: "that was a bold stroke indeed."

"I begged him not to remain behind," cried Lenore, casting down her eyes
in spite of the darkness.

Half way to the village Lenore's pony was brought to meet them. At
Neudorf, Karl got back the baron's horse and accompanied his young lady
to the castle. It was very late before they arrived. Lenore's long
absence had excited her mother's alarm, and put the baron fearfully out
of temper. She escaped from his cross-questioning as fast as she could,
and hurried to her room. An hour later, Fink, with the forester, came
back from Kunau, bringing both the prisoners, who walked haughtily, with
their hands bound, and carried their peacock's feathers as high as
though they were leading the dance in a tavern.

"You shall pay for this," said one of them in Polish to his escort, and
clenched his fettered fists.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The rain still continued. It had ceased indeed in the morning, but only
to begin again with double energy. The laborers had gone early to the
field, but they soon returned. They were now sitting silently in the
guard-room of the castle, drying their wet garments at the stove.

The baron sat in the arm-chair, listening to old John, who read him the
newspaper that had reached the castle on the previous day. The
monotonous voice of the domestic announced nothing but unwelcome news;
the rain-drops rattled on the panes, and the wind rushed howling round
the corner of the house in discordant accompaniment.

Anton was busy at his desk. Before him lay a letter from Commissary
Horn, announcing that the judicial sale of the family estate was fixed
for the middle of next winter; and that, since the advertisement of this
definite period, several mortgages on the property had passed from one
hand to another, bought up, as he feared, by one speculator, who
disguised himself under different names. Accordingly, Anton reflected in
gloomy mood upon the hazardous position of the baron.

In the neighboring room Fink was keeping the ladies company, the
baroness lying back on the sofa cushions, covered by a shawl of
Lenore's. She gazed in silence straight before her, but when her
daughter came up with some tender inquiry, she nodded smilingly at her,
and spoke a few cheering words. Lenore was sitting in the window
occupied with some light work, and listening with rapture to the jests
by which Fink brightened the otherwise mournful room. To-day, in spite
of the rain, he was in th