“Gott!” cried the innkeeper, discovering me, “but I am glad to see you, Herr.  Your friend has been hurt, badly, badly.”

“My God!” I cried.  The hand and wrist of the innkeeper which encircled Hillars were drenched in blood.

“Yes.  A bullet somewhere in his chest.  Help me down with him.  He is not dead yet.  I’ll tell you the story when we have made it comfortable for him.”

Tenderly we carried the inanimate form of poor Hillars into the inn and laid it on the sofa.  I tore back his blood-wet shirt.  The wound was slightly below the right lung.  The bullet had severed an artery, for I could see that the blood gushed.  We worked over him for a few moments, and then he opened his eyes.  He saw me and smiled.

“There wasn’t any regiment, old man, but this will suffice.  My hand trembled.  But he’ll never use his right arm again, curse him!”

“Dan, Dan!” I cried, “what made you do it?”

“When I am a man’s friend, it is in life and death.  He was in the way.  He may thank liquor that he lives.”  The lids of his eyes contracted.  “Hurts a little, but it will not be for long, my son.  I am bleeding to death inside.  Jack, the woman loves you, and in God’s eyes, Princess or not, she belongs to you.  You and I cannot understand these things which make it impossible for a man and a woman who love each other to wed.  Let me hold your hand.  I feel like an old woman.  Give me a mouthful of brandy.  Ah, that’s better!  Innkeeper, your courage is not to be doubted, but your judgment of liquor is.  Any way, Jack, I suppose you will not forget me in a week or so, eh?”

“Dan!” was all I could say, bending over his hand to hide my tears.

“Jack, you are not sorry?”

“Dan, you are more to me than any woman in the world.”

“Oh, say!  You wouldn’t—­hold me up a bit higher; that’s it—­you wouldn’t have me hang on now, would you?  I haven’t anything to live for, no matter how you put it.  Home?  I never had one.  The only regret I have in leaving is that the Prince will not keep me company.  Put an obol in my hand, and Charon will see me over the Styx.

  “And when, like her, O Saki, you shall pass
  Among the guests star-scattered on the grass,
  And in your joyous errand, reach the spot
  Where I made one—­turn down an empty glass!

“Well, hang me, Jack, if you aren’t crying!  Then you thought more of me than I believed; a man’s tears mean more than a woman’s. . . .  A man must die, and what is a year or two?  How much better to fold the tent when living becomes tasteless and the cup is full of lees! . . .  The Prince was a trifle cruel; but perhaps his hand trembled, too.  Innkeeper, you’re a good fellow.”

“Herr is a man of heart,” said the grizzled veteran, sadly.

“Tell Jack how it happened,” said Dan; “it hurts me.”