ance, said that I had best wait. A
quarter of an hour passed. Then we could see another horse, perhaps
half a mile away, coming toward the inn at a canter. From what I could
see in the pale light, the horse carried a double burden. A sheet of
ice seemed to fall on my heart. What had happened? Had Dan and the
Prince come to blows? Alas, I could have cried out in anguish at the
sight which finally met my gaze. The innkeeper held the reins, and,
propped up in front of him, was Hillars, to all appearances dead.

"Gott!" cried the innkeeper, discovering me, "but I am glad to see you,
Herr. Your friend has been hurt, badly, badly."

"My God!" I cried. The hand and wrist of the innkeeper which encircled
Hillars were drenched in blood.

"Yes. A bullet somewhere in his chest. Help me down with him. He is
not dead yet. I'll tell you the story when we have made it comfortable
for him."

Tenderly we carried the inanimate form of poor Hillars into the inn and
laid it on the sofa. I tore back his blood-wet shirt. The wound was
slightly below the right lung. The bullet had severed an artery, for I
could see that the blood gushed. We worked over him for a few moments,
and then he opened his eyes. He saw me and smiled.

"There wasn't any regiment, old man, but this will suffice. My hand
trembled. But he'll never use his right arm again, curse him!"

"Dan, Dan!" I cried, "what made you do it?"

"When I am a man's friend, it is in life and death. He was in the way.
He may thank liquor that he lives." The lids of his eyes contracted.
"Hurts a little, but it will not be for long, my son. I am bleeding to
death inside. Jack, the woman loves you, and in God's eyes, Princess
or not, she belongs to you. You and I cannot understand these things
which make it impossible for a man and a woman who love each other to
wed. Let me hold your hand. I feel like an old woman. Give me a
mouthful of brandy. Ah, that's better! Innkeeper, your courage is not
to be doubted, but your judgment of liquor is. Any way, Jack, I
suppose you will not forget me in a week or so, eh?"

"Dan!" was all I could say, bending over his hand to hide my tears.

"Jack, you are not sorry?"

"Dan, you are more to me than any woman in the world."

"Oh, say! You wouldn't--hold me up a bit higher; that's it--you
wouldn't have me hang on now, would you? I haven't anything to live
for, no matter how you put it. Home? I never had one. The