<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poem">
<p><i>Francisco.</i><span class="i2">Give you good-night.</span></p>
<p><i>Marcellus.</i> <span class="i2">O, farewell, honest soldier.</span></p>
<p class="i7">Who hath relieved you?</p>
<p><i>Francisco.</i> <span class="i2">Give you good-night; Bernardo hath my place.</span></p>
<p class="i16"><i>Hamlet.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The first occupation of our travellers was to find
the means of crossing the moat, and they were not
long of discovering the <i>tête de pont</i> on which the
drawbridge, when lowered, had formerly rested.
The bridge itself had been long decayed, but a
temporary passage of fir-trees and planks had been
constructed, apparently very lately, which admitted
them to the chief entrance of the castle.
On entering it, they found a wicket opening under
the archway, which, glimmering with light, served
to guide them to a hall prepared evidently for
their accommodation as well as circumstances had
admitted of.</p>
<p>A large fire of well-seasoned wood burned
blithely in the chimney, and had been maintained
so long there, that the air of the hall, notwithstanding
its great size and somewhat ruinous
aspect, felt mild and genial. There was also at
the end of the apartment a stack of wood, large
enough to maintain the fire had they been to remain
there a week. Two or three long tables in
the hall stood covered and ready for their reception;
and, on looking more closely, several large
hampers were found in a corner, containing cold
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</SPAN></span>
provisions of every kind, prepared with great care,
for their immediate use. The eyes of the good
Burgess of Soleure twinkled when he beheld the
young men in the act of transferring the supper
from the hampers and arranging it on the table.</p>
<p>"Well," said he, "these poor men of Bâle have
saved their character; since, if they have fallen
short in welcome, they have abounded in good
cheer."</p>
<p>"Ah, friend!" said Arnold Biederman, "the
absence of the landlord is a great deduction from
the entertainment. Better half an apple from the
hand of your host, than a bridal feast without his
company."</p>
<p>"We owe them the less for their banquet," said
the Banneret. "But, from the doubtful language
they held, I should judge it meet to keep a strong
guard to-night, and even that some of our young
men should, from time to time, patrol around the
old ruins. The place is strong and defensible, and
so far our thanks are due to those who have acted
as our quarter-masters. We will, however, with
your permission, my honoured brethren, examine
the house within, and then arrange regular guards
and patrols.—To your duty then, young men, and
search these ruins carefully,—they may perchance
contain more than ourselves; for we are now near
one who, like a pilfering fox, moves more willingly
by night than by day, and seeks his prey
amidst ruins and wildernesses rather than in the
open field."</p>
<p>All agreed to this proposal. The young men
took torches, of which a good provision had been
left for their use, and made a strict search through
the ruins.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The greater part of the castle was much more
wasted and ruinous than the portion which the
citizens of Bâle seemed to have destined for the
accommodation of the embassy. Some parts were
roofless, and the whole desolate. The glare of
light—the gleam of arms—the sound of the
human voice, and echoes of mortal tread, startled
from their dark recesses bats, owls, and other birds
of ill omen, the usual inhabitants of such time-worn
edifices, whose flight through the desolate
chambers repeatedly occasioned alarm amongst
those who heard the noise without seeing the
cause, and shouts of laughter when it became
known. They discovered that the deep moat surrounded
their place of retreat on all sides, and of
course that they were in safety against any attack
which could be made from without, except it was
attempted by the main entrance, which it was
easy to barricade, and guard with sentinels. They
also ascertained by strict search, that though it
was possible an individual might be concealed
amid such a waste of ruins, yet it was altogether
impossible that any number which might be formidable
to so large a party as their own could
have remained there without a certainty of discovery.
