The Sword Maker | Page 4

drank his health in the
wine his offer produced. "To get this money I must do something in
return. I have a plan in mind which it would be premature to disclose. If
it succeeds, none of us will ever need to bend back over a workman's
bench again, or hammer metal except for our own pleasure. But acting
alone I am powerless, so I must receive your promise that you will
stand by any pledge I make on your behalf, and follow me into
whatever danger I choose to lead you."
There was a great uproar at this, and a boisterous consent.
"This day week, then," said Roland, as he strapped sword to side, threw
cloak over shoulders, so that it completely concealed the forbidden
weapon, waved a hand to his cheering comrades, and went out into the
night.

Once ascended the cellar steps, the young man stood in the narrow
street as though hesitating what to do. Faintly there came to him the
sound of singing from the cellar he had quitted, and he smiled slightly
as he listened to the rousing chorus he knew so well. From the direction
of the Palace a more sinister echo floated on the night air; the
unmistakable howl of anger, pain, and terror; the noise that a pursued
and stricken mob makes when driven by soldiers. The populace had
evidently been engaged in its futile and dangerous task of
demonstrating, and proclaiming its hunger, and the authorities were
scattering it; keeping it ever on the move.
It was still early; not yet ten o'clock, and a full moon shone over the
city, unlighted otherwise. Drawing his cloak closer about him, Roland
walked rapidly in an opposite direction to that from which the tumult of
the rabble came, until he arrived at the wide Fahrgasse, a street running
north and south, its southern end terminating at the old bridge. Along
this thoroughfare lived the wealthiest merchants of Frankfort.
Roland turned, and proceeded slowly towards the river, critically
examining the tall, picturesque buildings on either hand, cogitating the
question which of them would best answer his purpose. They all
seemed uninviting enough, for their windows were dark, most of them
tightly shuttered; and, indeed, the thoroughfare looked like a street of
the dead, the deserted appearance enhanced, rather than relieved, by the
white moonlight lying on its cobble-stones.
Nearing the bridge, he discovered one stout door ajar, and behind it
shone the yellow glow of a lamp. He paused, and examined critically
the façade of the house, which, with its quiet, dignified architectural
beauty, seemed the abode of wealth. Although the shutters were closed,
his intent inspection showed him thin shafts of light from the chinks,
and he surmised that an assemblage of some sort was in progress,
probably a secret convention, the members of which entered
unannounced, and left the door ajar ready for the next comer.
For a moment he thought of venturing in, but remembering his mission
required the convincing of one man rather than the persuasion of a
group, he forbore, but noted in his mind the position and designation of

the house, resolving to select this building as the theater of his first
effort, and return to it next morning. It would serve his purpose as well
as another.
Roland's attention was then suddenly directed to his own position,
standing in the bright moonlight, for there swung round from the river
road, into the Fahrgasse, a small and silent company, who marched as
one man. The moon was shining almost directly up the street, but the
houses to the west stood in its radiance, while those in the east were
still in shadow. Roland pressed himself back against the darkened wall
to his left, near the partially opened door; between it and the river. The
silent procession advanced to the door ajar, and there paused, forming
their ranks into two lines, thus making a passage for a tall, fine-looking,
bearded man, who walked to the threshold, then turned and raised his
bonnet in salute.
"My friends," he said, "this is kind of you, and although I have been
silent, I ask you to believe that deeply I appreciate your welcome escort.
And now, enter with me, and we will drink a stoup of wine together, to
the somber toast, 'God save our stricken city!'"
"No, no, Herr Goebel. To-night is sacred. We have seen you safely to
your waiting family, and at that reunion there should be no intruders.
But to-morrow night, if you will have us, we will drink to the city, and
to your own good health, Herr Goebel."
This sentiment was applauded by all, and the merchant, seeing that they
would not accept his present invitation, bowed in acquiescence, and
bade them good-by. When the door closed