The Man-Wolf and Other Tales | Page 5

sound the horn when he
has killed the forest beasts; I am at the head of all his retainers, and I
would give my life for his sake; yet when he is at his worst I can hardly

keep off my hands from his throat, I am so horrified at the way in
which he treats his beautiful daughter."
Sperver looked dangerously wroth for a moment, clapped both his
spurs to his mount, and we rode on at a hard gallop.
I had fallen into a reverie. The cure of a complaint of this description
appeared to me more than doubtful, even impossible. It was evidently a
mental disorder. To fight against it with any hope of success it would
be needful to trace it back to its origin, and this would, no doubt, be too
remote for successful investigation.
All these reflections perplexed me greatly. The old huntsman's story,
far from strengthening my hopes, only depressed me--not a very
favourable condition to insure success. At about three we came in sight
of the ancient castle of Nideck on the verge of the horizon. In spite of
the great distance we could distinguish the projecting turrets,
apparently suspended from the angles of the edifice. It was but a dim
outline barely distinguishable from the blue sky, but soon the red points
of the Vosges became visible.
At that moment Sperver drew in his bridle and said--
"Fritz, we shall have to get there before night--onward!"
But it was in vain that he spurred and lashed. The horse stood rooted to
the ground, his ears thrown back, his nostrils dilated, his sides panting,
his legs firmly planted in an attitude of resistance.
"What is the matter with the beast?" cried Gideon in astonishment. "Do
you see anything, Fritz? Surely--"
He broke off abruptly, pointing with his whip at a dark form in the
snow fifty yards off, on the slope of the hill.
"The Black Plague!" he exclaimed with a voice of distress which
almost robbed me of my self-possession.

Following the indication of his outstretched whip I discerned with
astonishment an aged woman crouching on the snowy ground, with her
arms clasped about her knees, and so tattered that her red elbows came
through her tattered sleeves. A few ragged locks of grey hung about her
long, scraggy, red, and vulture-like neck.
Strange to say, a bundle of some kind lay upon her knees, and her
haggard eyes were directed upon distant objects in the white landscape.
Spencer drew off to the left, giving the hideous object as wide a berth
as he could, and I had some difficulty in following him.
"Now," I cried, "what is all this for? Are you joking?"
"Joking?--assuredly not! I never joke about such serious matters. I am
not given to superstition, but I confess that I am alarmed at this
meeting!"
Then turning his head, and noticing that the old woman had not moved,
and that her eyes were fixed upon the same one spot, he appeared to
gather a little courage.
"Fritz," he said solemnly, "you are a man of learning--you know many
things of which I know nothing at all. Well, I can tell you this, that a
man is in the wrong who laughs at a thing because he can't understand
it. I have good reasons for calling this woman the Black Plague. She is
known by that name in the whole Black Forest, but here at Nideck she
has earned that title by supreme right."
And the good man pursued his way without further observation.
"Now, Sperver, just explain what you mean," I asked, "for I don't
understand you."
"That woman is the ruin of us all. She is a witch. She is the cause of it
all. It is she who is killing the count by inches."
"How is that possible?" I exclaimed. "How could she exercise such a

baneful influence?"
"I cannot tell how it is. All I know is, that on the very day that the
attack comes on, at the very moment, if you will ascend the beacon
tower, you will see the Black Plague squatting down like a dark speck
on the snow just between the Tiefenbach and the castle of Nideck. She
sits there alone, crouching close to the snow. Every day she comes a
little nearer, and every day the attacks grow worse. You would think he
hears her approach. Sometimes on the first day, when the fits of
trembling have come over him, he has said to me, 'Gideon, I feel her
coming.' I hold him by the arms and restrain the shuddering somewhat,
but he still repeats, stammering and struggling with his agony, and his
eyes staring and fixed, 'She is coming--nearer--oh--oh--she comes!'
Then I go up Hugh Lupus's tower; I survey the