Chapter Three.

Gottlieb Spena was much the better for his day’s rest, and the following morning set out with old Moretz and his grandson on their weekly journey, when they went into the neighbouring town to dispose of their fagots.

“And how came you to undertake this good work, friend?” asked the old man, as they journeyed.

“In a few words I can answer you,” said the book-hawker. “I was once a monk, a lazy drone. Our convent was rich, and we had nothing to do except to appear for so many hours every day in church, and repeat or chant words, of the sense of which we did not for a moment trouble ourselves. Copies of the blessed gospel, however, were brought among us, and certain works by Dr Martin Luther, and friends of his, which stirred us up to read that gospel, and to see whether we held the faith it teaches, or were leading the lives it requires. First one and then another, and finally almost all of us came to the conclusion that we were not in any way living according to God’s law, and that the whole system we supported was evil and wrong; and we all agreed to go forth into the world, and to become useful members of society. Some, who had the gift of speaking, after a time became preachers of the gospel. As I had not that gift, and had but a small amount of learning, I resolved, by the advice of Dr Martin Luther, to put a pack upon my shoulders, and to go forth and to distribute the written word through the land, and to speak a word in season, as God might give me opportunity. If the Pope or Tetzel can catch me I have no doubt that they will burn me as they burned John Huss. But I have counted the cost, and I am prepared for that or anything else that can befall me. I have placed myself in God’s hands, and fear not what man can do to me.”

“You are a brave man,” said old Moretz, grasping the book-hawker’s hand; “and whatever you may say of yourself, I should say that you are a true preacher of God’s word, and I pray that there may be many others like you going forth throughout our country.”

“Amen,” said Spena, as the old man and he, warmly shaking each other’s hand, parted.

“I hope there may be very many better men than I am;” and he went on his way, selling his books and speaking a word in season; and thus a humble instrument, as he thought himself, bringing many souls to the knowledge of the truth, and to accept the free offers of eternal life through a simple, loving faith in Christ Jesus.

We must here observe that before leaving the woodcutter’s hospitable hut, Gottlieb Spena delivered the precious book into the custody of Meta, bidding her an affectionate farewell, with the prayer that it might prove a blessing to her soul and to those dear to her. Meta never failed to pass every moment she could steal from her daily avocations in perusing the New Testament. When her grandfather and brother returned home from their work, she had always some fresh account to give them of which she had read; and from henceforth the old man and Karl passed a part of every evening in reading it, while the great part of that day which God has given to toiling man as a day of rest was passed in gaining knowledge from its precious pages.

Old Moretz had now got what he never before possessed. He understood the way of salvation through Jesus Christ, whom he loved and desired to serve. The more he saw of the love of God the more he felt his own sinfulness and unworthiness, and felt the need of a better righteousness than any good works of his own. The Holy Spirit was teaching him this and other truths from the Scriptures. Meta and Karl also were daily growing in knowledge and grace. They had before been contented and cheerful, but it was the mere happiness of health and freedom from sorrow. Now they possessed a joy which nothing could take away from them. They relied with simplicity and confidence on God’s word. They knew that which He said He would do. “If grandfather is taken from us, or you are taken, Karl, I know we shall be parted but for a short time. We shall meet again and be happy, oh, so happy!” exclaimed Meta, as Karl came in one day when his work was over, and found her ever and anon glancing at her Bible, which lay open on the table, while she was engaged in some business about the cottage.

Moretz soon found that those who hold to the truth are often called upon to suffer for the truth. So it has been from the beginning. God requires faith, but He desires us to prove our faith. Other men, like Spena, were traversing the country, not only like him distributing books, but openly preaching the principles of the Reformation. They did so in many places, at great hazard to themselves. The papists, where they could, opposed and persecuted them, as the Apostle Paul before his conversion did the Christians he could get hold of, haling them to prison, to torture, and to death.

Moretz often went into the town of Hornberg to sell his fagots. Even he was not without his enemies. As he and Karl were one day driving their asses laden with wood into the town, they encountered a long string of pack-horses which had brought in their cargoes and were now returning. Behind them rode a big, burly man, dressed as a farmer, on a stout, strong horse. He scowled on Moretz, who was about to pass him, and roughly told him to move his asses and himself out of the way. He had an old grudge against Moretz, who had resisted an unjust attempt to seize some land to which the rich man had no right.

