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"Well! time you said it old fellow," shouted Hirzel, "I have knocked about all the stones in the neighbourhood with my stick, so was beginning to be at a loss for employment. Come quickly. Marguerite."
On the way home Marguerite told her brother how Charlie was to come and see her on Wednesday, and they arranged that Hirzel should stop about the house so fearful of some violence occurring was Marguerite.
Once on the brickwork he jumped down into the garden, and went out into the lane, where he met Hirzel.
He was also seriously alarmed when his gaze rested on his child lying like one dead on the floor. Between them they carried her downstairs and laid her on her bed. They applied such restoratives as suggested themselves, but as everything was for sometime quite unavailing, a more miserable pair it would have been difficult to discover. Hirzel now came in.
With an expression of deep thankfulness, Marguerite's first words were to send that murderer, Jacques Gaultier, away out of her sight. Hirzel ordered him to leave the room, with more fierceness in his tone than anyone had heard there before. "Oh! Hirzel, what shall I do without Charlie? Stay with me, only you, and I will tell you all."
Hearing this her Father left the room, and Hirzel bent down and whispered to her "Charlie is alive and well. He told me to tell you this himself." "Oh! Hirzel, you are deceiving me. How could he be alive after such a dreadful fall? It was terrible."
When Hirzel and his sister were out of sight, Jacques got down from his hiding place and walked after them with the intention of telling old Pierre what he had heard, and also to reveal to him a plan which had suggested itself to his evil mind for destroying the young soldier when he came to visit Marguerite on the following Wednesday evening.
I hope nothing will happen to you." "Don't be foolish, Marguerite, but run away after your brother; he is looking impatient, and you know this is nicer for me than for him! He is a brave good lad, worthy of having such a sister as he has. Good bye till Wednesday. Mind, don't forget the signal. Good night, Hirzel."
"I made these sore against my will, for I would rather see thy sister reading some edifying book than passing her time on such vanities as these are used for, they are bobbins, lad." "Ha, Ha," laughed Hirzel, "were I to go into the market to-morrow and say that stern Jacques Gaultier spent his hours carving out lace bobbins, who would believe me?"
We have to congratulate the publishers that they have so successfully fulfilled the promises of their prospectus, and the public that an edition at once elegant and inexpensive is now provided. Die Schweizerische Literatur des achzehnten Jahrhunderts. Von T.C. MÖRIKOFER. Leipzig: Verlag von S. Hirzel. 8vo. pp. 536.
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