would have torn thee in
pieces hadst thou done it. Ha! do I catch thee there?" he continued, as
at these words the woman buried her face between her hands.

"Thou canst not deny it!" shouted the witchfinder with an air of
triumph.

"God best judges the motives of the heart," murmured Magdalena.

"I will tell thee more, vile hag, and thou shalt hear it face to face,"
pursued the cripple, seizing the poor woman's arms with his long bony
fingers, and dragging her hands from before her face, in spite of her
efforts at resistance. "Thou watchest at street corners and in doorways,
on the bridge or on the causeway, to see fair Fraulein Bertha, the
Ober-Amtmann's daughter, ride past upon her ambling jennet, or mount the
church-steps, her missal in her hand. Thou watchest her to cast thy
spells upon her. Thou hatest her for her youth and beauty and spotless
purity, like all thy wretched tribe, whom the sight of innocence and
brightness sickens to the heart's core. Thou wouldst fascinate her with
thy eye of evil and thy deadly incantations."

The moon, the light of which still struggled faintly through the
fast-accumulating clouds, shone for a moment upon the face of old
Magdalena, as the cripple pronounced these words. Her features were more
deadly pale than usual, and convulsed with an excess of agitation at
this mention of Bertha's name, which she evidently struggled to control
in vain.

"Ah! I have thee there again!" screamed Claus in triumph a second time.
"Already have I seen her cheek grow pale, her head bow down like a
blighted flower, her walk become weary with faintness. Hast thou already
been at thy filthy machinations? But Black Claus, the witchfinder, is
there to wrestle with the powers of evil. And hear me! That fair sweet
girl is the only comfort of my wretched life. My soul grows calm and
soothed when I look upon that lovely face. A ray of sunshine gleams upon
the darkness of my path when her smile beams upon me. My heart leaps
within me for joy when her small white hand drops an offering into my
beggar's bowl. She is my only life, my only joy, and my guardian angel.
And couldst thou harm her, woman, no torment should be too horrible for
thee, body and soul. The chains of the stake still lie upon the
market-place--the ashes of yon pile still reek with heat; and the pile
shall rise again, the chains shall bind once more. Wretched hag! I bid
thee again beware!"

As with one hand the raving witchfinder pointed