thunder!"

She stooped as if the lightning had struck her, covered her face with her
little hands, and fell on her knees, the bundle of faggots slipping to
the ground. Filled with terror, she murmured as if she could command the
mighty word: "Oh, Word, Word, get me home!"

Ulrich stamped impatiently, glanced at her with mingled anger and
contempt, and muttering reproaches, threw her bundle and his own into the
ravine, then roughly seized her hand and dragged her to the edge of the
cliff.

Half-walking, half-slipping, with many an unkind word, though he was
always careful to support her, the boy scrambled down the steep slope
with his companion, and when they were at last standing in the water at
the bottom of the gully, picked up the dripping fagots and walked
silently on, carrying her burden as well as his own.

After a short walk through the running water and mass of earth and
stones, slowly sliding towards the valley, several shingled roofs
appeared, and the little girl uttered a sigh of relief; for in the row of
shabby houses, each standing by itself, that extended from the forest to
the level end of the ravine, was her own home and the forge belonging to
her companion's father.

It was still raining, but the thunder-storm had passed as quickly as it
rose, and twilight was already gathering over the mist-veiled houses and
spires of the little city, from which the street ran to the ravine. The
stillness of the evening was only interrupted by a few scattered notes of
bells, the finale of the mighty peal by which the warder had just been