fate had ever bestowed upon him.




CHAPTER III.

Father Benedict had last seen the smith soon after his return from
imprisonment, in the confessional of the monastery. As the monk in his
youth had served in a troop of the imperial cavalry, he now, spite of his
ecclesiastical dignity, managed the stables of the wealthy monastery, and
had formerly come to the smithy in the market-place with many a horse,
but since the monks had become involved in a quarrel with the city,
Benedict ordered the animals to be shod elsewhere.

A difficult case reminded him of the skilful, half-forgotten artisan;
and when the latter came out of the shed with a sack of coal, Benedict
greeted him with sincere warmth. Adam, too, showed that he was glad to
see the unexpected visitor, and placed his skill at the disposal of the
monastery.

"It has grown late, Adam," said the monk, loosening the belt he was
accustomed to wear when riding, which had become damp. "The storm
overtook us on the way. The rolling and flashing overhead made the
sorrel horse almost tear Gotz's hands off the wrists. Three steps
sideways and one forward--so it has grown late, and you can't shoe the
rascal in the dark."

"Do you mean the sorrel horse?" asked Adam, in a deep, musical voice,
thrusting a blazing pine torch into the iron ring on the forge.