Beside the stump on 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, struck down, and then a mournful funeral procession.  Exulting bailiffs bore a tall strong-limbed corpse, and a slender, black-robed body, his father and his teacher.  Then came the quiet, beautiful wife and Ruth in bonds, and behind them Marx and Rahel.  He distinctly saw all this; it even seemed as if he heard the sobs of the women, and wailing bitterly, he thrust his hands in his floating locks and ran to and fro.  Suddenly he thought that the troopers would return to seize him also.  Away, away! anywhere—­away! a voice roared and buzzed in his ears, and he set out on a run towards the south, always towards the south.