There was nobody in the house but a woman milking a goat. In one corner
of the room stood a bed, in the middle was a table, and on one of the
walls hung a burning coal-oil lamp.

As I opened the door the woman looked up, and said in a dull piteous
moaning--

"It is none of Jörge's fault. Jörge had shown the red light in good
season, and yesterday he specially warned the gentlemen, and told them
that a ridge of the Gnippe was crumbling, and would soon break down; but
they did not listen to him, and now that the accident has come, they
will surely visit their own carelessness upon him. It is always the poor
dependent that is made to suffer for the fault of his superiors. But I
will not stand it; and if Jörge is discharged and loses his bread,
then--"

"All right, madam!" I said, "I saw the red light in time, and I shall
testify for Jörge in case of need. Only keep quiet now, and come here.
You must try to restore this child. He has fainted. Give him water or
something; you will know best what to do."

In recalling these words to my memory and writing them down, I am not
quite certain that I really spoke them; I am not certain of a single
word or action of mine on that fearful night. But I think that I said
the words I am relating, although I was so confused that it is possible
I did not utter a word. I had come out of the house again, and saw a man
running up and down on the narrow rocky plateau, like one crazy. It was
Jörge the watchman; he was looking for the signal-post, and could not
find it.