Part 46 (2/2)
”I do, reverend sir. The Sandwirth sends me to you, and as I did not meet you at your convent of Seeben near Klausen, I followed you to Brixen; for my master instructed me to deliver my message as quickly as possible into your hands and return with your answer.”
”What message do you bring me, Tony?”
”This letter, reverend sir.”
The friar took it and put it quickly into his belt. ”Where is brother Andreas?” he asked.
”In the cave which is known only to him, to you, and to myself,”
whispered Anthony Wild, into the friar's ear. ”He awaits your reply there, reverend sir.”
”And you shall have it this very day, Tony. Now, however, we will not forget our divine service, but wors.h.i.+p G.o.d with sincere piety.
Take the place behind me in the procession; and when we return to the cathedral, follow me where-ever I may go.”
And the friar commenced singing again; his hand, however, no longer held the rosary, but he put it firmly on the letter which was concealed in his belt, and whose contents engrossed his thoughts:
At length the procession had returned to the portals of the cathedral. Father Haspinger signed to the Sandwirth's servant, who was walking behind him, and instead of accompanying the other wors.h.i.+ppers into the church, he walked along the procession until he reached a tall, slender young man, with whom he had already exchanged many a glance. ”Martin Schenk,” said the friar to him, ”will you go home now?”
”I will, and I request you, reverend sir, to accompany me,” said the young man, hastily. ”I believe you will find a number of friends at my house. Peter Kemnater, the innkeeper of Schabs, and Peter Mayer, the innkeeper of Mahr, will be there. I invited them, and had I known that you would be here, I should have invited you too.”
”You see that I come without being invited, for I think the fatherland has invited us all; and I believe we will not partake of an epicurean breakfast at your tavern to-day, but confer as to the terrible calamities of our country. We are the cooks that will prepare a very spicy and unhealthy breakfast for the French and Bavarians, and I believe I am the bearer of some salt and pepper from Andreas Hofer for this purpose. See, Martin Schenck, in my belt here, by the side of the rosary, is a letter from our dear brother Andreas Hofer.”
”And what does he write to you? I hope he does not want us to keep quiet and permit the enemy to re-enter the country, as all prudent and cautious people advise us to do?”
”Hush, hush, Martin! do not insult our commander-in-chief by such a supposition. I have not read the letter yet, but I believe I know its contents, and could tell you beforehand every word that the good and faithful Andreas has written to us. Ah, here is your tavern, and let me ask a favor of you now. The lad who is following us is Andreas Hofer's faithful servant, Anthony Wild, who brought me the letter from his master, and who must wait for my answer. Give him a place where he may rest, and a good breakfast, for he must set out for home this very day.”
”Come in, Anthony Wild; you are welcome,” said the young innkeeper, shaking hands with Hofer's servant.
”Thank you, but I must first fetch my horse which I tied to a pole somewhere down the street. I rode very fast, and must first attend to the Horse, afterward I will request you to let me have some breakfast.”
And Hofer's servant hastened down the street. The innkeeper and the friar entered the house and stepped into the large bar-room. Two men came to meet them there.
One of them, a man about forty-five years old, dressed in the simple costume of the Tyrolese, and of a tall, powerful form, was Peter Mayer, known throughout the Tyrol as one of the most ardent and faithful patriots, and a man of extraordinary intrepidity, firmness, and energy.
The other, a young man of scarcely twenty-two, slender yet well built, and far-famed for his fine appearance, boldness, and wealth, was Peter Kemnater, the most faithful and devoted friend of the fine-looking and patriotic young innkeeper, Martin Schenk.
The two men shook hands with the new-comers and bowed to them, but their faces were gloomy, and not the faintest gleam of a smile illuminated them.
”Have you come hither, Father Joachim Haspinger, only to join in the peace-prayers?” asked Peter Mayer in his laconic style, fixing his dark, piercing eyes on the friar's face.
”No, Peter Mayer,” said the Capuchin, gravely; ”I have come hither because I wanted to see you three, and because I have to say many things to you. But previously let me read what our pious and patriotic brother Andreas Hofer has written to me.”
”You have a letter from Andreas Hofer!” exclaimed Mayer and Kemnater, joyfully.
”Here it is,” said the friar, drawing it from his belt. ”Now give me a moment's time to read the letter, and then we will confer upon the matter that brought us here.”
He stepped to the window and unfolded the letter. While he was reading it, the three men looked at him with rapt suspense, seeking to read in his features the impression produced by Andreas Hofer's words on the heart of the brave Capuchin. Indeed, the friar's features brightened more and more, his forehead and face colored, and a smile illuminated his hard features.
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