looking uncertainly this way and that, not knowing from what
quarter the stroke had come that had laid their comrade low.

But Schwartz Carl did not give them time to discover that; there
was no chance to string his cumbersome weapon again; down he
flung it upon the ground. "To arms!" he roared in a voice of
thunder, and then clapped to the door of Melchior's tower and
shot the great iron bolts with a clang and rattle.

The next instant the Trutz-Drachen men were thundering at the
door, but Schwartz Carl was already far up the winding steps.

But now the others came pouring out from the gateway. "To the
house," roared Baron Henry.

Then suddenly a clashing, clanging uproar crashed out upon the
night. Dong! Dong! It was the great alarm bell from Melchior's
tower - Schwartz Carl was at his post.

Little Baron Otto lay sleeping upon the great rough bed in his
room, dreaming of the White Cross on the hill and of brother
John. By and by he heard the convent bell ringing, and knew that
there must be visitors at the gate, for loud voices sounded
through his dream. Presently he knew that he was coming awake,
but though the sunny monastery garden grew dimmer and dimmer to
his sleeping sight, the clanging of the bell and the sound of
shouts grew louder and louder. Then he opened his eyes. Flaming
red lights from torches, carried hither and thither by people in
the court-yard outside, flashed and ran along the wall of his
room. Hoarse shouts and cries filled the air, and suddenly the