'Why should I?' said the governor, with listless anger. 'Should I bring her back, I should be compelled to take the life of the villain, whose wife she already is in the sight of God, and she would have nothing left on earth. Let them go!' A deep and awful silence followed. The clattering steps of Arwed's horses, which Knut was leading out, awoke the uncle from his stupefaction. 'Your horses are ready,' said he, rising up. 'Go, and God be with you!' 'It is hard for me to leave you in this state of mind,' said Arwed. 'Your country calls you,' answered the governor, 'and I may venture to call myself a man. I have given proof of it. I have experienced the worst that can befall me, and sorrow has not killed me.' 'My noble, my unhappy uncle!' cried Arwed, sinking upon the old man's bosom. 'Fight bravely, Arwed,' said the uncle, 'but risk not your life with foolhardiness. You are my only heir. I know your disposition, that you disregard wealth, but the fact will serve to remind you that here lives an unhappy father of whom you are the last earthly prop.' 'God send you peace!' cried Arwed, overpowered by sorrow, and rushing forth, he soon, with his faithful servant, found himself upon the high road. CHAPTER XLI. Late in the autumn of the same year the governor was again sitting in the hall of his forefathers, whose statues remained, hung with mourning crape. Before him stood a chess board, and, having no companion, he was amusing himself by playing the games contained in a book which he held in his hand. The unhappy man had altered much. Each successive week had left the wrinkles of a year upon his face, and it was a sad sight to see how he exerted himself to dispel painful recollections by a forced attention to the intricate course of the game. At that moment the footsteps of horses were heard in the court, and before he could hasten to the window, Arwed entered the hall and rushed into his arms. 'Welcome, my son!' cried the uncle, perusing his features with intense interest; 'though I am sorry to see the expression of dark despondency which hangs upon your face. The warrior who has done his duty, must return home from the strife with joy.' 'That depends upon the nature and result of the strife, my good uncle. But my whole life has been nothing but a long chain of frustrated wishes and abortive plans. The myrtle-wreath was torn from my brow, the laurel withers even while I grasp it, and I have failed to obtain the cypress crown.' 'Is the war over?' asked the uncle. 'For the present, yes,' answered Arwed, 'until it may please our enemies to recommence it--for there is no talk of peace either with the Danes or Russians.' 'Not with the nearest and most powerful of our enemies?' indignantly cried the governor. 'Woman's rule is everywhere the same--too weak for resistance, too wilful for reconciliation. Poor Sweden!'