These particulars were reported to the Banneret,
who directed Donnerhugel to take charge of
a body of six of the young men, such as he should
himself choose, to patrol on the outside of the
building till the first cock-crowing, and at that
hour to return to the castle, when the same number
were to take the duty till morning dawned,
and then be relieved in their turn. Rudolph
declared his own intention to remain on guard the
whole night; and as he was equally remarkable
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</SPAN></span>
for vigilance as for strength and courage, the external
watch was considered as safely provided
for, it being settled that, in case of any sudden
reencounter, the deep and hoarse sound of the Swiss
bugle should be the signal for sending support to
the patrolling party.</p>
<p>Within side the castle the precautions were
taken with equal vigilance. A sentinel, to be
relieved every two hours, was appointed to take
post at the principal gate, and other two kept
watch on the other side of the castle, although the
moat appeared to insure safety in that quarter.</p>
<p>These precautions being taken, the remainder of
the party sat down to refresh themselves, the
deputies occupying the upper part of the hall,
while those of their escort modestly arranged
themselves in the lower end of the same large
apartment. Quantities of hay and straw, which
were left piled in the wide castle, were put to the
purpose for which undoubtedly they had been
destined by the citizens of Bâle, and, with the aid
of cloaks and mantles, were judged excellent good
bedding by a hardy race, who, in war or the chase,
were often well satisfied with a much worse
night's lair.</p>
<p>The attention of the Bâlese had even gone so
far as to provide for Anne of Geierstein separate
accommodation, more suitable to her use than that
assigned to the men of the party. An apartment,
which had probably been the buttery of the castle,
entered from the hall, and had also a doorway
leading out into a passage connected with the
ruins; but this last had hastily, yet carefully,
been built up with large hewn stones taken from
the ruins; without mortar, indeed, or any other
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</SPAN></span>
cement, but so well secured by their own weight,
that an attempt to displace them must have
alarmed not only any one who might be in the
apartment itself, but also those who were in the
hall adjacent, or indeed in any part of the castle.
In the small room thus carefully arranged and
secured there were two pallet-beds and a large fire,
which blazed on the hearth, and gave warmth and
comfort to the apartment. Even the means of
devotion were not forgotten, a small crucifix of
bronze being hung over a table, on which lay a
breviary.</p>
<p>Those who first discovered this little place of
retreat came back loud in praise of the delicacy of
the citizens of Bâle, who, while preparing for the
general accommodation of the strangers, had not
failed to provide separately and peculiarly for that
of their female companion.</p>
<p>Arnold Biederman felt the kindness of this conduct.
"We should pity our friends of Bâle, and
not nourish resentment against them," he said.
"They have stretched their kindness towards us
as far as their personal apprehensions permitted;
and that is saying no small matter for them, my
masters, for no passion is so unutterably selfish as
that of fear.—Anne, my love, thou art fatigued.
Go to the retreat provided for you, and Lizette
shall bring you from this abundant mass of provisions
what will be fittest for your evening meal."</p>
<p>So saying, he led his niece into the little bedroom,
and, looking round with an air of complacency,
wished her good repose; but there was
something on the maiden's brow which seemed to
augur that her uncle's wishes would not be fulfilled.
From the moment she had left Switzerland, her
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</SPAN></span>
looks had become clouded; her intercourse with
those who approached her had grown more brief
and rare; her whole appearance was marked with
secret anxiety or secret sorrow. This did not
escape her uncle, who naturally imputed it to the
pain of parting from him, which was probably
soon to take place, and to her regret at leaving the
tranquil spot in which so many years of her youth
had been spent.</p>
<p>But Anne of Geierstein had no sooner entered
the apartment than her whole frame trembled violently,
and the colour leaving her cheeks entirely,
she sank down on one of the pallets, where, resting
her elbows on her knees, and pressing her
hands on her forehead, she rather resembled a
person borne down by mental distress, or oppressed
by some severe illness, than one who, tired with a
journey, was in haste to betake herself to needful
rest. Arnold was not quicksighted as to the many
sources of female passion. He saw that his niece
suffered; but imputing it only to the causes already
mentioned, augmented by the hysterical effects
often produced by fatigue, he gently blamed her
for having departed from her character of a Swiss
maiden ere she was yet out of reach of a Swiss
breeze of wind.</p>
<p>"Thou must not let the dames of Germany or
Flanders think that our daughters have degenerated
from their mothers; else must we fight the
battles of Sempach and Laupen over again, to convince
the Emperor, and this haughty Duke of
Burgundy, that our men are of the same mettle
with their forefathers. And as for our parting,
I do not fear it. My brother is a Count of
the Empire, indeed, and therefore he must needs
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</SPAN></span>
satisfy himself that everything over which he possesses
any title shall be at his command, and sends
for thee to prove his right of doing so. But I
know him well: He will no sooner be satisfied
that he may command thy attendance at pleasure,
than he will concern himself about thee no more.