“With pleasure, Master Johann Herder. I would not wish to occupy your place, as I doubt not you would not wish to fill mine.”

“What does he mean?” exclaimed Herder; but Moretz had already done as he was bid, and got quickly out of the way. Herder went on some little distance, muttering to himself, and then stopped and looked in the direction Moretz had taken. Ordering his servants to proceed with the animals, he wheeled round his horse and slowly followed the woodcutter.

Moretz quickly disposed of his fagots among his usual customers, and was about to return home when he saw a large crowd in the square assembled round a man who was addressing them from a roughly-raised platform. Moretz could not resist the temptation of joining the crowd, for a few words which reached his ears interested him greatly. He got as close up to the speaker as he could with his asses, on the backs of which he and Karl were mounted. The preacher wore a monk’s dress, but instead of a crucifix he held a book in his hand, which Moretz and Karl guessed rightly was the Bible. He argued that it being God’s revelation to man, it was sufficient for all that man requires to show him the way by which he might get out of his fallen state and obtain eternal happiness. “Are we then,” he asked, “to be guided by this book, or to be directed by men who say things directly opposed to this book? The priests have taught you that there is a purgatory. It was a notion held by the heathen nations, but God’s ancient people, the Jews, knew nothing of it, and this book says not a word about it. A man has been going about the country, sent by the Pope, selling bits of paper, which he tells the people will get the souls of their friends and their own souls out of this purgatory. He makes them pay a somewhat high price for these pieces of paper, and if we look at them at their real value, a prodigiously high price. Now the Bible says, ‘The soul that sinneth it shall surely die.’ ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’ It nowhere says if we are ever so great sinners, and die in our sins, our friends may buy the means by which we can escape the consequence of sin. It does, however, say that however great a sinner you are, if you turn to Jesus Christ, and trust to Him, you will be saved; and it gives us the account of the thief on the cross, who, even at the last moment, trusting to Jesus, was saved.”

Thus the preacher continued arguing from the Bible, showing from it numberless falsehoods put forth by the Church of Rome. Then he put very clearly and forcibly the simple gospel before the people,—man’s fallen state; the love of Christ which induced Him to come on earth to draw man out of that fallen state, if he would accept the means freely offered to him. Still, unhappily, man continued to “love darkness rather than light, because his deeds are evil;” and thus do the cardinals and bishops and priests, who are the ruling powers of the Church of Rome, endeavour to keep the minds of people in ignorance, that they may draw money from the pockets of their dupes, and continue to live on in indolence and vice.

Chapter Four.

While he was speaking a large body of people, led on by a man on horseback, and accompanied by several priests, were seen advancing at the farther end of the square. Many of the people fled, but the preacher boldly kept his ground, as did Moretz and Karl, who, indeed, scarcely heeded the movement of the people surrounding him. In another minute Moretz found himself dragged from his pack-saddle by a couple of men, and looking up, he saw Johann Herder frowning down upon him. He struggled to free himself, for his muscles were well-knit, and he had lost but little of his vigour. He succeeded in getting near enough to Karl to whisper, “Fly away home and look after Meta. God will take care of me. Do not be afraid. Keep up your spirits, Karl. Off!—off! quick! quick!”

He had scarcely uttered these words before he was again seized by two additional men, who set on him, and he saw that to struggle further was useless.

“Bring him along,” said Herder, “with the other prisoners. The magistrates will quickly adjudge the case. I knew that I should some day have my revenge,” he whispered into the old man’s ear, “and I intend to make you feel it bitterly.”

Moretz was thankful to see that Karl had made his escape, and without opposition followed his captors to the hall where the magistrates were sitting. They had resolved to prevent any public preaching in their town.

While the magistrates’ officers were making prisoners, several men rallied round the preacher, and before he could be seized, got him down from the platform in their midst, and then retired down the street, no one venturing to attack them.

Moretz, with six or seven more prisoners, was placed before the magistrates, several priests being present, eager to obtain their condemnation. Moretz was asked how he dared stop and listen to an heretical preacher, and whether he thought the preacher was speaking the truth, or falsehood?

“Had I thought he had been speaking falsehood, I would not have stopped to listen to him,” answered the old man, boldly. “He spoke things, too, which I know are to be found in the word of God, and I am sure that all in that book is true.”

