How dreary and desolate was the day which Count Adolphus now passed in the palace how the hours lengthened into days, and the minutes into hours! How glad were they when twilight at last drew near, what sighs of relief they breathed when night at last set in!

A dark, silent night. The sky was obscured by clouds, not a star was to be seen. A night well fitted for enveloping fugitives in her friendly mantle, and concealing them beneath her gloomy shades. Away now, away! Night is here! Freedom beckons! The spacious palace was to-day nothing but a close, oppressive prison. Nothing did Count Adolphus hear but the walking to and fro of the sentinels and the corporal’s call to relieve guard. Nothing did he see, when he went to the window, but soldiers slowly pacing their round before the park railing.

Away from this prison, whose splendor and luxury seemed like sheer mockery, away from this house teeming with bitter memories of past grandeur and glory!

Night was here, the night of deliverance. Away, away!

They wrapped their cloaks about them, drew their hats low over their foreheads, and entered the subterranean passage. Waldow lead the way, a burning taper in one hand, a pistol in the other. Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg followed him, a pistol in either hand, firmly determined to shoot down whoever might dare to oppose his progress.

The passage was traversed, and safely the two emerged into the open air in the park pavilion. Now forward quickly, down the dark alley to the lower garden gate. The key was in his pocket, there was nothing to obstruct their flight.

One moment they paused within the half-opened gateway and listened. Nothing moved in the street without. All life seemed already extinct, all the inhabitants of the wretched houses had retired to rest. Not a light glimmered through the windows. All was hushed and still. They pushed open the gate and stepped out upon the street. They looked up and down; nowhere did they see a sign of movement, nowhere a human form, nor anywhere hear a rustling sound. Forward now, forward up the street, around the corner of the park, across the cathedral square.

The night was quite dark, and the two fugitives looked ever ahead, not once behind them. They did not see that another shadow followed their black shadows, nor that a second shadow glided across the cathedral square to the Electoral castle.

To that castle, too, were Count Schwarzenberg’s eyes directed. There it loomed up, veiled in mystery and gloom, its dim outlines barely distinguishable from the mass of overhanging clouds in the background. In the lower story, where was situated the guardroom, burned a bright light, shining like a clear, yellow star, and irradiating the darkness of the night.

Count Adolphus saw it, and also saw the light suddenly eclipsed by a shadow; then flame forth again. He saw the shadow, but did not suspect that it bore any relationship to his person or movements. He only continued to look toward the castle, and to think of the past, taking farewell of his memories, farewell of the dreams of his youth! He thought of the insult put upon him that dreadful night when he had been mocked and deceived by her whom he loved, and he vowed vengeance for the tortures endured by him that night!

“Forward, Waldow, forward!” He took his friend’s arm, and they pressed on. The shadow behind them advanced when they advanced and stopped when they stood still. Through the pleasure garden the pair proceeded with hurried steps, through the gate at the castle moat they entered upon the Willow-bank suburb, then down the deserted little streets of wretched huts. They reached the great Willow-bank meadow without the walls, passing through a gate not far from the bridge over the Spree.

“Wallenrodt, are you here?” whispered Schwarzenberg.

“Yes, count, I am here.”

The tramp of horse’s hoofs, the voices of men speaking in whispers.

“Colonel von Rochow expects your grace. The whole fortress is at your service. He will defend you to the last man, and would rather blow the whole fortress into the air than surrender you to the enemy.”

“Yes, better be blown up by gunpowder, than fall into an enemy’s hands!” cries the count, vaulting with glad heart into the saddle.

“Are you ready, my friends?”

“Yes, we are ready.”

The count gave the word of command, “Forward!” and grasped tighter his horse’s reins.

“Halt! halt!” called a loud voice, and the shadow which had crept behind them now changed into the form of a tall and powerful man, who sprang through the gate and seized the count’s horse by the bridle.

“Back!” shouted Adolphus Schwarzenberg furiously.

“Halt! halt!” cried the other. “You shall not escape. In the name of Colonel von Burgsdorf I arrest you, Count John Adolphus von Schwarzenberg.”

“Who are you, poor man, who are you who dares to oppose me?”

“I am the police master Brandt. I arrest you in the name of the Stadtholder in the Mark!”

“Wretched traitor! You swore fidelity to my father, and have now become the tool of his enemies. Hands off! It will cost you your life! Back!”

“No, I will not leave you, I arrest you. You must stay here!”

“Let us make an end of this, count,” shouted von Waldow “The night is so pitch-dark that we can not distinguish friend from foe, else I would have shot him long ago.”

“For the last time, hands off my horse, or I shall shoot you.”

