to-day he let the tool lie, for the consciousness of weakness and lack
of will paralyzed his lusty vigor, and he stood with drooping head, as
if utterly crushed. The thoughts that moved him could not be exactly
expressed in words, but doubtless a vision of the desolate forge, where
he would stand alone by the fire without Ulrich, rose before his mind.
Once the idea of closing his house, taking the boy by the hand, and
wandering out into the world with him, flitted through his brain. But
then, what would become of the Jew, and how could he leave this place?
Where would his miserable wife, the accursed, lovely sinner, find him,
when she sought him again? Ulrich had run out of doors long ago. Had
he gone to study his lessons with the Jew? He started in terror at the
thought. Passing his hands over his eyes, like a dreamer roused from
sleep, he went into his chamber, threw off his apron, cleansed his face
and hands from the soot of the forge, put on his burgher dress, which he
only wore when he went to church or visited the doctor, and entered the
street.

The thunder-storm had cleared the air, and the sun shone pleasantly on
the shingled roofs of the miserable houses of the Richtberg. Its rays
were reflected from the little round window-panes, and flickered over the
tree-tops on the edge of the ravine.

The light-green hue of the fresh young foliage on the beeches glittered
as brightly against the dark pines, as if Spring had made them a token of
her mastery over the grave companions of Winter; yet even the pines were
not passed by, and where her finger had touched the tips of the branches
in benediction, appeared tender young shoots, fresh as the grass by the
brook, and green as chrysophase and emerald.

The stillness of morning reigned within the forest, yet it was full of