t her, the boy scrambled down the steep slope
with his companion, and when they were at last standing in the water
at the bottom of the gully, picked up the dripping fagots and walked
silently on, carrying her burden as well as his own.

After a short walk through the running water and mass of earth and
stones, slowly sliding towards the valley, several shingled roofs
appeared, and the little girl uttered a sigh of relief; for in the row
of shabby houses, each standing by itself, that extended from the forest
to the level end of the ravine, was her own home and the forge belonging
to her companion's father.

It was still raining, but the thunder-storm had passed as quickly as it
rose, and twilight was already gathering over the mist-veiled houses and
spires of the little city, from which the street ran to the ravine. The
stillness of the evening was only interrupted by a few scattered notes
of bells, the finale of the mighty peal by which the warder had just
been trying to disperse the storm.

The safety of the town in the narrow forest-valley was well secured, a
wall and ditch enclosed it; only the houses on the edge of the ravine
were unprotected. True, the mouth of the pass was covered by the field
pieces on the city wall, and the strong tower beside the gate, but it
was not incumbent on the citizens to provide for the safety of the row
of houses up there. It was called the Richtberg and nobody lived there
except the rabble, executioners, and poor folk who were not granted the
rights of citizenship. Adam, the smith, had forfeited his, and Ruth's
father, Doctor Costa, was a Jew, who ought to be thankful that he was
tolerated in the old forester's house.

The street was perfectly still. A few children were jumping over the
mud-puddles, and an old washerwoman was putting a wooden vessel under
the gutter, to collect the rain-water.

Ruth breathed more freely when once again in the street and among human
beings, and soon, clinging to the hand of her father, who had come to
meet her, she entered the house with him and Ulrich.

CHAPTER II.

While the boy flung the damp bundles of brushwood on the floor beside
the hearth in the doctor's kitchen, a servant from the monastery was
leading three horses under the rude shed in front of the smith Adam's
work-shop The stately grey-haired monk, who had ridden the strong
cream-colored steed, was already standing beside the embers of the fire,
pressing his hands upon the