My good friend Gideon was in too great a rage with the unhappy woman to make it possible to bring him back to calm reason.  Besides, who can draw the limits around the region of possibility?  Every day we see the range of reality extending more widely.  Unseen and unknown influences, marvellous correspondences, invisible bonds, some kind of mysterious magnetism, are, on the one hand, proclaimed as undoubted facts, and denied on the other with irony and scepticism, and yet who can say that after a while there will not be some astonishing revelations breaking in in the midst of us all when we least expect it?  In the midst of so much ignorance it seems easy to lay a claim to wisdom and shrewdness.

I therefore only begged Sperver to moderate his anger, and by no means to fire upon the Black Plague, warning him that such a proceeding would bring serious misfortune upon him.

“Pooh!” he cried; “at the very worst they could but hang me.”

But that, I remarked, was a good deal for an honest man to suffer.

“Not at all,” he cried; “it is but one kind of death out of many.  You are suffocated, that is all.  I would just as soon die of that as of a hammer falling on my head, as in apoplexy, or not to be able to sleep, or smoke, or swallow, or digest my food.”

“You, Gideon, with your grey beard, you have learnt a peculiar mode of reasoning.”

“Grey beard or not, that is my way of seeing things.  I always keep a ball in my double-barrelled gun at the witch’s service; from time to time I put in a fresh charge, and if I get the chance—­”

He only added an expressive gesture.

“Quite wrong, Sperver, quite wrong.  I agree with the Count of Nideck, and I say no bloodshed.  Oceans cannot wipe away blood shed in anger.  Think of that, and discharge that barrel against the first boar you meet.”

These words seemed to make some impression upon the old huntsman; he hung down his head and looked thoughtful.

We were then climbing the wooded steeps which separate the poor village of Tiefenbach from the Castle of Nideck.

Night had closed in.  As it always happens with us after a bright clear winter’s day, snow was again beginning to fall, heavy flakes dropped and melted upon our horses’ manes, who were beginning now to pluck up their spirits at the near prospect of the comfortable stable.

Now and then Sperver looked over his shoulder with evident uneasiness; and I myself was not altogether free from a feeling of apprehension in thinking of the strange account which the huntsman had given me of his master’s complaint.

Besides all this, there is a certain harmony between external nature and the spirit of a man, and I know of nothing more depressing than a gloomy forest loaded in every branch with thick snow and hoar frost, and moaning in the north wind.  The gaunt and weird-looking trunks of the tall pines and the gnarled and massive oaks look mournfully upon you, and fill you with melancholy thoughts.