steed, was already standing beside the embers of the fire, pressing his
hands upon the warm chimney.

The forge stood open, but spite of knocking and shouting, neither the
master of the place, nor any other living soul appeared. Adam had gone
out, but could not be far away, for the door leading from the shop into
the sitting-room, was also unlocked.

The time was growing long to Father Benedict, so for occupation he tried
to lift the heavy hammer. It was a difficult task, though he was no
weakling, yet it was not hard for Adam's arm to swing and guide the
burden. If only the man had understood how to govern his life as well as
he managed his ponderous tool!

He did not belong to Richtberg. What would his father have said, had he
lived to see his son dwell here?

The monk had known the old smith well, and he also knew many things about
the son and his destiny, yet no more than rumor entrusts to one person
concerning another's life. Even this was enough to explain why Adam had
become so reserved, misanthropic and silent a man, though even in his
youth lie certainly had not been what is termed a gay fellow.

The forge where he grew up, was still standing in the market-place
of the little city below; it had belonged to his grandfather and great-
grandfather. There had never been any lack of custom, to the annoyance
of the wise magistrates, whose discussions were disturbed by the
hammering that rang across the ill-paved square to the windows of the
council-chamber; but, on the other hand, the idle hours of the watchmen
under the arches of the ground-floor of the town-hall were sweetened by