ud, protracted howlings!

He was the wolf!

That low receding forehead, that sharp-pointed face, that foxy-looking
beard, bristling off both cheeks; the long meagre figure, the sinewy
limbs, the face, the cry. The attitude, declared the presence of the wild
beast half-hidden, half-revealed under a human mask!

At times he would stop for a second and listen attentively with head
awry, and then the crimson hangings would tremble with the quivering of
his limbs, like foliage shaken by the wind; then the melancholy wail
would open afresh.

Sperver, Sebalt, and I stood nailed to the floor; we held our breath,
petrified with fear.

Suddenly the count stopped. As a wild beast scents the wind, he lifted
his head and listened again.

There, there, far away, down among the thick fir forests, whitened with
dense patches of snow, a cry was heard in reply--weak at first; then the
sound rose and swelled in a long protracted howl, drowning the feebler
efforts of the hounds: it was the she-wolf answering the wolf!

Sperver, turning round awe-stricken, his countenance pale as ashes,
pointed to the mountain, and murmured low--

"Listen--there's the witch!"

And the count still crouching motionless, but with his head now raised
in the attitude of attention, his neck outstretched, his eyes burning,
seemed to understand the meaning of that distant voice, lost amidst the
passes and peaks of the Schwartzwald, and a kind of fearful joy gleamed
in his savage features.

At this moment, Sperver, unable or unwilling to restrain himself any
longer, cried in a voice broken with emotion--

"Count of Nideck--what are you doing?"

The count fell back thunderstruck. We rushed into the room to his help.
It was time. The third attack had commenced, and it was terrible to
witness!

CHAPTER IX.

The lord of Nideck was in a dying state.

What can science do in presence of the great mortal strife between
Death and Life? At the supreme hour, when the invisible wrestlers are
writhed together body to body and limb to limb, panting, each in turn
overthrowing and overthrown, what avails the healing art? One can but
watch, and tremble, and listen!

At times the struggle seems suspended--a truce has sounded; Life has
retired into her hold. She is resting; she is collecting the courage of
despair. But the relentless enemy beats at the gates; he bursts in; then
Life springs to the rescue, and again grapples with her adversary. The
strife