CHAPTER XVIII.

The fury of the tempest had ceased, but the sky was still obscured by clouds.  A cool breeze blew from the northeast through the damp, heavy air.

Heinz Schorlin was coming from the fortress, and after crossing the Diligengasse went directly towards his lodgings.  His coat of mail, spurs, and helmeted head were accoutrements for the saddle, yet he was on foot.  A throng of men, women, and children, whispering eagerly together, accompanied him.  One pointed him out to another, as if there was something unusual about him.  Two stalwart soldiers in the pay of the city followed, carrying his saddle and the equipments of his horse, and kept back the boys or women who boldly attempted to press too near.

Heinz did not heed the throng.  He looked pale, and his thick locks, falling in disorder from under his helmet, floated around his face.  The chain armour on his limbs and his long surcoat were covered with mire.  The young knight, usually so trim, looked disordered and, as it were, thrown off his balance.  His bright face bore the impress of a horror still unconquered, as he gazed restlessly into vacancy, and seemed to be seeking something, now above and now in the ground.

The pretty young hostess, Frau Barbara Deichsler, holding her little three-year-old daughter by the hand, stood in front of the house in the Bindergasse where he lodged.  The knight usually had a pleasant or merry word for her, and a gay jest or bit of candy for Annele.  Nay, the young noble, who was fond of children, liked to toss the little one in his arms and play with her.

Frau Barbara had already heard that, as Heinz was returning from the fortress, the lightning had struck directly in front of him, killing his beautiful dun charger, which she had so often admired.  It had happened directly before the eyes of the guard, and the news had gone from man to man of the incredible miracle which had saved the life of the young Swiss, the dearest friend of the Emperor’s dead son.

When Heinz approached the door Frau Barbara stepped forward with Annele to congratulate him that the dear saints had so graciously protected him, but he only answered gravely:  “What are we mortals?  Rejoice in the child, Frau Barbara, so long as she is spared to you.”

He passed into the entry as he spoke, but Frau Deichsler hastily prepared to call his armour-bearer, a grey-bearded Swiss who had served the knight’s father and slept away the hours not devoted to his duties or to the wine cup.  He must supply the place of Biberli, who had left the house a long time before, and for the first time in many years was keeping his master waiting.  But Heinz knew where he was, and while the armour-bearer was divesting him, awkwardly enough, of his suit of mail and gala attire, he was often seized with anxiety about his faithful follower, though many things with which the morning had burdened his soul lay nearer to his heart.