rage. Cursing aloud, he snatched his gun from the wall, rushed into
the courtyard and looked about for whomsoever had uttered that cry that
he might shoot the wretch down like a dog.

Perchance if that cry had come from Heaven he would have fired up at
Heaven itself!

What! to cry out "Death" to the Amen of those who were praying for
life!

And again that ear-piercing voice cried: "Death, death!"--it sounded
like the whoop of a screech-owl.

The "death-bird," as they called her, was standing there in front of the
trellised gate with her eyes fixed on the windows, her face was as pale
as the face of a corpse, and her white hair was fluttering in the
tempestuous night.

"It is thine own death thou hast prophesied, thou crazy witch, thou!"
thundered old Benjamin, and he fired his gun at her at ten paces.

The "death-bird" stared at him without moving a muscle. Old Benjamin, in
a sort of stupor, let the weapon fall out of his hand; it never occurred
to him that he had extracted the bullet himself beforehand lest in a
moment of distraction he might blow his own brains out.

"What dost thou want, Benjamin?" asked the old woman in a calm mocking
voice. "Death comes not from thee, but to thee. Nobody can kill me.
Death has passed me by, he does not think of me, he does not trouble
himself about me, he has turned me into a living spirit. I am old and
ugly, Death cares not for such as I. He too has a liking for youth and
beauty, for pretty young women like thy daughter, for strong gallant
young fellows like thy son-in-law, for tender, rosy chicks like thy
grandchildren, and for fat ripe corn like thyself, saddled with more
sins than the hairs of thy head. Benjamin Hetfalusy, I have looked upon
thee as a young man, when thou didst chicane me out of my house, and
tear from my hands the dry crusts I lived upon. And thou hast grown fat
upon it too. But the bread that is wet with the tears of orphans cries
to Heaven for vengeance, the blessing of God rests not upon it. Thou art
old and thou wilt die. Thou shalt leave none behind thee, thou shalt
bury all whom thou didst ever love. But I shall remain alive to see thy
grave. I shall survive thee that I may see everything that once belonged
to thee lie desolate. And this fine house of thine shall remain
empty--these trees shall fade away and wither one by one--strangers
shall divide thy lands among them. And now go home, for thou shalt not
dwell there long. When thou liest outsi