a part of the night; and the exertion was too much
for his years and habits. As he advanced through the crowd, who drew
back with respect from the passage of their sovereign, he eagerly
demanded if the execution had taken place. The general rumour told him
confusedly the tale of the events that had just occurred. Gottlob was
soon again by his side, and related to him all that he had heard.

"Where is my brother?" cried the bishop. "Is he not here?"

A few words told him that he had not appeared on this occasion.

"I will to the palace, then," he continued. "And the poor wretched
woman, which way has that maniac conveyed her?"

"To the sanctuary upon the mountain-side, in the path leading to your
highness's castle of Saaleck, as he was heard to cry," was the answer.

"But the torrents have come down from the hills," exclaimed others, "and
the inundations sweep so heavily upon the bridge, that it is impossible
to pass it without the utmost danger."

"Save that unhappy woman!" exclaimed the bishop in agitation. "A reward
for him who saves her!" and followed by his attendants, he took the
direction of the street leading to the palace.

It was true. The torrents had come down from the hills during the night,
and the waters swept over the bridge with fury. The planked flooring of
the bridge, raised in ordinary circumstances some feet above the stream,
was now covered by the raging flood; and the side parapets, which
consisted partly of solid enclosure, partly of railing, tottered,
quivered, and bent beneath the rushing mass of dark, dun-coloured,
whirling waters. The river itself, swelled far beyond the usual extent
of the customary inundations, for the passage of which the extreme
length of the bridge had been provided, hurried in wild eddies round the
walls of the town, like an invading army seeking to tear them down. But
the frantic Claus heeded not the violence of the waters, and dashed
through the town-gate towards the bridge with desperation. The
frightened horse shied at the foaming stream, struggled, snorted; but
the cripple seemed to possess the resistless power of a demon--a power
which gave him sway over the brute creation. He urged the unwilling
animal, with almost superhuman force, on to the tottering bridge.

The guards who had galloped after him, stopped suddenly as they saw the
roaring torrent. None dared advance, none dared pursue. Others, on foot,
clogged the gateway, and stood appalled at the sight o