“Nothing of the sort, Mistress Agatha,” responded Piet. “You must know that my father was a woodsman, as bold as any man among the hills. He happened to be late out one evening, after game; and had chased a large mountain cat to the run, where the cat climbed up an old hollow tree. My father followed him closely, and mounted after him; but his hold gave way, as he was looking down the hollow, and he slipped clear through the hole, good forty feet down the inside of the tree. Well, he thought that his hour was come, and that he should starve to death there; for the inside of the tree was so smooth that he could get no hold for either hand or foot; and so he had lost all hope of ever escaping, when he saw something black come sliding down the tree. He recommended himself to God, and when the thing, whatever it was, came within reach, he seized hold of it, and it climbed up again, dragging my father after it. It had no sooner reached the top of the tree; but a loud clap of thunder was heard, and the thing sailed away in a flame of fire, far away over the tree tops. My father clung fast to the trunk of the tree, and slid down the outside, after he had clambered out of the hollow; then thanking Providence for his deliverance, he went home as fast as his legs could carry him.” “A wonderful tale, indeed, Piet,” said Agatha, laughing. “Wonderful enough,” said Piet. “Well, Piet,” said Adolf, “was this truth?” “Truth!” replied Piet, “I should like to have heard any man tell my father that it was otherwise.” “Do not go to-night, dearest Adolf,” said Barbara, turning pale. “This is mere folly, sweet Barbara. If I failed to bring home my buck, all the hunters would cry shame upon me.” The clock struck the half hour, and Adolf, snatching up his rifle, bade Barbara good night, and leaving the house, struck into the path which led to the Wolf Hills. “Aye, aye,” said Piet, looking after him, “he doesn’t believe in any such matters; but I fear it is no good that he is bent upon. So much gold, too, and so lately. But it’s no affair of mine. Did you mark the wildness of his eye, though, Agatha?” Chapter VI. The moon shone brightly and calmly over the still woods, and the gentle breath of the night wind sighed mournfully over the ear, as it kissed the forest branches, and swept through the tops of the pines. The murmur of the stream, as it flowed smoothly onward between the high mountain passes, added to the soft influence of the scene. All nature was lulled into repose. A small charcoal fire, burning on a rocky ledge, beneath a tall cliff, disclosed the mouth of a dark cavern, at the entrance of which sat Rudenfranck, the hunter, wrapped in a cloak, to protect his person from the heavy damps of the night. He rose from his seat, and moved restlessly about, making some arrangements in the mouth of the cavern, and occasionally casting an anxious glance over the surrounding hills, as if impatiently expecting his victim.