Thee? Alas! poor thing, in what couldst thou
aid his courtly intrigues and ambitious plans?
No, no—thou art not for the noble Count's purpose,
and must be content to trudge back to rule
the dairy at Geierstein, and be the darling of
thine old peasantlike uncle."</p>
<p>"Would to God we were there even now!" said
the maiden, in a tone of wretchedness which she
strove in vain to conceal or suppress.</p>
<p>"That may hardly be till we have executed the
purpose which brought us hither," said the literal
Landamman. "But lay thee on thy pallet, Anne—take
a morsel of food, and three drops of wine,
and thou wilt wake to-morrow as gay as on a Swiss
holiday, when the pipe sounds the réveille."</p>
<p>Anne was now able to plead a severe headache,
and declining all refreshment, which she declared
herself incapable of tasting, she bade her uncle
good-night. She then desired Lizette to get some
food for herself, cautioning her, as she returned,
to make as little noise as possible, and not to break
her repose if she should have the good fortune to
fall asleep. Arnold Biederman then kissed his
niece, and returned to the hall, where his colleagues
in office were impatient to commence an
attack on the provisions which were in readiness;
to which the escort of young men, diminished by
the patrols and sentinels, were no less disposed
than their seniors.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The signal of assault was given by the Deputy
from Schwitz, the eldest of the party, pronouncing
in patriarchal form a benediction over the meal.
The travellers then commenced their operations
with a vivacity which showed that the uncertainty
whether they should get any food, and the delays
which had occurred in arranging themselves in
their quarters, had infinitely increased their appetites.
Even the Landamman, whose moderation
sometimes approached to abstinence, seemed that
night in a more genial humour than ordinary.
His friend of Schwitz, after his example, ate,
drank, and spoke more than usual; while the rest
of the deputies pushed their meal to the verge of a
carousal. The elder Philipson marked the scene
with an attentive and anxious eye, confining his
applications to the wine-cup to such pledges as the
politeness of the times called upon him to reply
to. His son had left the hall just as the banquet
began, in the manner which we are now to relate.</p>
<p>Arthur had proposed to himself to join the
youths who were to perform the duty of sentinels
within, or patrols on the outside of their place of
repose, and had indeed made some arrangement for
that purpose with Sigismund, the third of the
Landamman's sons. But while about to steal a
parting glance at Anne of Geierstein, before offering
his service as he proposed, there appeared on
her brow such a deep and solemn expression, as
diverted his thoughts from every other subject,
excepting the anxious doubts as to what could
possibly have given rise to such a change. The
placid openness of brow; the eye which expressed
conscious and fearless innocence; the lips which,
seconded by a look as frank as her words, seemed
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</SPAN></span>
ever ready to speak, in kindness and in confidence,
that which the heart dictated, were for the moment
entirely changed in character and expression, and
in a degree and manner for which no ordinary
cause could satisfactorily account. Fatigue might
have banished the rose from the maiden's beautiful
complexion, and sickness or pain might have
dimmed her eye and clouded her brow. But the
look of deep dejection with which she fixed her
eyes at times on the ground, and the startled and
terrified glance which she cast around her at other
intervals, must have had their rise in some different
source. Neither could illness or weariness
explain the manner in which her lips were contracted
or compressed together, like one who
makes up her mind to act or behold something
that is fearful, or account for the tremor which
seemed at times to steal over her insensibly,
though by a strong effort she was able at intervals
