But the horse appeared too much exhausted
by its past fury to be able to carry its master so far, so the Carter
persuaded Huldbrand to get into the wagon with Bertalda. The horse
could be tethered on behind. "We are going down hill," said he, "and
that will make it light for my gray beasts." The knight accepted
the offer and entered the wagon with Bertalda; the horse followed
patiently behind, and the wagoner, steady and attentive, walked by the
side.
In the stillness of the night, as its darkness deepened and the
subsiding tempest sounded more and more remote, encouraged by
the sense of security and their fortunate escape a confidential
conversation arose between Huldbrand and Bertalda. With flattering
words he reproached her for her daring flight; she excused herself
with humility and emotion, and from every word she said a gleam shone
forth which disclosed distinctly to the lover that the beloved was
his. The knight felt the sense of her words far more than he regarded
their meaning, and it was the sense alone to which he replied.
Presently the wagoner suddenly shouted with a loud voice. "Up, my
grays, up with your feet, keep together! Remember who you are!" The
knight leaned out of the wagon and saw that the horses were stepping
into the midst of a foaming stream or were already almost swimming,
while the wheels of the wagon were rushing round and gleaming like
mill-wheels, and the wagoner had climbed up in front in consequence of
the increasing waters.
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