Klytia Part 11

Klytia grew pale. Had Paolo really sought an interview on her father's account? It was on the tip of her tongue to relate the whole affair to her father, to seek his advice and beg him to speak to the Magister.

But then if all being known her father, instead of the terrible uncertainty, put an end to the whole affair? She felt that she could bear this less well than all the misery of doubt. Her father noticed how pale she turned and continued soothingly: "Be not afraid. For the time I am not in immediate danger, only I cannot go on holding my present position. The former hatred of many a man often prejudicially affects the disgraced favorite of a prince." After supper Erastus asked her to read a sermon of Zwingli's, and then kissing Klytia with a certain gravity on the brow entered his study chamber which he restlessly paced up and down till a late hour in the night. Klytia looked after him in fear. What could all this mean? Oppressed, with a feeling of the saddest loneliness, she sat near the window and looked up to heaven, where one star after another appeared, as do the lights of some big town when lighted, now here, now there. The sparkling Hesperus shone through the ruddy glow of the still variegated clouds.

"The star of love, gleaming o'er a sea of blood," thought she. The pointed roof of the round tower, and the dark ma.s.sive fabrics known as the Ruprecht building and the Chapel, stood out in prominent outlines.

A light flickered here and there from the tower. Was the once jovial Sylva.n.u.s in whose garden she had spent many a happy hour, and whose happy children worshipped her as the pretty cousin from Heidelberg, trying to read by this miserable light, or was he sorrowing for his family? Whatever wicked the poor man might have written, she felt a sincere pity for him, and heartily did she mention him in her prayers.

"What a frightful certainty of belief must it be which puts a man to death on account of his unbelief," thought she. She laid herself down to rest at a late hour, but could not sleep. Her father's words kept ringing in her ears, he also would soon be imprisoned in that dreadful tower. If Paul could really save him, and she had rendered the aid of no avail by not meeting him at the cross-roads? She began to weep through very fear and inward grief. The wind howled and shook the scaffolding outside, and more than once did she start up affrighted, thinking she heard the boards creak under a creeping step, and a gentle tap at her window. "If he came up here by the same way as does his brother," stammered the terrified child hiding herself under the blankets. Even in her dreams she felt the gnawing fear at heart. In her nightmare she thought that Paul had attacked her and was sucking up her young blood, plainly did she see him in the fearful cowl of the "mirror of remembrance," his eyes glowed from under his hood, then the head changed into a skull which essayed to kiss her with lipless mouth, causing her to start up with a shriek from her couch. At last she fell into a deep sleep and waking up late heard that her father was already gone out to visit his patients. At table he was silent merely stating "he would be away for a few days as he thought of holding a meeting with some friends in another part of the Palatinate. One more effort must be made to free the Kurfurst from the hands of the fanatics."

Klytia sat once more alone pondering what it might be that the Magister had to tell her concerning her father's welfare? It became more and more plain to her, that she would be going against the latter's interest, by simply refusing to hear Paolo's communications. Perhaps Paul had something he might wish to say to her? Perhaps did he at last feel in earnest, anxious to begin a new life, if she would only stretch forth a hand to help him? She said to herself that it was impossible to keep an appointment made on the hills, but it was as if the demoniacal priest had encircled her soul with a rope, she felt drawn towards the place appointed by him. Finally she could endure this no longer. She wrapped her veil around her and hurried down the Burgweg to beg Frau Belier to accompany her. Perhaps she might meet the artist there, who would request his brother to tell her in the presence of Frau Belier what he had to say? But on inquiring at the gable-house by the market, she was told that Frau Belier had crossed the bridge to buy flowers at a gardener's. She might meet her on the way? She crossed the river now no longer offering any opposition to her fate. Opposite the bridge stood a chapel. How willingly would Lydia have knelt in prayer to ask for inspiration, but the Calvinists had closed it, and whosoever was found praying here, outside the hours appointed for public worship was liable to be prosecuted for idolatry. If she could but have prayed, she would have commended her father to the care of G.o.d and then returned homewards, but the door was closed. She remained in her uncertain fear.

