"
"You haven't told us about her breakfast," said Sperver.
"No, I was forgetting. At the foot of Roche Fendue I saw there had been a
fire; there was a black place; I laid my hand upon it, thinking it might
be warm, which would have proved that the Black Plague had not gone far;
but it was as cold as ice. Close by I saw a wire trap in the bushes. It
seems the creature knows how to snare game. A hare had been caught in it;
the print of its body was still plain, lying flat in the snow. The witch
had lighted the fire to cook it; she had had a good breakfast, I'll be
bound."
At this Sperver cried indignantly--
"Just fancy that old witch living on meat while so many honest folks in
our villages have nothing better than potatoes to eat! That's what upsets
me, Fritz! Ah! if I had but--"
But his thoughts remained untold; he turned deadly pale, and all three of
us, in a moment, stood rigid and motionless, staring with horror at each
other's ghastly countenances.
A yell--the howling cry of the wolf in the long, cold days of winter--the
cry which none can imagine who has not heard the most fearful and
harrowing of all bestial sounds--that fearful cry was echoing through the
castle not far from us! It rose up the spiral staircase, it filled the
massive building as if the hungry, savage beast was at our door!
Travellers speak of the deep roar of the lion troubling the silence of
the night amidst the rocky deserts of Africa; but while the tropical
regions, sultry and baked, resound with the vibrations of the mighty
voice of the savage monarch of the desert, making the air tremble with
the distant thunder of his awful cry, the vast snowy deserts of the North
too have their characteristic cry--a strange, lamentable yell that seems
to suit the character of the dreary winter scene.
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