“Evidently a fearful heretic!” exclaimed the magistrates. “We must make an example of him, and put a stop to this sort of thing. In the meantime, to prison with him!”

“Stay,” said one. “Though guilty of listening, perchance he will recant, and acknowledge himself in error.”

“Indeed I will not,” answered the old man. “I believe God rather than man, and will not deny the truths He has taught me.”

“Off with him!—off with him! You see there is no use discussing matters with a heretic,” exclaimed some of the other magistrates.

The other prisoners were now tried. Two or three only of them, were, however, committed to prison, the others acknowledging themselves in error. Of these, however, several as they went away muttered words complimentary neither to their judges nor to the Pope and his cardinals.

Moretz, with several other prisoners, was marched off under a strong guard to the prison. It was a dark, old, gloomy building, which had been a castle, but having been partly dismantled, had been fitted up again for its present purpose. It contained several long passages, both above ground and under ground, leading to arched cells with strong oak doors plated with iron.

Into one of these dungeons Moretz was now thrust. There he was left in solitude. There was but little light, but he discovered a heap of straw in one corner, on which he sat himself down. “Well,” he thought, “other people have been shut up in prison cells worse than this, and Christians too.” And then he thought of Paul and Silas in the prison at Philippi, and how they had spent their time in praying and singing praises to God. “That is just what I ought to do,” he said to himself; but he did not pray so much for himself as for his dear little Meta and Karl, that God would take care of them, and deliver him in His own good time, if it was His will to do so. Then he began to sing, for Spena had left a book of hymns, the words of several of which he had already learned by heart. “The feet of Paul and Silas were in the stocks,” he said to himself, “then surely I am better off than they were; I ought to praise God for that;” and so he sang on right cheerfully. However, not being accustomed to sit long, he soon got up and walked about his cell. He could make but few paces without turning. A gleam of light came through an aperture in the upper part of the wall. “I am not much below ground, at all events,” he observed; and it set him thinking, always lifting up his heart in prayer to God.

Chapter Five.

Meanwhile Karl had returned home with the donkeys. Poor Meta was greatly grieved and alarmed when she heard the sad news. “Those cruel men will be killing dear grandfather, as they killed John Huss,” she said, looking with tearful eyes at Karl. “We can pray for him, however, that is one comfort.”

They did not fail to do as Meta said; not only night and morning, but several times during the day; before Karl set off on his expedition into the forest to cut wood, and when he returned, or when he went into the town to sell his fagots. “When grandfather told me to run away, he intended that I should work hard to support you, Meta, and so I will.”

Meta was accustomed to be alone. She was a happy-hearted girl, and used to sing and amuse herself very well, when she knew that her grandfather and brother would soon return to her. The case was very different now. Her great comfort was reading the Bible. She had more time to do that than formerly. Without it she felt sure she would have broken down altogether. Still, occasionally, she felt her spirits sink so low that she could not help wishing to accompany Karl into the forest. “I can take the book and read to him when he stops to rest or to eat his dinner; and I can talk to him and cheer him up, for he must feel quite as sad as I do, I know.”

Karl gladly agreed to her proposal, so the next day, shutting up the cottage, they set out together. The way was rough, but Meta was well accustomed to tread it, and without encountering any danger they reached the part of the forest in which Karl usually laboured. Meta carried out her plan just as she had proposed, and Karl, though he rested longer than had been his wont, got through more work than usual. For several days she did the same, very much to her own and Karl’s satisfaction. On one occasion she was seated on a piece of timber, with her book on her knees, reading, while Karl sat on the ground at her feet, eating his frugal meal, but slowly though, for every now and then he looked up to ask her the meaning of certain passages, or to make some remark.

They were thus employed, entirely absorbed in the subject. Some slight noises reached their ears, but if their attention was drawn to them they thought they were caused by the asses which were browsing near brushing among the bushes. Meta read on. At length she stopped, when, looking up, she saw standing near her, and gazing with a look of astonishment, a gentleman in a rich hunting suit, a short sword by his side, a horn hung round his neck, and a jewelled dagger in his belt. His white beard and moustache, and his furrowed cheeks, showed that he was already advanced in life, though he looked active and strong. A pleasant smile passed over his countenance, as Meta, littering an exclamation of astonishment, gazed up at him. Karl started to his feet, and instinctively put himself in an attitude of defence.

