which his friend had died, he prayed long and
earnestly, vowing to his dead preserver to live henceforth solely for
his family. Unbroken stillness surrounded him, it seemed as if he were
in church, and every tree in the forest was a witness of the oath he
swore.

The next morning the smith again sought the charcoal-burner, and this
time found him. Jorg laid the blame to Ulrich's impatience, but promised
to go to Marx in search of him and bring him to the smith. The men
composing the escort urged haste, so Adam went on without Ulrich towards
the north-west, to the valley of the Rhine.

The charcoal-burner had lost the reward offered the informer, and could
not even earn the money due a messenger.

He had lured Ulrich to the attic and locked him in there, but during his
absence the boy escaped. He was a nimble fellow, for he had risked the
leap from the window, and then swung himself over the fence into the
road.

Jorg's conjecture did not deceive him, for as soon as Ulrich perceived
that he had been betrayed into a trap, he had leaped into the open air.

He must warn his friends, and anxiety for them winged his feet.

Once and again he lost his way, but at last found the right path, though
he had wasted many hours, first in the village, then behind the locked
door, and finally in searching for the right road.

The sun had already passed the meridian, when he at last reached the
clearing.

The but was deserted; no one answered his loud, anxious shouts.

Where had they gone?

He searched the wide, snow-covered expanse for traces, and found only
too many. Here horses' hoofs, there large and small feet had pressed
the snow, yonder hounds had run, and--Great Heaven!--here, by the
tree-stump, red blood stained the glimmering white ground.

His breath failed, but he did not cease to search, look, examine.

Yonder, where for the length of a man the snow had vanished and grass
and brown earth appeared, people had fought together, and there--Holy
Virgin! What was this!--there lay his father's hammer. He knew it only
too well; it was the smaller one, which to distinguish it from the two
larger tools, Goliath and Samson, he called David-the boy had swung it a
hundred times himself.

His heart stood still, and when he found some freshly-hewn pine-boughs,
and a fir-trunk that had been rejected by one of the men, he said to
himself: "The bier was made here," and his vivid imagination showed
him his father fighting, stru