ed Valentine went too far, a sudden fit of rage
overpowered him and he felled him to the floor. The others now attacked
him and dragged him to their master's castle, where he lay imprisoned for
six months. At last he was brought before the count, who restored him to
liberty "for the sake of Florette's beautiful eyes."

Years had passed since then, during which Adam had lived a quiet,
industrious life in the Richtberg with his son. He associated with no
one, except Doctor Costa, in whom he found the first and only real friend
fate had ever bestowed upon him.

CHAPTER III.

Father Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return from
imprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery. As the monk in his
youth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite of his
ecclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy monastery, and
had formerly come to the smithy in the market-place with many a horse,
but since the monks had become involved in a quarrel with the city,
Benedict ordered the animals to be shod elsewhere.

A difficult case reminded him of the skilful, half-forgotten artisan; and
when the latter came out of the shed with a sack of coal, Benedict
greeted him with sincere warmth. Adam, too, showed that he was glad to
see the unexpected visitor, and placed his skill at the disposal of the
monastery.

"It has grown late, Adam," said the monk, loosening the belt he was
accustomed to wear when riding, which had become damp. "The storm
overtook us on the way. The rolling and flashing overhead made the sorrel
horse almost tear Gotz's hands off the wrists. Three steps sideways and
one forward--so it has grown late, and you can't shoe the rascal in the
dark."

"Do you mean the sorrel horse?" asked Adam, in a deep, musical voice,
thrusting a blazing pine torch into the iron ring on the forge.

"Yes, Master Adam. He won't bear shoeing, yet he's very valuable. We have
nothing to equal him. None of us can control him, but you formerly
zounds! . . . you haven't grown younger in the last few years either, Adam!
Put on your cap; you've lost your hair. Your forehead reaches down to
your neck, but your vigor has remained. Do you remember how you cleft the
anvil at Rodebach?"

"Let that pass," replied Adam--not angrily, but firmly. "I'll shoe the
horse early to-morrow; it's too late to-day."

"I thought so!" cried the other, clasping his hands excitedly. "You know
how we stand towards the c