Rushing footsteps mingled with peculiar soft
patterings; agonized human screams coupled with the growls and snappings
of an animal; a heavy thud; gurgles; and then silence.

The Count's courage revived: he hurled himself against the door; it gave
with a crash, and the next moment he was inside. But what a sight met
his eyes! The place, which somehow or the other seemed oddly familiar to
him, was a veritable shambles--floor, walls, and furniture were sodden
with blood. In every corner were mangled human remains; whilst stretched
on the ground, opposite the doorway, lay the body of Martha, her face
unrecognizable and her breast and stomach ripped right open. This was
terrible enough, but more terrible by far was the author of it all, who,
having cast aside wraps, now stood fully revealed in the yellow glow of
a lantern. What the Count saw was a monstrosity--a thing with a woman's
breast, a woman's hair, golden and curly, but the face and feet were
those of a wolf; whilst the hands, white and slender, were armed with
long, glittering nails, cruelly sharp and dripping with blood.

To the Count's astonishment the creature did not attack him, but
uttering a low plaintive cry, veered round and endeavoured to escape.
But escape was the very last thing Van Breber would permit. Whatever the
thing was--beast or devil--it had caused him endless trouble, and if
allowed to get away now, would go on with its escapades, and so bring
about his ruin. No! he must kill it. Kill it even at the risk of his own
life. With a shout of wrath he plunged his sword up to its hilt in the
thing's back.

It fell to the floor and the Count bent over it curiously. Something was
happening--something strange and terrifying; but he could not look--he
was forced to shut his eyes. When he opened them he no longer saw the
hairy visage of a wolf--he was gazing fondly into the dying eyes of his
beautiful and much-loved wife. With a rapidity like lightning, he
recognized his surroundings. He was in a long disused summer-house that
stood in a remote corner of his own grounds!

"God help me and you, too!" the Countess Hilda whispered, clasping him
fondly in her arms. "It was the water!--the water I drank in the Harz
Mountains! I have been bewitched----"; and kissing him feverishly on the
lips, she sank back--dead.

CHAPTER XI

WERWOLVES IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY AND THE BALKAN PENINSULA

THE CASE OF THE FAMILY OF KLOSKA AND THE LYCANTHROPOUS FLOWER

In