The wooing had begun in a scientific manner, but it had been brought to a conclusion with little wisdom and without any regard for formality. _CHAPTER XI_. SPITEHAHN. Raven-black night brooded over the hostile houses. The world looked like a great coal-pit in which the lights had been extinguished. The wind howled through the trees of the park. A rustling of leaves and crackling of branches was heard. Nothing was to be seen but a monstrous black curtain that concealed the neighboring woods and a black-tented roof which was spread over the houses. The streets of the city were empty. All who loved their beds had long been lying therein, and whoever possessed a nightcap had now pulled it over his ears. Every human sound was silenced; the striking of the tower-clock was interrupted by the stormy winds, and each tone was driven hither and thither, that no one could count the midnight hour. But around the house of Mr. Hummel the yelping dogs pursued their wild career in the courtyard, undaunted by storm or darkness; and when the wind blew like a bugle-horn between the houses, the pack dispelled sleep from men by their clamor and din. "This night suits them well," thought Gabriel, in his room. "This is just the weather for them." At last he slept, and dreamt that the two dogs opened the door of his room, placed themselves on two chairs before his bed and alternately snapped their pocket pistols at him. As he was lying in this unquiet sleep, there was a knock at his door. "Get up, Gabriel!" called out the old porter from the factory; "an accident has happened." "Through the dogs," exclaimed Gabriel, springing out of bed. "Some one must have broken in," cried the man again, through the door, "the dogs are lying on the ground." Gabriel, alarmed, put on his boots and hastened into the yard, which was dimly lighted by the dawn. There lay the two poor watch-dogs on the ground, with no other sign of life than helpless writhing. Gabriel ran to the warehouse, examined the door and windows, and then the house; every shutter was closed, and no sign of disturbance could be discovered. When he returned, Mr. Hummel was standing before the prostrate dogs. "Gabriel, a dastardly deed has been perpetrated here. Something has been done to the dogs. Let them both lie there; an investigation must be made. I will send for the police." "Indeed?" answered Gabriel; "compassion should come first, then the police. Perhaps something may yet be done for the poor brutes." He took the two animals, carried them to the light, and examined their condition. "The black one is done for," he said, compassionately. "The red one has still some life in him."