its crown of thorns. To defy this silent companion in suffering, was no
manly deed--to pay homage, out of love, to Him, who had brought love into
the world, seemed to possess a sweet, ensnaring charm--so he clasped his
slender hands closely round his dumb wife's fingers, pressed his dark
curls gainst Elizabeth's fair hair, and both, for the first and last
time, repeated together a mute, fervent prayer.

Before the hut, and surrounded by the forest, was a large clearing, where
two roads crossed.

Adam, Marx and Ruth had gazed first down one and then the other, to look
for the wagon, but nothing was to be seen or heard. As, with increasing
anxiety, they turned back to the first path, the poacher grew restless.
His crooked mouth twisted to and fro in strange contortions, not a muscle
of his coarse face was till, and this looked so odd and yet so horrible,
that Ruth could not help laughing, and the smith asked what ailed him.

Marx made no reply; his ear had caught the distant bay of a dog, and he
knew what the sound meant. Work at the anvil impairs the hearing, and
the smith did not notice the approaching peril, and repeated: "What ails
you, man?"

"I am freezing," replied the charcoal-burner, cowering, with a piteous
expression.

Ruth heard no more of the conversation, she had stopped and put her hand
to her ear, listening with head bent forward, to the noises in the
distance.

Suddenly she uttered a low cry, exclaiming: "There's a dog barking,