We presently were standing by the lad's bedside; Master Ulsenius had just
done with bandaging his head and body and arms; the poor fellow had been
indeed cruelly handled, and but for the Brunswicker's help he must have
died. That Kubbeling should not have known him, although they had often
met in past years, was easy to explain; for I myself could scarce have
believed that the pale, hollow-eyed man who lay there, to all seeming
dying, was our brisk and nimble-witted Eppelein. Yet verily he it was,
and Ann flung herself on her knees by the bed, and it was right piteous
to hear her cry: "Poor, faithful Eppelein!" and many other good words in
low and loving tones. Yet did he not hear nor understand, inasmuch as he
was not in his senses. For the present there was nought of tidings to be
had from him, and this was all the greater pity by reason that the
thieves had stripped off his clothes, even to his boots, and thus, if he
were the bearer of any writing, he might now never deliver it. Yet he
had come with some message. When the men left us there Ann bent over him
and laid a wet kerchief on his hot head, and he presently opened his eyes
a little way, and pointed with his left hand, which was sound, to the end
of the bed-place where his feet lay, and murmured, scarce to be heard and
as though he were lost: "The letter, oh, the letter!" But then he lost
his senses; and presently he said the same words again and again. So his
heart and brain were full of one thing, and that was the letter which
some one--and who else than his well-beloved Master--had straitly charged
him to deliver rightly.

Every word he might speak in his fever might give us some important
tidings, and when at midnight my aunt bid us go to bed, Ann declared it
to be her purpose to keep watch by Eppelein all night, and I would not
for the world have quitted her at such a moment. And whereas she well
knew Master Ulsenius, and had already lent a helping hand of her own free