With his horse's bridle over one arm, Huldbrand supported his
half-fainting companion on the other. Bertalda mustered what strength
she could, in order the sooner to get beyond this dreaded valley, but
fatigue weighed her down like lead, and every limb shook under her;
partly from the recollection of all she had already suffered from
Kuehleborn's spite, and partly from terror at the continued crashing of
the tempest through the mountain forests.
At length she slid down from her protector's arm, and sinking on the
moss, she said: "Leave me to die here, noble Huldbrand; I reap the
punishment of my folly, and must sink under this load of fatigue and
anguish."--"Never, my precious friend, never will I forsake you,"
cried Huldbrand, vainly striving to curb his raging steed, who was now
beginning to start and plunge worse than ever: the Knight contrived to
keep him at some distance from the exhausted maiden, so as to save her
the terror of seeing him near her. But no sooner had he withdrawn
himself and the wild animal a few steps, than she began to call him
back in the most piteous manner, thinking he was indeed going to
desert her in this horrible wilderness. He was quite at a loss what to
do: gladly would he have let the horse gallop away in the darkness and
expend his wild fury, but that he feared he might rush down upon the
very spot where Bertalda lay.
In this extremity of distress, it gave him unspeakable comfort to
descry a wagon slowly descending the stony road behind him.
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