In a sad procession they bore him home to his mother’s cottage, the Vorsteher walking at his side; while Hans, with rapid utterance, detailed the events which have been told. Broken and unconnected as parts of his recital were--incomprehensible as the whole history of the lame soldier appeared--the wounded figure--the blazing fires that already twinkled on every peak,--were facts too palpable for denial; and the hearers stared at each other in amazement, not knowing how to interpret the strange story. The agonising grief of the bereaved mother, as she beheld the shattered and bleeding form of her child, broke in upon these doubtings; and while they endeavoured to offer her their consolation, none thought of the impending danger. For a while after he was laid in bed, Hans seemed sunk in a swoon; but, suddenly awakening, he made an effort to rise. Too weak for this, he called the chief people of the village around, and said, “They are coming from the Kaiser-fells; they will be down soon, and burn the village, if you do not cut away the bridges over the Kletscher, and close the pass on the Weissen Spitze. Throw out skirmishers along the mountain side, and guard the footpath from the Pontlatzer Brücke.” Had the words been the dying orders of a general commanding an army, they could not have been heard with more implicit reverence, nor more strictly obeyed. From the spot the Vorsteher issued commands for these instructions to be followed. Hans’ revelations were, to the superstitious imaginations of the peasants, of divine inspiration: and many already stoutly affirmed that the lame soldier was St. Martin himself, their patron saint, at whose shrine a crowd of devout worshippers were soon after seen kneeling. The village doctor soon pronounced the case above his skill, but did not abandon hope. Hans only smiled faintly, and whispered,-- “Be it so! The proverb is always right,-- ‘Gott hat sein plan Für Jedenmann.’ “What do you see there, Herr Vorsteher?” cried he, as the old man stared with astonished eyes from the little window that commanded the valley. “What is it you see?” “The Dorf in the Kaunser-Thal seems all in commotion,” answered the Vorsteher. “The people are packing every thing in their waggons, and preparing to fly.” “I know that,” said Hans, quietly; “I saw it already.” “Thou hast seen it already?” muttered the old man, in trembling awe. “Yes, I saw it all. Look sharply along the river side, and tell me if a child is not holding two mules, who are striving to get down into the stream to drink.” “God be around and about us!” murmured the Vorsteher; “his power is great!” He crossed himself three times, and the whole company followed the pious motion; and a low, murmuring prayer, was heard to fill the chamber. “There is a waggon with eight bullocks, too, but they cannot stir the load,” continued Hans, as, with closed eyes, he spoke with the faint accents of one half-sleeping.