"I must save my father, and him also must I save, yes him, him especially." She would tell him, how wrong it was to try and appear what he in reality was not, and how happy he would feel when casting aside this false mode of life. She imagined to herself, that she had much to say to him, for his own sake. Behind the chapel lay a seldom trodden path leading up to the woods through the vineyards, and thus unnoticed by taking a few side-paths she could reach the spot appointed by the Magister, The bells of the Heiligengeist tolled for evening prayer as she reached a secluded meadow in the woods. Peacefully among high beech trees lay the silent hill, the valley of the Neckar which wound its silvery way between the blue mountains could be seen to a great distance. Whilst the tolling of the bell was re-echoing from afar, a child's prayer came uppermost to her mind. "Dear Christian what means this evening bell. The purpose of thy life and number of thy years doth it tell." But she must now hurry, the sun was already dipping behind the hills. The higher she climbed, the wider was the view over the range of the hills and mountains of the Odenwald, and of the plain now gilded by the rays of a setting sun. Partridges disturbed by the unwonted step flew deep into the thicket. The younger pine trees surrounded the more aged like loving children. Then came a number of clearings. Solitude and rest reigned around the lofty oaks, strewn about the high hill. Here and there a jay hopped across the path, now and then she heard the rapping of the woodp.e.c.k.e.r, a lively squirrel bounded across the path which she had now reached, otherwise all that was living in the wood had gone to rest. When the shadow of the Heiligenberg confronted her, she shuddered. She ought to have clothed herself more warmly, but she had not left the house to come here. She began to feel afraid. Behind her a great gray bird sprang from out of the bushes and flew in front of her with a screech. When she had gone on but a little way, she saw him flying before her with rapid noiseless flight, only to settle down a few yards ahead of her. She felt uneasy for she knew, that the night-owl meant evil, but her cries and shooings did not drive her ghostly companion away. She would willingly have returned, but was now so close to the spot, and the town to which she preferred returning escorted by Paul, was so distant. When she reached the saddle between the Heiligenberg and the so-called Dachsbau and rested near an old beech tree, she noticed that the sun had set. The detour she had chosen, had been much longer than she intended. But therefore the more certainly must Paul be already waiting, and as she approached the ghostly shade of the oaks, whilst behind her still gleamed the glow of a set sun, she earnestly wished for his protection.

On the brow of the hill leading to the edge of the forest she met some wood-cutter, going towards the mills of the neighboring village, whose sails might still be heard clattering in the distance. The men gazed at the lonely pilgrim in surprise. She saw how they stopped and looked after her for a while. Therefore did she hasten the more to escape them by remaining among the bushes. At the end of a solitary pine forest she found herself at last near to the haunted Holtermann. The road from the valley of the Seven mills and Heidelberg intersected the roads leading to the villages of the Odenwald. Many a traveller had here lost his way, in troublesome times many a rich miller from below had here been eased of his purse by footpads lying in wait, and children had seen hobgoblins, will 'o' the wisps, moaning women, or heard the sounds of mocking laughter in the dusky woods. Why had the heartless priest chosen such a spot? In terror she walked along in the twilight. The distant plain seemed like a blue sea, through which the red waves of the Rhine glowed as a fiery streak, whilst the Neckar resembled a great river of blood. Near the cross roads were ghostly shadows. All was still and lonely. No one greeted her. She could have wept through fear and disappointment. But whilst looking around for some dry spot on which she might sit down, partly to rest, partly to wait a little longer, she suddenly noticed, that she was not alone. A startled cry escaped her lips. Near the edge of the dark pine forest crouched an old woman seemingly drawn up in a knot, her face between her arms and knees, who sat watching her with wicked crooked eyes. Klytia could not stir for fright. As the bird is magnetised by the green eye of the snake, so did she meet the gaze of the horrible eyes of the old woman, whom she supposed at once to be one of the beings haunting the Holtermann. At last she heard an evil chuckle. "So, the beauteous Lydia will also gather herbs by the cross roads, and dig out roots at sunset?

I knew not that the physician's daughter dealt in magic. Your father threatened me so terribly if ever I did it again. Has the Beloved One proved faithless, he! he!? Shall the old Sibylla help? I have often succeeded beauteous maiden, in cases where fair hair and blue eyes did not avail. Do you wish to try Mother Sibylla?"

"You are the woman from the Kreuzgrund who sells herbs, I recognize you now," said Lydia. "Allow me to come and sit near you, I have lost my way in the forest and would like to rest." "Lost on this road," said the old witch mockingly. "Take in some one else with that. Show me your hand, beauteous Maiden, perhaps I can console you, without your having to dig up roots;" and she seized Lydia's hand, which the trembling maiden resistlessly surrendered. The old woman chuckled approvingly after looking for a while at the hand. "Thou willst live poor, my dear," said she, "but die rich."

