At this Sperver cried indignantly—­

“Just fancy that old witch living on meat while so many honest folks in our villages have nothing better than potatoes to eat!  That’s what upsets me, Fritz!  Ah! if I had but—­”

But his thoughts remained untold; he turned deadly pale, and all three of us, in a moment, stood rigid and motionless, staring with horror at each other’s ghastly countenances.

A yell—­the howling cry of the wolf in the long, cold days of winter—­the cry which none can imagine who has not heard the most fearful and harrowing of all bestial sounds—­that fearful cry was echoing through the castle not far from us!  It rose up the spiral staircase, it filled the massive building as if the hungry, savage beast was at our door!

Travellers speak of the deep roar of the lion troubling the silence of the night amidst the rocky deserts of Africa; but while the tropical regions, sultry and baked, resound with the vibrations of the mighty voice of the savage monarch of the desert, making the air tremble with the distant thunder of his awful cry, the vast snowy deserts of the North too have their characteristic cry—­a strange, lamentable yell that seems to suit the character of the dreary winter scene.  That voice of the Northern desert is the howl of the wolf!

The instant after this awful sound had broken upon the silence followed another formidable body of discordant sounds—­the baying and yelling of sixty hounds—­answering from the ramparts of Nideck.  The whole pack gave voice at the same moment—­the deep bay of the bloodhound, the sharp cry of the pointer, the plaintive yelpings of the spaniels, and the melancholy howl of the mastiffs, all mingling in confusion with the rattling of dog-chains, the shaking of the kennels under the struggles of the hounds to get loose; and, dominating over all, the long, dismal, prolonged note of the wolf’s monotonous howl; his was the leading part in this horrible canine concert!

Sperver sprang from his seat and ran out upon the platform to see if a wolf had dropped into the moat.  But no—­the howling came from neither.  Then turning to us he cried—­

“Fritz!  Sebalt!—­come, come quickly!”

We flew down the steps four at a time and rushed into the fencing-school.  Here we heard the cry of the wolf alone, prolonged beneath the echoing arches the distant barking and yelling of the pack became almost inaudible in the distance; the dogs were hoarse with rage and excitement, their chains were getting entangled together.  Perhaps they were strangling each other.

Sperver drew the keen blade of his hunting-knife.  Sebalt did the same; they preceded me down the gallery.

Then the fearful sounds became our guide to the sick man’s room.  Sperver spoke no more; he hurried forward.  Sebalt stretched his long legs.  I felt a shuddering horror creep through my whole frame—­a horrible presentiment of something shocking and abominable came over us.