“Do not be alarmed, my young friends,” said the gentleman. “I wish to serve you rather than to do you any harm. What is that book you are reading from, little maiden?”

“The Bible, sir, God’s word,” answered Meta, without hesitation.

“A very blessed book, and a very blessed message it contains,” observed the gentleman. “But how came you young foresters to possess it, and to learn to read it?”

“I learned at Herr Gellet’s school,” answered Meta, “and a good man who came by this way, sold us the book at a small price. It is worth ten times the sum we gave, I am sure of that.”

“And where do you live?” asked the gentleman.

Meta told him.

“And is your grandfather sick, that he is not with you?” he inquired.

“Alas! he has been cast into prison for listening to a preacher of God’s word,” said Meta, “and we know not what they are going to do with him, whether they will burn him, as they have done others, or keep him shut up.”

The nobleman, for such by his appearance they supposed him to be, continued looking with great interest at Meta, while she was speaking. Having made further inquiries about the old woodcutter, he joined several of his companions who had been standing all the time at a little distance, scarcely perceived till now by Meta and Karl. One of them had been holding his horse, which he mounted, and rode away, conversing with him through the forest.

Karl having made up his fagots, proceeded homewards, talking with Meta as they went, about the interview with the nobleman, and wondering who he could be. “I wonder whether he is the Count Furstenburg, whose castle is, I know, some short distance off, though I have never been up to it. I have several times seen the tops of the towers over the trees. Yet whenever I have heard his name mentioned he has been spoken of as a fierce, cruel lord, tyrannical both to his dependants and even to those of his own family. I know I have heard of all sorts of bad things about him, but grandfather never likes to speak of him.”

“Then I am sure that noble cannot be the Count Furstenburg,” said Meta: “he spoke so gently and looked so kindly at us.”

Scarcely had they entered their cottage than they heard horses’ hoofs approaching it. Karl ran out to see who it was, while Meta was preparing the supper.

“Oh, Meta!” exclaimed Karl, running back, “it is that dreadful man, Johann Herder, our grandfather’s great enemy! His coming bodes us no good.”

They consulted whether they should bolt the door, but Meta advised that they should show no alarm; and as Herder could easily break open the door, it would be useless to try and keep him out.

In another minute Herder entered the cottage. He cast a frowning glance around him. “Where is your grandfather?” he asked.

“I am afraid, sir, he is in prison,” answered Meta.

“Why is he there?” he asked again.

“Karl says, because he was listening to a preacher of the gospel,” answered Meta.

“He was assisting in creating a disturbance rather,” observed Herder.

“I am sure grandfather is not the man to do that,” exclaimed Karl. “I was with him, and he was as quiet as any man could be.”

“Then you ought to have been taken prisoner too,” exclaimed the farmer. “I must see to that. And what book is that you have by your side, maiden?” he asked, glancing at Meta’s Bible, which she was prepared to read.

“God’s word, sir,” said Meta, firmly. “We always read it before sitting down to meals. It is by reading it that we learn of salvation. This book says, ‘Faith cometh by hearing,’ or reading God’s word, and by faith we are saved.”

“Those are strange doctrines you are speaking,” said the rough man, yet feeling, perhaps, more than he was willing to acknowledge, the force of her words, and greatly struck by her calmness and bravery.

“They cannot be new, sir,” answered Meta, “for they were written by the apostles themselves, nor are they strange, for the same reason.”

“I came not to discuss such matters,” said Herder, turning away. “My reason for coming here was to tell your grandfather that he must move out of this cottage, as I have bought it. As he is not here, I give you the notice, and let me tell you that the opinions you utter are very dangerous. They are not such as to please the priests or bishop; take care, therefore, what you are about.” Without further words, Herder turned round, unwilling it seemed to look any longer on the young girl and her brother who had so boldly confronted him. Leaving the cottage, he mounted his horse and rode off.

The young people could not help being alarmed. It would be a sad thing to have to leave their old home, and for their grandfather, when he got out of prison, to be obliged to seek for a new one. His other threats also boded them no good. They had, however, strength the rough man knew nothing of. As soon as they were again alone, they knelt down and prayed for protection, nor failed to obtain the comfort prayer will always bring. They then returned to the table and partook of their yet untasted supper. Before it was finished, a knock was heard at the door.

“Shall I open it?” asked Karl. “Perhaps it is Herr Herder come back again.”