"Ah!" said Lydia impatiently, "is this the place to think about gold and riches?"

"Gently, gently, my dove," continued the old woman, holding on to her hand. "In a short time thou willst weep much, but by the time the berries are ripe, thou willst be laughing again. Two will come, a fair and a dark man. Beware of the dark one, he will drive thee to thy destruction." Lydia sighed. "Yes, my angel, he will drive thee to thy destruction, the brown-haired one is the right one, him must thou take, although he is older, but banish the dark one out of thy mind. So--now thou knowest what thou wouldest know, go. I require no company for the business which I have before me."

"Oh, come with me, good woman. I am so horribly frightened," said Klytia weeping.

"Little fool who bade thee come. As thou camest alone, thou canst return alone," and the eyes of the old woman began to flash angrily.

"I will not return alone," said Klytia in a decided tone. "You either accompany me, or otherwise I wait till some one else comes."

"You wish to bottle the night dew to use against summer freckles, so that the white face may not become yellow, or break _Liebessamen_ or gather roots of _Mannertreu_?"[4] Then suddenly bursting into a rage she cast a wicked look at the affrighted maiden and said: "May Satan bless you," and uncoiling herself she left, murmuring deep curses as she descended the darkest of the wood paths, where she soon disappeared among the firs.

Full of melancholy Lydia sat down on a stone. The red glow in the West had died away. Could Laurenzano have been there already, and been disturbed by the witch, or should she wait for him? Terrified and repenting she crept into the corner in the which the old witch had crouched. She noticed that the gra.s.s was marked as if by a knife in curious streaks, and around in strange order lay some dark stones. The gra.s.s was singed. The old woman must have just extinguished her fire as Lydia came up. The meaning of the curse last spoken by the old witch was now plain to her. She had disturbed her during her incantations at the cross roads. Horrified she looked behind her at the dark fir trees to see whether the wicked woman would not finally plague her with some calamity. She would only wait a quarter of an hour longer for the Magister, then would she bound down the wood-path like a deer to reach the bridge before the shutting of the gates. But all remained still. No Paolo. Sitting thus alone and abandoned on the Holtermann, tears came to her eyes. "I have really come to what the song says:

Eh' denn ich la.s.s' das Weinen gehn, Will ich lieber an der Wegscheid stehn, Will eine Feldblum werden."

She was just on the point of starting for home when she heard voices in the distance. Excitedly did she strain her ears to catch the sound of Paolo's voice. Instead she heard three or four men talking to one another loudly and coa.r.s.ely. A new horror; how was she to pa.s.s by these strange men, who moreover appeared to her to be drunk? It would be best for her to lurk behind the bushes till the road was free. Hastily she chose a hiding-place. She heard the voices again but close. "She must be here, as said the old witch," said a rough fellow. "Yes, but you shall do her no harm," said a younger man. "I shall do nothing to her, but what you yourself wish to do. If she is waiting for her sweetheart, she can take us as well as any other." Lydia's blood turned icy cold.

"I believe," said the third, "that old Sibylla has played us a trick.

There is no one here. Stop, some one sat here, and beyond do I not see something white?" At that moment the terrified Lydia sprang down the mountain, wildly bounding down the path by which she had ascended. For a moment the three ruffians stood still in amazement, then they followed after like clumsy dogs in pursuit of the light-footed deer.

The descent was only very gradual and the strength of the men exceeded the speed of the girl. The distance between the hunted maiden and the three scoundrels behind her was gradually diminishing. When Lydia reached the old beech tree, which stood on the saddle of the mountain, it was clear to her, that if she kept down hill, the three would cut her off from one side or the other. The instinct of fear bade her take an up hill path. Her pursuers had expected her to do the contrary and lost sight of her for a moment. "There, there," now cried out one, pointing upwards to where Lydia was endeavoring to reach the ruins of the Heiligenberg along the mountain ridge. The chase began anew. But in climbing the trembling maiden had a great advantage over the heavy footed drunken men. They were already about to give up the hunt, when the eldest proposed to cut off the game thus escaping, and evidently making for Heidelberg, by taking the foot path to the left. Stealthily did the three ruffians make off in that direction. Lydia looked back for a moment. She was no longer being pursued; she could draw breath.

Heated and half-dead through fear and fatigue, she leant against a beech tree. Hundred lights gleamed in the town below. From the castle a lamp in the window shone in a more friendly manner than did the others.

