. . I would never fire a shot on your land, save
when you invited me as a guest; and you should come and shoot with me
down in the marshes where the wildfowl are. In all the countryside there
are none that could hinder if we willed to make peace. I never thought
to have wanted to do other than hate you all my life, but I think I have
changed my mind about things too, this last half-hour. And you offered
me your wine-flask . . . Ulrich von Gradwitz, I will be your friend."
For a space both men were silent, turning over in their minds the
wonderful changes that this dramatic reconciliation would bring about. In
the cold, gloomy forest, with the wind tearing in fitful gusts through
the naked branches and whistling round the tree-trunks, they lay and
waited for the help that would now bring release and succour to both
parties. And each prayed a private prayer that his men might be the
first to arrive, so that he might be the first to show honourable
attention to the enemy that had become a friend.
Presently, as the wind dropped for a moment, Ulrich broke silence.
"Let's shout for help," he said; he said; "in this lull our voices may
carry a little way.
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