“Oh, no!” said Meta, “he would not knock. We should not be afraid to open the door.”

Karl withdrew the bolt, and who should he see but the book-hawker, Gottlieb Spena! They recognised him at once. He entered, and saluting them, kindly inquired for their grandfather. “I trust he has not been taken from you,” he said, with an expression of anxiety.

“Indeed he has, sir,” said Meta, “but not by death;” and in a few words she explained what had happened.

“That is very sad, but God will protect you, my children,” he observed, placing his pack, as he had before done, in a corner of the room. “We must try and obtain his liberation. The people of Germany will no longer submit to persecution. However, I trust that, by some means, your grandfather’s liberation may be obtained.”

Meta and Karl warmly thanked their friend, and begged him to partake of their humble fare. This he did, seeing that there was abundance. Suddenly he exclaimed, “I have thought of a plan. I will endeavour to gain admittance to your grandfather, and if so, I trust the means may be given him to escape from the prison.” As it was somewhat late, the book-hawker gladly availed himself of the shelter of the hut for the night, while he amply repaid his young hosts by reading and expounding the Scriptures to them, greatly to their satisfaction.

Chapter Six.

The old woodcutter sat in his cell, his spirits yet unbroken, and resolved, as at first, to adhere to the faith. Still, accustomed as he had been to a life in the open air, his spirits occasionally flagged and his health somewhat suffered. Often and often he thought to himself, as he examined the walls of his prison, “If I had an iron tool of some sort, I doubt if these walls would long contain me.” But everything he had possessed had been taken from him when he was first brought to prison, and not even a nail could he find with which to work as he proposed. He was seated on his heap of straw, and the gaoler entered with his usual fare of brown bread and water.

“I have a message for you, old man,” said the gaoler, who, though rough in appearance, spoke sometimes in a kind tone. “A holy monk wishes to see you, and bade me tell you so.”

“I have no desire to see a monk,” answered Moretz. “He cannot make me change my faith, and it would be time lost were he to come to me.”

“But he brings you a message from your grandchildren,” said the gaoler. “He bade me say that if you refused to see him—”

Moretz thought an instant. “Let him come then,” he answered.

The gaoler nodded and took his departure. In a short time he returned, ushering in a sturdy, strong-looking man in a monk’s dress. The gaoler retired, closing the door.

“You do not know me, friend Moretz,” said his visitor, in a low voice. “I have been admitted, that I might give you spiritual comfort and advice,” he said, in a louder tone, “and I gladly accepted the office.” His visitor talked for some time with Moretz, producing from under his dress a book from which he read, though not without difficulty, by the gleam of light which came in through the small opening which has been spoken of. From another pocket he produced two iron instruments carefully wrapped up, so as not to strike against each other. “Here is a strong chisel,” he said, “and here is a stout file. I have heard of people working their way through prison walls with worse instruments than these. Now farewell, friend Moretz. The time I am allowed to remain with you is ended, and the gaoler will be here anon to let me out of the prison.”

“I fear you run a great risk,” said Moretz, warmly thanking his visitor.

“For the Lord’s people I am ready to run any risk,” was the answer, and just then the gaoler was heard drawing back the bolts. The friar took his departure.

The old woodcutter was once more left alone. He had piled up his straw on the side of the wall on which the opening was placed. He now carefully drew it back, and began working away at a stone which had before been hidden by it. His success surpassed his expectations. There had been a drain or a hole left for some purpose, carelessly filled up. Thus hour after hour he scraped away, carefully replacing the straw directly he heard the gaoler’s step near his door. What a sweet thing is liberty! The woodcutter’s chief difficulty was to hide the rubbish he dug out, the straw being scarcely sufficient for that purpose. As he was working, however, he let his chisel drop. He thought the stone on which it dropped emitted a hollow sound. He worked away in consequence, to remove it, and great was his satisfaction to find beneath a hole of some size. He was now able to labour with more confidence. In a short time he had removed the stone from the wall, giving him an aperture of sufficient size to pass through. The earth beyond was soft. And now he dug and dug away, following up the hole in the pavement. He was afraid sometimes that his hands covered with earth might betray him, but the gaoler’s lantern was dim, and he managed always to conceal them as much as possible when the man entered.

