wall are well nigh blown out, and the red and yellow glare casts a weird
light in the hall.

Then the watchman's call is silent, and the growling and wailing of the
forest folk comes nigher and nigher.

Presently a man totters across the threshold, upheld with sore difficulty
by the gate-keeper Endres inasmuch as his own knees quake; and he who
comes home thus, as he might be drunken or grievously hurt, is none other
than my brother Herdegen. The torchlight falls on his face, and whereas
my eyes descry him I cry aloud, and my soul has no thought of him but
sheer pity and true love.

I haste to take Endres' place while Eppelein, his faithful serving-man,
whom he had not taken with him as is his wont, holds him up on the other
hand.

But touch him where we may he feels a hurt; and while Uncle Conrad and
the rest press him with questions, he can only point to his head and
lips, which are too weak for thinking or speaking.

Alas! that poor fellow, meseems, bears but little likeness to my noble
Herdegen, on whose arm the Italian Marchesa riveted her golden fetter.
His face is swollen and bloodshot in one part, and cruelly torn in
others. Where are the lovelocks that graced him so well? His left arm
is helpless, his rich attire hangs about him in rags. He might be a
battered, wretched beggar picked up in the high-road, and I rejoice truly
to think that Ann is within the shelter of her bed and escapes the sight.

My aunt, who had long ere this been carried down to the hall, felt all