ose and blood-red.

A wild uproar came up from the kennels and foresters' huts, and I heard a
medley of many voices; and whereas the distant flare began to soar more
brightly heavenward I believed those who were saying below that all
Nuremberg was in flames.

Even Aunt Jacoba had quitted her bed, and every soul under that roof
looked forth at the fire and gave an opinion as to whether it were waxing
or waning. And, thanks be to the Blessed Virgin, the latter were in the
right; some few granaries, or stores of goods it might be, had been burnt
out, and I, among other fainting hearts, was beginning to breathe more
easily, when the watchman's cry was heard once more and what next befell
showed that my fears had not been groundless.

It was the vigil of Saint Simon and Saint Jude's day--[October 28th]--in
the year of our Lord 1420, and never shall I forget it. The great things
which befell that night are they not written in the Chronicles of the
town, and still fresh in many minds? but peradventure in none are they
more deeply printed than in mine; and while I move my pen I can, as it
were, see the great hall of the hunting lodge with my very eyes. Many
folks are astir, and all in scant attire and full of eager thirst for
tidings. The alarm of fire has brought them from their pillows in all
haste, and they press close and gaze through the door, which stands wide
open, at the light spot in the sky. Not one dares go forth in the wild
wind, and many a one draws his garment or cloak or coverlet closer round
him; the gale sweeps in with such fury that the pitch torches against the
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 o