CHAPTER XIV.
_The Arrival in New York._--_Frank Bruner determines to leave the Service of his Master._--_The meeting of Frank Bruner and William Bucholz._ The vagaries of the human mind under all circumstances are frequently inscrutable, but under no other influence, perhaps, is the mind so susceptible of impressions of a governing character from unimportant causes as it is when controlled by the fear of personal safety.
It would readily be imagined that Henry Schulte, whose mind was filled with vague but distressing apprehensions for his life, could have found refuge, safe and unassailable, within the broad domain of his own native land, and that he might have considered himself free from impending danger if he could have placed even a short distance between himself and those whom he believed to be his mortal enemies.
This, however, he found it impossible to do and rest contented; so, resisting all the arguments that were urged by his faithful but overtaxed servant and companion, and believing that his only safety lay in his getting away from his native land, he persisted in coming to America, where he felt assured he would be free from persecution, and where, in the quiet and repose of rural retirement, his peace of mind would be undisturbed.
That these fears must have been deeply-grounded there can be no doubt, for this old man, in leaving the home of his childhood and the many scenes which were endeared to him by the close association of early friendship and experience, turned his back upon the spot where he had first seen the light of day, and where he had grown from youth to manhood.

Here, too, the joy and sorrow of his life had come to him, and in the little churchyard of the village, beneath the waving trees, reposed all that was mortal of the one great love of his life.
Stolid and seemingly indifferent, so far as outward evidence gave any demonstration, of the many tender associations surrounding him, he left his native village and set off upon the long journey that was to end in his death.

Speeding away from the imagined assassin, he journeyed directly to the presence and companionship of the man who was to slay him.
Taking passage upon a steamer bound for America, they were soon riding upon the broad bosom of the Atlantic, and after an uneventful voyage landed safely in New York.
Not one of the many passengers of the vessel, or among the crowd that stood upon the pier and watched their disembarking, would for a moment have supposed that this old man, whose face gave evidence of the years through which he had passed, whose clothing showed too plainly the marks of long and hard usage, and whose general appearance resembled that of a beggar, was the possessor of wealth enough to render any of them independent of the world.

Nor would they have thought that the worn and frequently-patched coat he wore concealed a sum of money equalling nearly a hundred thousand dollars.
Yet such was the fact; for upon his person he carried fully this amount of money, most of which was in German mark bills, easily convertible into American money; and which, should the fact become known, would have been sufficient to excite the cupidity of many of them, who would not hesitate to attempt the operation of relieving him of his hoarded wealth, and who might, perhaps, scarcely consider an old man's life of sufficient importance to successfully interfere with their possessing themselves of his money.
He had jealously guarded his secret and his treasure, and although his sleep was frequently disturbed by startling visions of robbery and murder, not one of the many who surrounded him suspected for an instant the wealth that he possessed.
To his servant he was generally reticent, but not so excessively secretive, for Frank Bruner was well-informed of the extent of his master's treasures, although he was not fully aware of the amount he had brought with him.
Poor Frank led a miserable existence on that passage to New York, and many times after he had settled himself in his berth for a comfortable night's sleep he would be rudely awakened by his nervous and suspicious master, who was continually imagining that somebody was forcing an entrance into his state-room.

He would start up with affright, and nothing would allay his fears but a rigid examination of the premises, which invariably resulted in finding nothing of a suspicious or fear-inspiring nature.
Many times, upon remonstrating with his master about the groundlessness of his fears, he would be made to feel the heaviness of his hand, and chastisements were the reward of his devotion so frequently that his usually submissive spirit began to rebel, and Frank resolved to leave the service of so peculiar and so thankless a master upon the first favorable opportunity that presented itself.
The journey, as we have said, was made in safety, and Henry Schulte, with his wealth intact, arrived in New York, and, seeking a quiet, comfortable hotel, he was directed to "THE CRESCENT," where he soon wended his way, and to which he directed his servant to have his trunks conveyed without delay.
The hotel which he had selected was a German boarding-house, of modest dimensions and of unpretentious appearance.