What would she not have given to have been there. She would rather have been transported to Sylvan's prison than be here in the dark, in fear, and hunted down. Quietly did she wend her way through the ruins of the old monastery, through which wondrous shapes formed by the evening mists arose, and she thought whether she could not find a shelter among the tumbled down walls. But she felt afraid of remaining in this dreadful place, around which crept the ghosts of walled-in monks. The moon now appeared from behind the Konigstuhl; peacefully glinted its light through the trees, and shed pure rays on the path beneath. Her long shadow accompanied her, at times reaching far down the descent, at times reared straight against the steep declivity. As she was about to come forth from behind a small mound she heard a suppressed chuckle.

She sprang to one side with a bound, and rushed once more upwards through the bushes. They were at hand those horrible men. One rose up on one side, another on the other side, whilst a third hidden behind a tree came straight at her. "Saviour, have mercy on me," cried the terrified child. The drunken scoundrel tripped over the root of a tree, and Lydia shot past him swift as an arrow. But the hunt could not last much longer; the three pressed after her with drunken confidence sure of their booty, each pushing the other out of his way to be the first to reach the beauteous prey. Klytia's last hope was to get to the ruins of the Michael's Church on the foremost brow of the hill, and conceal herself in one of the niches. She had already cleared the first wall, but the youngest of her pursuers was close at her heels. She made one spring forwards, and felt the ground give way under her feet. "The Heidenloch" the horrid thought flashed across her mind; she fell into empty s.p.a.ce; struck the ground beneath her heavily and lost her senses.

A moment afterwards the foremost of her pursuers came through the entrance. The ruins lay before him bathed in the pure moonlight, but all was still. It seemed as if the earth had swallowed up the maiden.

"Holy saints," muttered he. The others now appeared, the eldest limping. "Where is she," roared the ruffianly scoundrels. "I saw her here still flying before me and when I came up she was gone." "She is somewhere crouching behind the walls," said the oldest. Cursing and with terrible threats they searched the bushes and walls. Nowhere did they find a trace. The three looked at each other suspiciously. "I believe one witch sent us in pursuit of another." The older man crossed himself. "With real beings such things do not occur," added the youngest. "Perhaps she fell into the Heidenloch, in which case she is dead," said the third unconcernedly. "Come, I have had enough of the business, I want a sleep." And calmly, as if they had done no evil, the three blackguards went down the hill, to seek their beds.

Sweetly did the elder bush scent the air around the walls of the ruined church, the wind murmured through the tops of venerable trees, which had already given shade to the Roman soldiers, guarding the fort, and to the monks of the cloister; the crickets sang their monotonous song as they had done for thousands of years previously, brightly beamed the moon on the scattered stones, beneath however in a dark cellar, which only received light from the opening above, lay Lydia senseless. The poor child was only known to exist by Him, who both hears the death rattle of the stricken deer in the thicket, and the sigh of the creature hidden from the eye of man.

CHAPTER XIII.

On the morning of the day so momentous for Lydia, Miller Werner and his boy descended from the Kreuzgrund behind Ziegelhausen along the pattering brook to the village below. The sails of his own mills and those of his neighbours clappered merrily as if for a wager. The brook glittered as morning dew and May light. Even the meadows of the fertile valley were still adorned in the midst of summer with the green of spring.

"Thou art certain," said the miller to his redheaded offspring, "that it was Erastus' daughter?"

"Quite certain, father."

"Thou didst read the note thyself?"

"I read, that she was to be on the Holtermann an hour before sundown."

"How didst thou manage that?"

"I am not going to run errands for the Jesuits blindly. I saw that he wrapped something up in a kerchief, and he wanted me to believe, that he wished the young lady to receive back her lost property without knowing who had found it. I don't let myself be made a cat's paw of.

'Be wise as serpents,' says Grandmother."

"I don't blame thee, but only wish I could put a stop to the design of this Priest of Baal? Erastus saved thy mother's life through his skill; he however has a low opinion of our Church. I shall be glad to make him think better of our habits, and prove my grat.i.tude to him. I am also sorry for the girl. I shall have to inform her father about this letter."

"Had I not better go up to-day and separate them? Thou knowest I can imitate all birds and animals, and the devil himself pretty well."

