She had entered the coach. The cavalrymen were perched upon the box. There was a crack of the lash, and the coach rolled away. I watched it, standing in the road. A cloud of yellow dust partially obscured it from view. Half a mile beyond rose a small hill. This the coach mounted, and the red gold of the smoldering sun engulfed it. Was it a face I saw at the window? Perhaps. Then over the hill all disappeared, and with it the whole world, and I stood in emptiness, alone. Gretchen had gone. CHAPTER XV I was wandering aimlessly through the rose gardens, when the far-off sound of galloping hoofs came on the breeze. Nearer and nearer it drew. I ran out into the highway. I saw a horse come wildly dashing along. It was riderless, and as it came closer I saw the foam of sweat dripping from its flanks and shoulders. As the animal plunged toward me, I made a spring and caught the bridle, hanging on till the brute came to a standstill. It was quivering from fright. There was a gash on its neck, and it was bleeding and turning the white flakes of sweat into a murky crimson. "Good Lord!" I ejaculated. "It's one of the cavalry horses. Hillars or the innkeeper has been hurt." I was of the mind to mount the animal and go in search of them, when Stahlberg, who had come to my assistance, said that I had best wait. A quarter of an hour passed. Then we could see another horse, perhaps half a mile away, coming toward the inn at a canter. From what I could see in the pale light, the horse carried a double burden. A sheet of ice seemed to fall on my heart. What had happened? Had Dan and the Prince come to blows? Alas, I could have cried out in anguish at the sight which finally met my gaze. The innkeeper held the reins, and, propped up in front of him, was Hillars, to all appearances dead. "Gott!" cried the innkeeper, discovering me, "but I am glad to see you, Herr. Your friend has been hurt, badly, badly." "My God!" I cried. The hand and wrist of the innkeeper which encircled Hillars were drenched in blood. "Yes. A bullet somewhere in his chest. Help me down with him. He is not dead yet. I'll tell you the story when we have made it comfortable for him." Tenderly we carried the inanimate form of poor Hillars into the inn and laid it on the sofa. I tore back his blood-wet shirt. The wound was slightly below the right lung. The bullet had severed an artery, for I could see that the blood gushed. We worked over him for a few moments, and then he opened his eyes. He saw me and smiled. "There wasn't any regiment, old man, but this will suffice. My hand trembled. But he'll never use his right arm again, curse him!" "Dan, Dan!" I cried, "what made you do it?"