to throw it off. For this change of expression
there must be in the heart some deeply melancholy
and afflicting cause. What could that cause be?</p>
<p>It is dangerous for youth to behold beauty in
the pomp of all her charms, with every look bent
upon conquest—more dangerous to see her in the
hour of unaffected and unapprehensive ease and
simplicity, yielding herself to the graceful whim
of the moment, and as willing to be pleased as
desirous of pleasing. There are minds which
may be still more affected by gazing on beauty in
sorrow, and feeling that pity, that desire of comforting
the lovely mourner, which the poet has
described as so nearly akin to love. But to a
spirit of that romantic and adventurous cast which
the Middle Ages frequently produced, the sight of
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</SPAN></span>
a young and amiable person evidently in a state of
terror and suffering, which had no visible cause,
was perhaps still more impressive than beauty, in
her pride, her tenderness, or her sorrow. Such
sentiments, it must be remembered, were not confined
to the highest ranks only, but might then be
found in all classes of society which were raised
above the mere peasant or artisan. Young Philipson
gazed on Anne of Geierstein with such intense
curiosity, mingled with pity and tenderness, that
the bustling scene around him seemed to vanish
from his eyes, and leave no one in the noisy hall
save himself and the object of his interest.</p>
<p>What could it be that so evidently oppressed
and almost quailed a spirit so well balanced, and
a courage so well tempered, when, being guarded
by the swords of the bravest men perhaps to be
found in Europe, and lodged in a place of strength,
even the most timid of her sex might have found
confidence? Surely if an attack were to be made
upon them, the clamour of a conflict in such circumstances
could scarce be more terrific than the
roar of those cataracts which he had seen her despise?
At least, he thought, she ought to be aware
that there is one, who is bound by friendship and
gratitude to fight to the death in her defence.
Would to Heaven, he continued in the same
reverie, it were possible to convey to her, without
sign or speech, the assurance of my unalterable
resolution to protect her in the worst of perils!—As
such thoughts streamed through his mind, Anne
raised her eyes in one of those fits of deep feeling
which seemed to overwhelm her; and, while she
cast them round the hall, with a look of apprehension,
as if she expected to see amid the well-known
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</SPAN></span>
companions of her journey some strange
and unwelcome apparition, they encountered the
fixed and anxious gaze of young Philipson. They
were instantly bent on the ground, while a deep
blush showed how much she was conscious of
having attracted his attention by her previous
deportment.</p>
<p>Arthur, on his part, with equal consciousness,
blushed as deeply as the maiden herself, and drew
himself back from her observation. But when
Anne rose up, and was escorted by her uncle to
her bedchamber, in the manner we have already
mentioned, it seemed to Philipson as if she had
carried with her from the apartment the lights
with which it was illuminated, and left it in the
twilight melancholy of some funeral hall. His
deep musings were pursuing the subject which
occupied them thus anxiously, when the manly
voice of Donnerhugel spoke close in his ear—</p>
<p>"What, comrade, has our journey to-day fatigued
you so much that you go to sleep upon your feet?"</p>
<p>"Now Heaven forbid, Hauptman," said the Englishman,
starting from his reverie, and addressing
Rudolph by this name (signifying Captain, or literally
Head-man), which the youth of the expedition
had by unanimous consent bestowed on him,—"Heaven
forbid I should sleep, if there be aught
like action in the wind."</p>
<p>"Where dost thou propose to be at cock-crow?"
said the Swiss.</p>
<p>"Where duty shall call me, or your experience,
noble Hauptman, shall appoint," replied Arthur.