"No," said the miller, "this is no matter for boys." When the miller had finished all his errands in the tower, he inquired for Erastus at his house. He was told, that the Counsellor was away. He wished to speak with the young lady. She was out. The old dissenter went away shaking his head. "Nothing is left for me to do, but to try and move the conscience of the Italian Papist, if he has a conscience. Ha, it is ringing for the evening worship, which the pious man holds in the Heiligengeist Church. Perhaps I may there meet the infatuated girl, in any case the good shepherd, who would lead his own sheep to destruction. These people are a crying sin and disgrace."

When he reached the market, he entered the Church disdaining the outward visible signs of worship usually observed in G.o.d's house by the members of the congregation. The Preacher had already begun his sermon.

It was his usual theme, the wickedness of the world. "A fitting subject for thee, thou scoundrel," thought the Baptist. He looked around for Lydia. In vain. He examined all the faces from the most backward to the foremost rows; she was not present. "The lost sheep is in any case better than the shepherd," he said to himself, "she at all events does not prepare herself in G.o.d's house for an a.s.signation." He now turned his attention to the Preacher, who began to speak more warmly and more enthusiastically. He spoke of the punishments of sin, but the iron mountain and the pecking bird played no longer a part in his rhetoric.

From most intimate knowledge did he that day depict the pangs of an evil conscience. He described the secret sinner, peering timorously around or continually looking behind him, whether one was not near who had seen all; no longer able to look at people straight in the face, but casting his eyes down before their scrutiny, whose evil conscience attributed everything to his hidden trespa.s.s and who thus on earth carried h.e.l.l about him in his own breast.

"Oho does it seem to thee thus," thought the Baptist, "then perhaps is there a chance of saving thee." After thinking for a time he tore from a bill which he had about him a piece of blank paper and wrote on it a few words. Then he took off his woollen neck-cloth, folded it neatly together, concealing the note within it. "That is the same post-office as invented by thee," said he to himself with a grim smile. As the last psalm was being sung, he left the Church quietly. Keenly did his piercing eye survey the pa.s.sing crowd. Finally he beheld a young maiden, a member of his sect, who would be a suitable messenger. He quietly went up to her and whispered for a while with her. Silent messages, concerted watchwords, signals, and all sorts of secret communications were not uncommon among the oppressed and persecuted Baptists. The young woman accepted the charge given to her by the Baptist without the slightest hesitation. The bells sounded, the congregation left the Church, the marketplace was empty. Out of humor and inwardly ill at rest Laurenzano now came out of the porch. "What did that Dissenter want here during prayer-time," he asked himself.

"Unabashed he entered in the middle of the sermon, and how insolently did he stare at me towards the end leaning against a pillar, as if I were depicting the evil state of my own wicked conscience." He sighed, and then continued angrily "I will take care that the police-magistrate pays another visit to the Kreuzgrund." At that moment a neatly dressed peasant girl came up to him, "Reverend Sir, you lost something yesterday near the Stift." Scarcely was the cloth in his hand, than the maiden disappeared round the corner. Laurenzano looked anxiously about him, to see whether he was observed. Then he undid the cloth. It contained a piece of paper. It was certainly from Lydia. She was perhaps appointing a safer place than the Kreuzweg. He quickly turned up a narrow street opposite, stopped and read the words: "Fly, all is known." Terrified he looked behind him, and suddenly a loud voice above him roared out: "The man deserves that a fox's tail be hung from his collar, and himself be flogged out of the town," It was the landlord of the Hirsch, talking about the opposition host, of the Ox. Paul knew the voice well, and thought the words referred to himself, for he remembered the habitual evening guests of the Hirsch, whom he had caused to be imprisoned in the great tower. For that reason he had daily been treated with great coolness in the Hirsch. So now it was known that he was acting under orders of the Jesuits, it was known that he had been the cause of the wretched fate of the four parsons, a stranger warned him. Did he mean the betrayal, did he mean the appointment with Lydia, or the affair with the daughter of the former court fool? or perhaps--a shudder pa.s.sed over him. In any case he was discovered. Madly did he rush forwards. He only came back to his senses on reaching the Speyer gate. Pigavetta is at present with the Reichstag, he thought in his fear. Father Aloysius' name came back to him as a deliverer from his inward and outward troubles. He alone could advise him and the Bishop protect him. As if hunted by evil spirits he hastened onwards. On the way to Schwetzingen was a tavern. A band was playing a new gavotte composed by the jovial Henry of Navarre, and introduced by the French into Heidelberg. "Beauteous Gabrielle," began the words of the text thus set to music. In his indefinite fear it sounded like mockery. As if p.r.i.c.ked by spurs, he hastened his pace, whilst the merry tune pursued him for some time across the silent fields. He breathed more freely, when he had left the "beauteous Gabrielle" entirely behind him. Only when the sun was setting, and a cool breeze from the Bergstra.s.se fanned his neck, did he question within himself whether he had not been rather premature in thus taking to flight? He pulled the note out of his pocket. It was a coa.r.s.e piece of paper, a large bold handwriting, evidently a man's. With a shake of the head he once more concealed the mysterious words about him. Under any circ.u.mstances he must consult Pigavetta, and more calmly did he continue his journey along the stubbly road between the waving cornfields.

