th the sufferer. Full of
anxiety, he knelt by his bed, unfastened his clothes, and bathed his
face with cold water. After a time Mr. Schroeter revived, opened his
eyes, looked gratefully at Anton, and pointed to the window.

Anton looked out, and said, joyously, "It opens upon the court-yard. I
can overlook and count the wagons. I really think that here, although
prisoners, we are tolerably safe. But, first of all, allow me to look to
your wound: your clothes are much stained with blood."

"My weakness proceeds more from over-excitement than loss of blood,"
replied the merchant, raising himself up.

Anton opened the door, and begged for a surgeon. Their guard was
prepared to go for one, and after an anxious hour had passed, he
introduced a shabby-looking individual, who hurriedly produced a razor
and a dirty pocket-handkerchief, wiping the razor on his sleeve, and
bringing the handkerchief into alarming proximity with Anton's chin. It
was with some difficulty that the reason of his being sent for was
conveyed to him.

Anton cut away the sleeve of the coat and shirt, and himself examined
the wound. It was a cut in the upper arm; not a deep one, indeed, but
the arm was stiff, and Mr. Schroeter suffered severely. The barber
attempted to bandage it, and went off, promising to return on the
morrow. The merchant fell back, exhausted with the pain of the
bandaging, and Anton sat by him the remainder of the day, laying wet
cloths around the arm, and watching the feverish slumber of the patient.

Soon he sank himself into a sort of half sleep, a dull apathy, which
made him indifferent to all that was going on without. Thus evening wore
away, and night came on. Anton occasionally dipped his fingers in cold
water, and crept from the bed to the window to watch the wagons, or to
the door to exchange a whisper with the guard, who showed a friendly
interest in the case.

Meanwhile the fire continued its ravages, and the sound of musketry
thundered at the gates. Anton looked carelessly at the burning fragments
which the wind drove over the unhappy town, and heard, with a faint
degree of surprise, that the noise of the firing grew louder and louder,
and at last became a deafening crash; all the sounds that struck his ear
from the street appearing to him as unimportant as the ringing of a
little early church-bell which he had often heard from his own room in
the principal's house, and which never disturbed any one out of his
morni