From my own doors ye thrust me out;
Yet will I knock while knock I can:
All is not lost, if heart be stout:
I bear a sword, I am a man.
I quail not: tho' my heart should break,
I will endure unto the end;
And thus my foes of me shall speak,
"This was a man, and ne'er would bend."
A deep sigh, which followed the conclusion of the song, gave the hearers reason to suppose, that the burden of it had not afforded the unfortunate exile much consolation. A large tear had rolled down the tanned cheek of the man of Hardt as they stood listening; and Albert perceived the inward struggle which this good peasant seemed to contend with in order to compose his mind, and appear before the inhabitant of the cavern with a cheerful countenance. He requested the young man to hold his torch awhile; and clambered up the smooth, slippery rock which led to the grotto whence the sounds they had just heard had issued. Albert supposed he had gone to acquaint the stranger of his arrival, but his guide returned with a strong rope in his hand. He descended half way down the rock again, threw one end of the rope to him, and desiring him to tie the torches on to it, he pulled them up, and placed them in a secure corner in the rock. He then assisted his young master to mount to the spot where he was standing, which he would not have been well able to accomplish alone. Once up there, they were only a few paces from the inhospitable abode of the exile.