Animated by this hope, we now pushed on more rapidly. For some minutes our road carried us out of sight of the spot; but when we next saw it, a long, low, white-fronted house and some other smaller buildings were distinctly visible.
"A mountain farmstead, by all the gods of Olympus!" exclaimed Bergheim, joyously. "This is good fortune! And they are not gone to bed yet, either."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Because I saw a light."
"But suppose they do not wish to take us in?" I suggested.
"Suppose an impossibility! Who ever heard of inhospitality among our Black Forest folk?"
"Black Forest!" I repeated. "Do you call this the Black Forest?"
"Undoubtedly. All these wooded hills south of Heidelberg and the Odenwald are outlying spurs and patches of the old legendary Schwarzwald—now dwindling year by year. Hark! the dogs have found us out already!"
As he spoke, a dog barked loudly in the direction of the farm; and then another, and another. Bergheim answered them with a shout. Suddenly a bright light flashed across the darkness—flitted vaguely for a moment to and fro, and then came steadily towards us; resolving itself presently into a lanthorn carried by a man.
We hurried eagerly to meet him—at all, square-built, heavy-browed peasant, about forty years of age.