"Bertha!" I cried tremulously. "Bertha!"
Now Bertha was my Rhenish hand-maiden, and she slept in a closet opening
off my room; but Bertha was as deaf to my voice as one of the Seven
Sleepers.
Suddenly a shrill trumpet-call rang out in the courtyard.
I sprang out of bed, flew to Bertha, and shook her with all my strength
till she woke.
"Bertha! Bertha!" I cried. "Wake up--strike a light--dress me quickly! I
must know what is the matter!"
In vain Bertha yawns, rubs her eyes, protests that I have had a bad dream,
and that nothing is the matter. Get up she must; dress herself and me in
the twinkling of an eye; and go upon whatsoever dance I choose to lead her.
My father is gone, and his door stands wide open. We turn to the stairs,
and a cold wind rushes up in our faces. We go down, and find the side-door
that leads to the courtyard unfastened and ajar. There is not a soul in
the courtyard. There is not the faintest glimmer of light from the
guard-house windows. The sentry who walks perpetually to and fro in front
of the gate is not at his post; and the gate is wide open!
Even Bertha sees by this time that something strange is afoot, and stares
at me with a face of foolish wonder.
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