"Go back to him who sent you and tell him from me that his money may perish with him," she cried. "Shall I take the price of my husband's blood from my husband's murderer?" She seemed about to say more, but checked herself, and turning away busied herself once more in her household work. The priest remained standing a moment, as if uncertain what to do, when Gertrude again turned toward him with a somewhat softened expression. "I am wrong, reverend sir," said she. "Doubtless you mean kindly, and I thank you, but I can take no gold from the prince—not if I and mine were starving. I cannot take it from one who sent my husband and the father of my children to perish in the forests or murdered in cold blood by the cruel, bloodthirsty Americans." "Nay, there you are wrong, my poor soul!" said Count Maurice, who had caught Gertrude's words. "Let me comfort you, then. The Americans are not cruel to their prisoners, but treat them with great kindness and humanity. I was myself in America for a year at the beginning of the war, and know what I say to be true." "In America did you say, sir?" exclaimed the little seven-year-old Gustaf Reinhart, pulling away his hand from his sister's and springing forward. "Oh, did Your Highness know my father? He has gone to America, and we have never heard from him since. Did you know my dear father? Oh, say that he is alive, and I will show you where to find the prettiest crystals in all the Thuringerwald and will give you my tame sparrow-hawk." The young soldier's proud moustache quivered a little, and he seemed to have some trouble in finding his voice to answer, as he stroked the little fair head of the child who was looking so anxiously up into his face. "My dear little boy, I did not know your father from a thousand others," said he, kindly. "I was only a short time in the army before I was called home, but this much I can tell you: The Americans are white people and Christians like ourselves, and, as I said, treat their prisoners with kindness. The stories which were told of their putting all the Hessians to death were groundless fabrications." "I thought they were all wild savages," said Gustaf. "There are plenty of savages, and wild enough," answered Count Maurice. "They are, indeed, more cruel and bloodthirsty than so many wolves; but they are not fighting against the British, but for them, more is the shame for those who let them loose on the helpless women and children.—But I pray you take comfort, dame," he added, turning once more to Gertrude. "Your husband may be killed like another, but, again, he may escape as well as another; and as I said, if he falls into the hands of the Americans, he will be well treated. Nay, he may perhaps return before long, since I have heard that the war is likely soon to come to an end. There, now! I have made you cry, when I meant to comfort you," said the count, with a young man's natural dismay, as Gertrude burst into a passion of tears. "Oh how sorry I am!"