Among the men and women who voluntarily flocked to the work by thousands, were Adam, the smith, his apprentices, and Ruth.

The former, with his journeymen, wielded the spade under the direction of a skilful engineer, the girl, with other women, braided gabions from willow-rods.
She had lived through sorrowful days.

Self-reproach, for having by her hasty fit of temper caused the father's outburst of anger to his son, constantly tortured her.
She had learned to hate the Spaniards as bitterly as Adam; she knew that Ulrich was following a wicked, criminal course, yet she loved him, his image had been treasured from childhood, unassailed and unsullied, in the most sacred depths of her heart.

He was all in all to her, the one person destined for her, the man to whom she belonged as the eye does to the face, the heart to the breast.
She believed in his love, and when she strove to condemn and forget him, it seemed as if she were alienating, rejecting the best part of-herself.
A thousand voices told her that she lived in his soul, as much as he did in hers, that his existence without her must be barren and imperfect.
She did not ask when and how, she only prayed that she might become his, expecting it as confidently as light in the morning, spring after winter.

Nothing appeared so irrefutable as this faith; it was the belief of her loving soul.