“For the last time. Yield peaceably, or I shall shoot you. Living or dead I must keep you, I have

A flash, the report of a pistol, a death groan interrupted the police master’s words. The three horsemen bounded forward into the night. Forward at breakneck speed, but for the sand, that dreadful sand. This is the Rehberg, they know it by the sand in which the horses sink, from which they extricate themselves only to sink again. Yet what matters it if they do make rather slow progress? They will surely reach Spandow before daybreak, and Colonel von Burgsdorf will be cheated out of his precious prisoners.

What is that? What strange sound does the night wind bear to the three riders? Simultaneously all three turn in their saddles and listen.

They hear it quite plainly. It is the noise made by trotting horses. It comes on it comes nearer.

“Wallenrodt, Waldow! We are pursued!”

“Yes, count, but we have the Rehberg almost behind us, and they must go through it. We have a good start. They will not overtake us.”

“Forward, my friends, forward!”

They put spurs to their horses, they press their knees into their flanks, and the animals struggle faster through the sand. In spite of every hindrance they have now reached firmer ground and bound bravely forward. But the noise behind them has not ceased, not even become more remote. They must have good steeds, those pursuers, for they seem to come nearer and nearer.

“Friends, better die than fall into the hands of the enemy!” shouts the count. “I tell you the very moment Burgsdorf touches me I shall shoot myself. Greet my friends for me. Bid them farewell forever!”

“You will not shoot yourself, count, for the enemy will not overtake us. Forward! Put spur to your horses. Heigh! Huzza! Forward!”

They rush through the darkness!

Clouds dark and threatening course swiftly through the sky, horsemen dark and threatening course swiftly over the earth.

“Waldow! they come nearer! But we have still the start of them!”

“Only see, count! That dark mass there against the sky. That is our goal. Just one quarter of an hour and we shall be safe in Spandow.”

“One quarter of an hour! An eternity! Heigh! Huzza! On! on!”

“Halt!” is heard behind them. “Halt! in the name of the Elector, in the name of the law! Halt! halt!”

“That is Burgsdorf’s voice!” cries Count Schwarzenberg, and spurs his horse with such violence that it rears and then shoots forward, swift as an arrow from a bow. But the pursuers, too, dash forward, as if borne upon the wings of the wind, and the distance between them constantly grows less. Already they hear the horses pant; ever clearer, ever more distinct become the passionate outcries of Colonel Burgsdorf.

He swears, he threatens, he rages! He orders the fugitives to halt, and swears to shoot them if they do not.

What care they for threats or orders? Forward! forward! Behind them sounds a shot a second, then a third! The balls whistle past their ears, and they laugh aloud, to prove to the enemy that they are still alive.

Before them flash lights, like golden stars, like bonfires of rejoicing.

“Count, those are the lights of Spandow! Just see those torches there! The commandant is waiting for you at the entrance to the fort with his torchbearers.”

“On! on!” shout the three, and they race onward at lightning speed. And at lightning speed the pursuers follow. Nearer they come, ever nearer.

“I have them! I have caught them!” exults Burgsdorf, springing forward and stretching out his hands toward the fugitives, for it seems to him as if he can indeed lay his hand upon them. “Halt! halt! in the name of the Elector!”

“Forward! forward! What care we for the Elector? What care we for Burgsdorf? Forward!”

The lights increase in size and brilliancy. Now they distinguish torches and the figures of men.

“Are you there, count?” calls down Colonel von Rochow from the wall.

“It is I, colonel!”

The gate is open, they gallop in!

Over the wooden bridge gallop the pursuers after them. Now they are at the gate. But the gate slams to with thundering sound. The pursuers are left without.

“Undo the bolts, Colonel von Rochow! I command you, undo the bolts!”

“Who is it that dares to command me?” calls down Colonel von Rochow from the fortification walls.

“I command you! I, the commandant in chief of all the fortresses in the Mark!”

“I know no commandant in chief, and trouble myself about no such person. I am commandant of Spandow, and have sworn to serve the Emperor, and him alone.”

“Colonel von Rochow, in the name of the Elector and in the name of the Stadtholder in the Mark, I command you for the last time to open the gate!”

“The Elector is not my master to command me, and as to the Stadtholder in the Mark, here he is at my side. Only Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg do I recognize as such, and he forbids my opening the gate. Go back quietly to Berlin, colonel, for the night is cold, and your ride will warm you.”

“And I must pocket this insult,” muttered old Burgsdorf, gnashing his teeth. “I can do nothing but turn around and go back with shame!” Almost tearfully he gave his men the order to face about and return to Berlin.

In the castle within, Count John Adolphus cordially offered his hand to Commandant von Rochow.

“Colonel, you have saved my life by furnishing me a refuge. I would have shot myself if Burgsdorf had overtaken me. I shall commend you to the Emperor’s Majesty for this friendly service.”