One evening—­the evening of all evenings, the holy Christmas eve—­Martha entered the forge and saw the old man still hard at work.  She gently remonstrated with him, asking him why he toiled on such an occasion.

“You work, my father, as if you feared that to-morrow we might not have bread,” she said.  “Why toil on this holy evening?  Have you not sufficient for the future?  You must have laid by enough for your old age.  Then why fatigue yourself when others are spending the time by their own hearths in cheerful converse?”

The old smith’s only reply was to shake his head in a melancholy manner, take some pieces of broken food in his hands, and leave the house.  At that moment Wilhelm, the smith’s head apprentice, entered the room.  He seemed pale and disturbed, and related to Martha, to whom he was betrothed, that he had asked Ruthard for her hand.  The old man had firmly told him that he could not consent to their union until he had discovered the secret of making Damascus blades.  This he felt was hopeless to expect, and he had come to say “good-bye” ere he set out on a quest from which he might never return.  At the news Martha was greatly perturbed.  She rose and clung to the young man, her wild grief venting itself in heartrending sobs.  She begged him not to depart.  But his mind was fully made up, and, notwithstanding her tears and caresses, he tore himself away and quitted the house and the town.

For nearly a fortnight the youth tramped over hill and valley with little in his pouch and without much hope that the slender means of which he was possessed would bring him to the land of the Saracens, where alone he could hope to learn the great art of tempering the blades of Damascus.  One evening he entered the solitary mountain country of Spessart and, unacquainted with the labyrinths of the road, lost himself in an adjoining forest.  By this time night had fallen, and he cast about for a place in which to lay his head.  But the inhospitable forest showed no sign of human habitation.  After wandering on, however, stumbling and falling in the darkness, he at length saw a light burning brightly at a distance.  Quickly he made for it and found that it came from the window of a cottage, at the door of which he knocked loudly.  He had not long to wait for an answer, for an old woman speedily opened and inquired what he wanted at so late an hour.  He told her that he desired food and lodging, for which he could pay, and he was at once admitted.  She told him, however, that she expected another visitor.  Whilst she cooked his supper Wilhelm detailed to her the circumstances of his journey.  After he had eaten he retired to rest, but, tired as he was, he could not sleep.  Later a dreadful storm arose, through the din of which he heard a loud noise, as if someone had entered the house by way of the chimney.  Peering through the keyhole into the next room, he perceived a man seated at the table opposite his hostess whose appearance