Briefly, as our Brother Seymour related it to us, he and his brother David, known to us as Brother Alburtus, with his wife Elizabeth and their boy, Charles, our Brother Thomas being a bachelor, had lived together in Coventry. By the fall of a tree, which they were felling nigh their cabin, Brother Alburtus received the great gash across his brow, the hurt taking his mind from him so that one day he wandered away leaving no more trace of his departure than if he had been taken up into the sky, only that he had frequently after his hurt spoken ramblingly about joining the hermits on the Cocalico. Inquiry among the Solitary showed he was not with them; for it was not until some years after Sonnlein and I came to Ephrata that Brother Alburtus joined our community, and where and how he lived ere that no one ever knew. Some weeks after he had left his wife, she, unable longer to endure her suspense, left suddenly with the little boy, while our brother Thomas was absent from the cabin. She and the child also were swallowed up so completely by the wilderness that with all his long searching naught could he find of them, though he had visited the Conestogas, on a rumor that there was a white woman living with them, but they could not or would not tell him aught. At last, almost heartbroken and despairing of finding the lost ones, whom he now believed to be dead from the wild beasts, or starvation, or the Indians, he left Coventry, not returning again for over ten years after the loss of his brother David and his wife and child. More we never learned, but it was clear to all that the fearsome witch was the wife of Brother Alburtus, that he was David Seymour, the brother of Thomas Seymour, and that Sonnlein was the baby. Many an eye was dimmed in the _Saal_ at the plain, unadorned recital of our brother's tale, as we thought of all the long years of darkened mind that had held our Brother Alburtus, so that he knew not his own boy though so nigh; but most of all our hearts went out in a great sorrow for that poor woman who half crazed by unwearying search and ever-recurring disappointment had suffered all these years the bitter pangs of separation from husband and child; and I know many a silent prayer arose from our hearts for those two who at last were sleeping side by side in that rude, mountain grave. Indeed, it was a relief to our strained feelings when Johann, who long ago had forgiven the beating Sonnlein had given him, turned toward mine enemy yelling at him, "If thou leavest not at once with thy devil's grin, thou wilt be hurled into the creek," whereat mine enemy, abashed for once, slunk out of the hall like a whipped beast.