try. It was seen, from various
circumstances, that a forward movement had been intended, and was only
thwarted by the inexplicable intervention of Hans Joergle.

The Tyrolers could not fail to perceive that their own hour was now
come, and the blow must be struck at once or never! So felt the leaders;
and scarcely had the Bavarians withdrawn their advanced posts, than
emissaries flew from village to village, with little scraps of paper,
bearing the simple words, "_Es ist zeit!_--It is time!" while, as the
day broke, a little plank was seen floating down the current, with
a small flag-staff, from which a pennon fluttered--a signal that was
welcomed by the wildest shouts of enthusiasm as it floated along:--the
Tyrol was up! "_Fur Gott, der Kaiser, und das Vaterland!_" rung from
every glen and every mountain.

I dare not suffer myself to be withdrawn, even for a moment, to that
glorious struggle--one of the noblest that ever a nation carried on to
victory. My task is rather within that darkened room in the little hut,
where, with fast-ebbing life, Hans Joergle lay.

The wild cheers and echoing songs of the marching peasants awoke him
from his sleep, which, if troubled by pangs of pain, had still lasted
for some hours. He smiled, and made a gesture as if for silence, that
he might hear the glorious sounds more plainly, and then lay in a calm,
peaceful reverie, for a considerable time.

The Vorsteher had, with considerable difficulty, persuaded the poor
widow to leave the bedside for a moment, while he asked Hans a question.

The wretched mother was borne, almost fainting, away; and the old man
sat in her place, but, subdued by the anguish of the scene, unable to
speak. At last, while the tears ran down his aged cheeks, he kissed the
child's hand, and said,--

"Thou wilt leave us soon, Hans!"

Hans gave a smile of sad, but beautiful meaning, while his upturned eyes
seemed to intimate his hope and his faith.

"True, Hans--thy reward is ready for thee!"

He paused a second, and then went on:--

"But even here, my child, in our own poor village, let thy devotion be
a treasure, to be handed down in memory to our children, that they
may know how one like themselves--more helpless, too--could serve his
Vaterland. Say, Hans Joergle, will it make thy last moments happier to
think that our gratitude will raise a monument to thee in the Dorf, with
thy father's name, who fell at Elchingen, above thine own? The villagers
hav