instantly stood still and subdued; only his quick panting and smoking
sweat showed his recent violence.

Huldbrand had little time to inquire by what means this had been
effected. He agreed with the man that he should take Bertalda in his
waggon, where, as he said, a quantity of soft cotton was stowed, and
he might in this way convey her to Castle Ringstetten. The knight
could accompany them on horseback. But the horse appeared to be too
much exhausted to carry his master so far. Seeing this, the man
advised him to mount the waggon with Bertalda. The horse could be
attached to it behind.

"It is down-hill," said he, "and the load for my greys will therefore
be light."

The knight accepted his offer, and entered the waggon with Bertalda.
The horse followed patiently after, while the waggoner, sturdy and
attentive, walked beside them.

Amid the silence and deepening obscurity of the night, the tempest
sounding more and more remote, in the comfortable feeling of their
security, a confidential conversation arose between Huldbrand and
Bertalda. He reproached her in the most flattering words for her
resentful flight. She excused herself with humility and feeling; and
from every tone of her voice it shone out, like a lamp guiding to the
beloved through night and darkness, that Huldbrand was still dear to
her. The knight felt the sense of her words rather than heard the
words themselves, and answered simply to this sense.

Then the waggoner suddenly shouted, with a startling voice: "Up, my