of her hoe. Then in her quiet monotonous voice she replied: "They told me he would soon die, and the dead are the greatest kings on earth. They are free. They have no more desires, no more cares. No one can help or harm them any more."

The son said nothing, and both worked on busily.

Without thinking what he was doing Vogt watched them for a time at their digging and hoeing, and when he turned back into the room the heavy atmosphere of the long unventilated apartment gave him a momentary sense of oppression.

But in the meantime something had happened, something that made him suddenly stand still, speechless. Klitzing had awakened.

The sick man had moved his head to one side; his eyes were wide open, and he was looking through the long window. His gaze wandered till it rested on his friend, and apparently recognising him brightened with intense pleasure; then it returned to the picture framed by the window. Undazzled, his eyes looked out upon the radiance of the setting sun, already half below the horizon. The face of the dying man was lighted up by quiet happiness. He stood on the threshold of Paradise, and seemed already to behold it in that fair vision of distant landscape bathed in the departing glow of daylight. The sun's rays kissed the eyes of the dying man, and he appeared to live but by their light. He gazed fixedly on the vanishing disk until it sank out of sight. When he could see it no longer an expression of fear passed over his countenance, as though he dreaded the darkness and sought something that had disappeared from view.

Then he closed his eyes, and found Paradise.