“Get thee gone, rascal,” cried the Gnome, giving him a hearty kick; “get thee gone, as fast as thy legs will carry thee, to the gallows, the true summit of thy fortunes.” Worthy Kunz, delighted to escape so cheaply, which he ascribed entirely to his own powers of rhetoric, was in such haste to get out of the presence of his Lordship, that he left his black mantle behind him. He soon lost sight of the castle in which he had been imprisoned, but after that, he did not appear to make any advance; walk on as fast and sturdily as he might, he still saw the same mountains, the same valleys, the same objects. Fatigued by this endless movement without progress, he lay down under a tree to take a little rest, and to wait for some passing traveller to tell him the way; he soon fell fast asleep; when he awoke he found himself in total darkness. He very distinctly remembered that it was under a tree he had fallen asleep; yet he heard not the slightest rustling of leaves, nor could he discern one star through the branches. In his alarm he would have arisen, but he felt himself restrained by an unseen power, the effort he made being attended by a loud noise, like the rattling of chains. Finding that he was in irons, he imagined himself in some dungeon of Rubezahl, a hundred leagues below the surface of the earth, and was hereupon overcome by horrible fear.
After some hours day began to appear; but the