The Baptist left the market-place the moment that he perceived from afar the effect of his message. He saw how the Magister slipped up the narrow street, how he trembled, and how finally he hastened away, but not at all in the direction of the _rendez-vous_. "I have the greatest mind," thought the old man laughing "to send the same message to all these priests of Baal, I bet, that the following morning all the pulpits in this sinful town would be empty." Some of his errands were not quite finished; he was only free as night came on. "The deluded maiden must be home by this time," he said, as he left the home of his last customer; "perhaps she is sad and ashamed, I will try and touch her better feelings, and thus spare the good Physician a great sorrow--" and although tired and hungry he once more climbed the Schlossberg. He found there only Erastus' housekeeper in an anxious state of mind at the young lady's absence. "I have specimens of wheat,"

said the Miller, "and a message besides, she will not stay out much longer and I have already climbed up here twice to-day." The old Barbara delighted at having some one to keep her company in her solitude, set a bowl of millet soup before him chattering away in praise of her young mistress. He answered shortly, and listened in great distress of mind to every sound. Midnight was approaching and still the two sat on waiting near the hearth by the burnt out fire.

Finally the old servant could not contain her anxiety any longer. She wanted to rouse the people in the castle to search for Lydia, but the Miller stopped her. "A scandal won't do. A girl's reputation is like the bloom on the peach, or a frost flower on a pane of gla.s.s. Touch them, they are gone. Therefore keep quiet. I fancy I know where she is, but you must promise me to be silent. If to-morrow by mid-day I have not found her, I shall come back here. Till then do not mention a word of this to any one." Old Barbara gave her promise. She felt relieved at his taking the responsibility on himself. When the Miller reached the town once again, he turned down one of the narrow side streets leading to the Neckar. He knocked three times in a peculiar manner at the shutters of a house. "Immediately," answered a gentle female voice. The Baptist entered and asked whether his boy was still there? "He sleeps,"

was the answer. "Wake him and give us both a couple of stout sticks."

After a time the boy appeared looking very drowsy, but determined to accompany his father without a word of complaint, who grasped in his strong hand the knotty thorn lent to him. After giving their names they were allowed by the guard to cross the bridge. "We are going by way of the Holtermann to the Kreuzgrund."

"That is it," said the boy. "I thought that was the reason why thou didst remain out so long."

Silently, continuing his sleep as he best might whilst walking, the weary boy plodded in a mechanical manner behind his father. The crickets chirped around them, and fire-flies flew among the bushes.

When they reached the brow of the hill near the old beech tree, the father ordered his son to shout his loudest mountain call. The boy did this at first with a tired husky voice, then louder and louder, but all remained mute. A bird rose here and there from its bush, and a c.o.c.k crowed an answer from the Siebenmuhlenthal. "There is no one here any longer," said old Werner sadly, "why should she be? Let us go to our beds."

"It seems to me as if I saw a fire there, Father," said the boy.

"You are right. What means a fire in the middle of the Kreuzweg?"

Quietly did the old man and his son steal up to where the light shone.

"Go thou round that way, I go this way, so she cannot escape us, should she be there."

By the Kreuzweg sat in the seat from whence she had been disturbed by Lydia, the old witch of the Kreuzgrund. Before her lay the bleached skull of a child, around which she had placed three lights. Over a coal-fire was swung a vessel containing a strangely smelling water.

Near wriggled the bodies of three snakes whose heads had been cut off.

All kinds of magical implements were scattered around. The witch herself had fallen fast asleep. "Mother Sibylla," shouted the Miller loudly in her ear, "what has become of the maiden, who was waiting here this evening?"

The witch started up and stared at Werner. "The fair Ly----," murmured she half asleep, and then became silent.

"Where is she?" repeated the Miller.