Strange to say, a bundle of some kind lay upon her knees, and her haggard eyes were directed upon distant objects in the white landscape.

Spencer drew off to the left, giving the hideous object as wide a berth as he could, and I had some difficulty in following him.

“Now,” I cried, “what is all this for?  Are you joking?”

“Joking?—­assuredly not!  I never joke about such serious matters.  I am not given to superstition, but I confess that I am alarmed at this meeting!”

Then turning his head, and noticing that the old woman had not moved, and that her eyes were fixed upon the same one spot, he appeared to gather a little courage.

“Fritz,” he said solemnly, “you are a man of learning—­you know many things of which I know nothing at all.  Well, I can tell you this, that a man is in the wrong who laughs at a thing because he can’t understand it.  I have good reasons for calling this woman the Black Plague.  She is known by that name in the whole Black Forest, but here at Nideck she has earned that title by supreme right.”

And the good man pursued his way without further observation.

“Now, Sperver, just explain what you mean,” I asked, “for I don’t understand you.”

“That woman is the ruin of us all.  She is a witch.  She is the cause of it all.  It is she who is killing the count by inches.”

“How is that possible?” I exclaimed.  “How could she exercise such a baneful influence?”

“I cannot tell how it is.  All I know is, that on the very day that the attack comes on, at the very moment, if you will ascend the beacon tower, you will see the Black Plague squatting down like a dark speck on the snow just between the Tiefenbach and the castle of Nideck.  She sits there alone, crouching close to the snow.  Every day she comes a little nearer, and every day the attacks grow worse.  You would think he hears her approach.  Sometimes on the first day, when the fits of trembling have come over him, he has said to me, ‘Gideon, I feel her coming.’  I hold him by the arms and restrain the shuddering somewhat, but he still repeats, stammering and struggling with his agony, and his eyes staring and fixed, ‘She is coming—­nearer—­oh—­oh—­she comes!’ Then I go up Hugh Lupus’s tower; I survey the country.  You know I have a keen eye for distant objects.  At last, amidst the grey mists afar off, between sky and earth, I can just make out a dark speck.  The next morning that black spot has grown larger.  The Count of Nideck goes to bed with chattering teeth.  The next day again we can make out the figure of the old hag; the fierce attacks begin; the count cries out.  The day after, the witch is at the foot of the mountain, and the consequence is that the count’s jaws are set like a vice; his mouth foams; his eyes turn in his head.  Vile creature!  Twenty times I have had her within gunshot, and the count has bid me shed no blood.  ‘No, Sperver, no; let us have no bloodshed.’  Poor man, he is sparing the life of the wretch who is draining his life from him, for she is killing him, Fritz; he is reduced to skin and bone.”