would be much
better for you to deliver it up and keep your life."

Felix did not answer. Night had settled down, and by the uncertain
gleam of the new moon he could not see more than five feet before him.
He became more and more nervous, kept close by the side of his
companion, and was uncertain whether he ought to approve of the
arguments of his friend or not. Thus they continued on, side by side
for another hour, when they saw a light in the distance. The young
goldsmith was of opinion that they should not prematurely rejoice, as
the light might come from a den of thieves; but the compass-maker
informed him the robbers had their houses or caves under ground, and
that this must be the inn that a man had told them of, as they entered
the forest.

It was a long, low house, before which a wagon stood; and adjoining
the house was a stable from which came the neighing of horses. The
compass-maker beckoned his comrade to a window whose shutters were
open; and by standing on their toes they were able to look into the
room. In a chair before the stove slept a man whose clothes bespoke him
a wagoner--very likely the owner of the cart before the door. On the
other side of the stove sat a woman and a girl, spinning. Behind the
table, close to the wall, sat a man with a glass of wine before him.
His head was supported in his hands so that his face could not be seen.
But the compass-maker judged from his clothes that he was a man of
rank. While they were peeping, a dog in the house began to bark;
Munter, the compass-maker's dog, barked a reply; and a servant-girl
appeared at the door and looked out at the strangers.

They were promised supper and a bed; so they entered, and laying their
heavy bundles, sticks, and hats in the corner, sat down at the table
with the gentleman. He looked up at their greeting, and they perceived
him to be a handsome young man, who returned their greeting pleasantly.

"You are late on the road," said he; "were you not afraid to travel
through the Spessart on so dark a night? For my part, I would have
stabled my horse in this tavern before I would have ridden an hour
longer."

"You are quite right in that, sir," responded the compass-maker. "The
hoof beats of a fine horse are music in the ears of these highwaymen,
and lure them from a great distance; but when a couple of poor
journeymen like us steal through the woods--people to whom the robbers
would sooner think of making a present than of takin