"But, with your leave, I purposed to take Sigismund's
guard on the bridge till midnight or
morning dawn. He still feels the sprain which he
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</SPAN></span>
received in his spring after yonder chamois, and I
persuaded him to take some uninterrupted rest, as
the best mode of restoring his strength."</p>
<p>"He will do well to keep his counsel, then,"
again whispered Donnerhugel; "the old Landamman
is not a man to make allowances for mishaps,
when they interfere with duty. Those who are
under his orders should have as few brains as a
bull, as strong limbs as a bear, and be as impassible
as lead or iron to all the casualties of life,
and all the weaknesses of humanity."</p>
<p>Arthur replied in the same tone: "I have been
the Landamman's guest for some time, and have
seen no specimens of any such rigid discipline."</p>
<p>"You are a stranger," said the Swiss, "and the
old man has too much hospitality to lay you under
the least restraint. You are a volunteer, too, in
whatever share you choose to take in our sports or
our military duty; and therefore, when I ask you
to walk abroad with me at the first cock-crowing,
it is only in the event that such exercise shall
entirely consist with your own pleasure."</p>
<p>"I consider myself as under your command for
the time," said Philipson; "but, not to bandy
courtesy, at cock-crow I shall be relieved from my
watch on the drawbridge, and will be by that time
glad to exchange the post for a more extended
walk."</p>
<p>"Do you not choose more of this fatiguing, and
probably unnecessary duty, than may befit your
strength?" said Rudolph.</p>
<p>"I take no more than you do," said Arthur,
"as you propose not to take rest till morning."</p>
<p>"True," answered Donnerhugel, "but I am a
Swiss."
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"And I," answered Philipson quickly, "am an
Englishman."</p>
<p>"I did not mean what I said in the sense you
take it," said Rudolph, laughing; "I only meant,
that I am more interested in this matter than you
can be, who are a stranger to the cause in which
we are personally engaged."</p>
<p>"I am a stranger, no doubt," replied Arthur;
"but a stranger who has enjoyed your hospitality,
and who, therefore, claims a right, while with
you, to a share in your labours and dangers."</p>
<p>"Be it so," said Rudolph Donnerhugel. "I
shall have finished my first rounds at the hour
when the sentinels at the castle are relieved, and
shall be ready to recommence them in your good
company."</p>
<p>"Content," said the Englishman. "And now I
will to my post, for I suspect Sigismund is blaming
me already, as oblivious of my promise."</p>
<p>They hastened together to the gate, where Sigismund
willingly yielded up his weapon and his
guard to young Philipson, confirming the idea
sometimes entertained of him, that he was the
most indolent and least spirited of the family of
Geierstein. Rudolph could not suppress his displeasure.</p>
<p>"What would the Landamman say," he demanded,
"if he saw thee thus quietly yield up
post and partisan to a stranger?"</p>
<p>"He would say I did well," answered the young
man, nothing daunted; "for he is for ever reminding
us to let the stranger have his own way in
everything; and English Arthur stands on this
bridge by his own wish, and no asking of mine.—Therefore,
kind Arthur, since thou wilt barter
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</SPAN></span>
warm straw and a sound sleep for frosty air and a
clear moonlight, I make thee welcome with all my
heart. Hear your duty. You are to stop all who
enter, or attempt to enter, or till they give the
password. If they are strangers, you must give
alarm. But you will suffer such of our friends as
are known to you to pass outwards, without challenge
or alarm, because the deputation may find
occasion to send messengers abroad."</p>
<p>"A murrain on thee, thou lazy losel!" said
Rudolph—"Thou art the only sluggard of thy
kin."</p>
<p>"Then am I the only wise man of them all,"
said the youth.—"Hark ye, brave Hauptman, ye
have supped this evening,—have ye not?"</p>
<p>"It is a point of wisdom, ye owl," answered
the Bernese, "not to go into the forest fasting."</p>
<p>"If it is wisdom to eat when we are hungry,"
answered Sigismund, "there can be no folly in
sleeping when we are weary." So saying, and
after a desperate yawn or two, the relieved sentinel
halted off, giving full effect to the sprain of
which he complained.</p>
<p>"Yet there is strength in those loitering limbs,
and valour in that indolent and sluggish spirit,"
said Rudolph to the Englishman. "But it is time
that I, who censure others, should betake me to
my own task.—Hither, comrades of the watch,
hither."</p>
<p>The Bernese accompanied these words with a
whistle, which brought from within six young
men, whom he had previously chosen for the
duty, and who, after a hurried supper, now waited
his summons. One or two of them had large
bloodhounds or lyme-dogs, which, though usually
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</SPAN></span>
employed in the pursuit of animals of chase, were
