“This is the man who was her first accuser.  Why, he dares not go outside his house without a guard of the Duke’s riders,” said the man, picking at his finger-nail with his teeth, as if it were a bone and he did not think much of its savoriness.

“You have already confessed,” said the advocate to old Hanne, when they had propped up the poor wreck of skin and bone, “and you do now confess that this maid and yourself have ofttimes had converse with the Enemy of Souls?”

A spasm passed across the face of the witness, and a low sound proceeded from her mouth, which might have been an affirmative answer, but which sounded to me much more like a moan of pain.

“And you confess that she consulted you concerning the best means of killing the Duke Casimir—­by means of a draught to be administered to him when he should, as was his custom, visit his Hereditary Justicer?”

“There was indeed a draught spoken of between us, noble sir,” stammered the old woman, “but it was not for the Duke Casimir, nor yet for—­for any evil purpose.”

I saw the Friar Laurence incline his head a little forward and whisper in Hanne’s ear from his place behind her.

At the words she clasped her hands and fell on the floor, grovelling:  “I will say aught that you bid me, kind sir.  I cannot bear it again.  I cannot go back to that place.  I am too old to be tormented.  I will bear what testimony your excellencies desire.”

“We wish only that you should tell the truth as you have already done of your own free will in your pre-examination,” said Master Gerard, “the notes of which are before me.  Was it not to kill the Duke Casimir that this draught was compounded?”

The old woman hesitated.  Friar Laurence stooped again.

“Yes!” she cried; “God forgive me—­yes!”

An evil look of triumph sat on the face of Otho von Reuss.  I think he felt sure of his victim now.

“That is enough,” said Master Gerard.  “Take the old woman back to her cell.”

“Oh no, great Lord!” she cried, “not there!  You promised that if I said it I was to be let go free.  Kill me, but do not send me back!”

The Duke moved his hand, and the old woman was led shrieking below.

Then came Friar Laurence, who testified that he had often seen old Hanne instructing the young woman who was now a prisoner in the art of drugs, in the preparation of images carven in dough—­and it might be also in clay—­things well known in the art of witchery.

Further, he had been with the Duke Casimir at the last, and the Duke had declared that he had partaken of a draught in the house of Gottfried Gottfried, and immediately thereafter had been taken ill.

There was not much else of matter in the Friar’s evidence, but the most deep and vindictive malice against the prisoner was evident in every word and gesture.

Then Master Gerard rose to address the judges.  His venerable appearance was enhanced by the sternly severe look on his face.  He looked an accusing angel from the pit, swart of skin and with eyes of flame.  He was tall and bent of figure, with the serpent-browed head set deep between hunched shoulders like those of a moulting vulture.  He grasped his bundle of papers and rose to make his final speech.