my brother," replied Hofer. "I love her
because I love thee, and in mine eyes she is thy wife. See thou then,"
and he held up his long right hand, "I am no brawler; but he who would
do her ill or move his tongue against her would have to reckon with me
as much as with thee, for she is thine and I am thine too, as thou art
mine, or what means the dagger scar in our arms that we both know of?"
Then taking me by the hand he leads me to Franz and kisses me gently on
the forehead, and even while I am putting the face of Franz from mine I
see that Hofer has stooped to kiss the poor child Bertha also, whose
hand is in his, but whose face is bowed down and red as the wild berry.
If I am a child, as my dear mistress says, then is Bertha but an infant,
and cannot know of love that should turn her cheek to flame and bring
bright tears into her eyes.

Ah me!--that evening--how we stood and watched the sun go down till the
night came, and with a dark blue shutter left only a long crevice where
the fire shone through; how we wandered back hand in hand, and parted
with a hasty "good-night" when we heard the church clock chime; and that
is not long ago, though it seems to have gone so far back; for next day
came the tidings of a levy for the army--men were wanted. Not one by
one, but altogether, the young and then the middle-aged were called out
to fight in France or to guard the frontier, and we--we were left (the
dear mistress said "we")--to wait and weep, and with only the Herr
postmaster, the father of Franz, to bring us news, and read to us the
stories of the battles, and bring to the dear mistress her letters. For
I had one letter and no more; and that told me that Franz and Hofer had
met in the same army of the Red Prince and were comrades, but not in the
same corps; but that once they came near together on the field, and in
the thick of the fight Franz had struck down a man's arm uplifted to
kill his brother.

It is easy to see how I came to learn so much of the war, and of the
places where it raged, for old Schwartz was proud of his knowledge, and
read to us and drew maps, and we had nothing else to talk about. The
village was very still, and people from the nearest town talked only of
the war and of those who had left them. Ours is a quiet place with
romantic scenes around it, and but just beyond the shadow of the giant
mountain Riesengebirge. We can see the blue profile of the Schneekoppe;
and there are those--the old ones