It was a cut in the upper arm; not a deep one, indeed, but the arm was stiff, and Mr.Schroeter suffered severely.

The barber attempted to bandage it, and went off, promising to return on the morrow.

The merchant fell back, exhausted with the pain of the bandaging, and Anton sat by him the remainder of the day, laying wet cloths around the arm, and watching the feverish slumber of the patient.
Soon he sank himself into a sort of half sleep, a dull apathy, which made him indifferent to all that was going on without.

Thus evening wore away, and night came on.

Anton occasionally dipped his fingers in cold water, and crept from the bed to the window to watch the wagons, or to the door to exchange a whisper with the guard, who showed a friendly interest in the case.
Meanwhile the fire continued its ravages, and the sound of musketry thundered at the gates.