At length he felt sure from the height he had worked that he was near the surface of the earth on the outside. He now feared lest it might fall in during the daytime, and this made him hesitate about working except during the hours of the night. He had saved up as many crusts of bread as his pockets would hold, in order, should it become necessary for him to lie concealed for any length of time, that he might have wherewith to support life. And now the time arrived when he believed that he should be able to extricate himself altogether. He waited till the gaoler had paid his last visit, and then watched anxiously till the thickening gloom in his cell showed him that night was approaching. He had all along of course worked in darkness, so that it being night made no difference to him. He now dug away bravely, and as he had not to carry the earth into the hole, he made great progress. At length, working with his chisel above his head, he felt it pierce through the ground. Greater caution was therefore necessary, lest the falling earth should make a noise.

The fresh air which came down restored his strength, and in a few minutes he was able to lift himself out of the hole. He did not, however, venture to stand up, but lying his length on the ground, gazed around him. The dark walls of the old castle rose up on one side. On the other, at the bottom of a steep bank, was the moat, partly filled up, however, with rubbish. Beyond, another bank had to be climbed, and beyond that again was the wild open country, the castle being just outside the walls of the town. He quickly formed his plan.

Slowly crawling on, he slid down the bank, and then stopped to see what course he should take. There appeared to be no sentries on the watch on that side of the castle, it being supposed probably that escape of any prisoners was impossible. He was thus able more boldly to search for a passage across the moat. The night was cloudy and the wind blew strong, which, though he was in consequence not so well able to find his way, prevented him being seen or heard. At length, partly wading and partly scrambling over the rubbish, he reached the opposite bank. He waited to rest, that he might the more rapidly spring up the bank. He gained the top, when looking back and seeing no one, he hurried along the open ground. He stopped not till he had obtained the shelter of some brushwood, which formed, as it were, the outskirts of the forest. He was well aware that, as at daylight his escape would be discovered, and that he could easily be tracked, he must make the best speed his strength would allow. He knew the country so well that he had no difficulty in finding his way even in the dark. He could not, however, venture to return to his own cottage. There was no lack of hiding-places where he might remain till the search after him had somewhat slackened.

At length, weary from his exertion, and having overrated his strength, he sat himself down to rest, as he thought in safety, for a few minutes. His eyelids closed in slumber, and, unconsciously to him, hour after hour had passed away.

The sound of horns and the cries of huntsmen were heard in the forest. They awoke old Moretz from his sleep. He started up, but it was too late to conceal himself. A horseman in a rich costume, which showed his rank, was close to him. “Whither away, old friend?” he exclaimed, as Moretz instinctively endeavoured to conceal himself in some brushwood near at hand. He stopped on hearing the voice of the huntsman.

“My lord,” he answered, “I throw myself upon your mercy. I am guiltless of any crime, and was cast unjustly into prison, from which I have made my escape. If I am retaken, my life will be forfeited.”

“That is strange,” exclaimed the nobleman. “I will do my best to protect you, but I cannot venture to dispute with the law, as I might have done once on a time. As we came along we met a gang of persons, hunting, they told us, for an escaped prisoner. There is no time to be lost. Here!” and the nobleman called to one of his attendants, a tall man, very similar in figure to the woodcutter. “Here; change dresses with my old friend, and do you, as you are a bold forester and a strong, active young man, climb up into the thickest tree, and hide yourself as best you can till these hunters of their fellow-men have passed by.”

The nobleman’s orders were speedily obeyed, and Moretz, dressed in his livery, mounted the groom’s horse and rode on with the party. The groom, meantime, who had put on the old man’s clothes, affording no small amusement to his companions, climbed up into a thick tree, as he had been directed to do by his master.

“We will send thee a livery, my man, in which thou may’st return home soon, and satisfy thy hunger, which may be somewhat sharpened by longer abstinence than usual,” said the count, as he rode on.

Scarcely had these arrangements been made, when the party from the gaol in search of the fugitive came up. “Has the Count Furstenburg seen an old man in a woodcutter’s dress wandering through the forest?” inquired their leader, in a tone which sounded somewhat insolent.

“The Count Furstenburg is not accustomed to answer questions unless respectfully asked,” replied the noble; “and so, master gaoler, you must follow your own devices, and search for your prisoner where you may best hope to find him.” Then sounding his horn, he and his whole party rode on together through the forest, taking care to keep old Moretz well in their midst. Making a wide circuit, the count led them back to the castle.