also excellent for discovering ambuscades, in which
duty their services were now to be employed. One
of these animals was held in a leash, by the person
who, forming the advance of the party, went
about twenty yards in front of them; a second was
the property of Donnerhugel himself, who had the
creature singularly under command. Three of his
companions attended him closely, and the two
others followed, one of whom bore a horn of the
Bernese wild bull, by way of bugle. This little
party crossed the moat by the temporary bridge,
and moved on to the verge of the forest, which lay
adjacent to the castle, and the skirts of which
were most likely to conceal any ambuscade that
could be apprehended. The moon was now up, and
near the full, so that Arthur, from the elevation
on which the castle stood, could trace their slow,
cautious march, amid the broad silver light, until
they were lost in the depths of the forest.</p>
<p>When this object had ceased to occupy his eyes,
the thoughts of his lonely watch again returned
to Anne of Geierstein, and to the singular expression
of distress and apprehension which had that
evening clouded her beautiful features. Then the
blush which had chased, for the moment, paleness
and terror from her countenance, at the instant
his eyes encountered hers—was it anger—was it
modesty—was it some softer feeling, more gentle
than the one, more tender than the other? Young
Philipson, who, like Chaucer's Squire, was "as
modest as a maid," almost trembled to give to
that look the favourable interpretation which a
more self-satisfied gallant would have applied to it
without scruple. No hue of rising or setting day
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</SPAN></span>
was ever so lovely in the eyes of the young man as
that blush was in his recollection; nor did ever
enthusiastic visionary or poetical dreamer find out
so many fanciful forms in the clouds, as Arthur
divined various interpretations from the indications
of interest which had passed over the beautiful
countenance of the Swiss maiden.</p>
<p>In the meantime, the thought suddenly burst on
his reverie, that it could little concern him what
was the cause of the perturbation she had exhibited.
They had met at no distant period for
the first time—they must soon part for ever. She
could be nothing more to him than the remembrance
of a beautiful vision, and he could have no
other part in her memory save as a stranger from a
foreign land, who had been a sojourner for a season
in her uncle's house, but whom she could never
expect to see again. When this idea intruded on
the train of romantic visions which agitated him,
it was like the sharp stroke of the harpoon, which
awakens the whale from slumbering torpidity into
violent action. The gateway in which the young
soldier kept his watch seemed suddenly too narrow
for him. He rushed across the temporary bridge,
and hastily traversed a short space of ground in
front of the <i>tête de pont</i>, or defensive work, on
which its outer extremity rested.</p>
<p>Here for a time he paced the narrow extent to
which he was confined by his duty as a sentinel,
with long and rapid strides, as if he had been
engaged by vow to take the greatest possible quantity
of exercise upon that limited space of ground.
His exertion, however, produced the effect of in
some degree composing his mind, recalling him
to himself, and reminding him of the numerous
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</SPAN></span>
reasons which prohibited his fixing his attention,
much more his affections, upon this young person,
however fascinating she was.</p>
<p>I have surely, he thought, as he slackened his
pace, and shouldered his heavy partisan, sense
enough left to recollect my condition and my
duties—to think of my father, to whom I am all
in all—and to think also on the dishonour which
must accrue to me, were I capable of winning the
affections of a frank-hearted and confiding girl, to
whom I could never do justice by dedicating my
life to return them. "No," he said to himself,
"she will soon forget me, and I will study to remember
her no otherwise than I would a pleasing
dream, which hath for a moment crossed a night
of perils and dangers, such as my life seems doomed
to be."</p>
<p>As he spoke, he stopped short in his walk, and
as he rested on his weapon a tear rose unbidden to
his eye, and stole down his cheek without being
wiped away. But he combated this gentler mood
of passion as he had formerly battled with that
which was of a wilder and more desperate character.
Shaking off the dejection and sinking
of spirit which he felt creeping upon him, he
resumed, at the same time, the air and attitude of
an attentive sentinel, and recalled his mind to the
duties of his watch, which, in the tumult of his
feelings, he had almost forgotten. But what was
his astonishment, when, as he looked out on the
clear landscape, there passed from the bridge
towards the forest, crossing him in the broad
moonlight, the living and moving likeness of
Anne of Geierstein!
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