“Who are these coming along the valley, Hans?” asked the Vorsteher; “they seem like our own Jagers, as well as my eyes can make out.” “He is asleep!” whispered his mother, with a cautious gesture to enforce silence. It was true. Wearied, and faint, and dying, he had fallen into slumber. While poor Hans slept, the tidings of which he was the singular messenger had received certain confirmation. The village scouts had already exchanged shots with the Bavarian troops upon the mountains, and driven them back. The guard at the Pontlatzer Brücke was seen to withdraw up the valley towards Landeck, escorting three field-pieces which had only arrived the preceding day. Every moment accounts came of garrisons withdrawn from distant outpost stations, and troops falling back to concentrate in the open country. It was seen, from various circumstances, that a forward movement had been intended, and was only thwarted by the inexplicable intervention of Hans Jörgle. 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 So felt the leaders; and scarcely had the Bavarians withdrawn their advanced posts, than emissaries flew from village to village, with little scraps of paper, bearing the simple words, “_Es ist zeit!_--It is time!”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 I dare not suffer myself to be withdrawn, even for a moment, to that glorious struggle--one of the noblest that ever a nation carried on to victory.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 Jörgle 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:--