The steinbock led through the whole course of a mountaineer’s emotions and experiences, with piff-paff continually left of him and right of him and nothing hitting him.  The mountaineer is perplexed; an able man, a dead shot, who must undo the puzzle or lose faith in his skill, is a tremendous pursuer, and the mountaineer follows the steinbock ever.  A ‘sennderin’ at a ‘sennhutchen’ tells him that she admitted the steinbock last night, and her curled hair frizzled under the steinbock’s eyes.  The case is only too clear:  my goodness! the steinbock is the——.  “Der Teu . . . !” said Andreas, with a comic stop of horror, the rhyme falling cleverly to “ai.”  Henceforth the mountaineer becomes transformed into a champion of humanity, hunting the wicked bearded steinbock in all corners; especially through the cabinet of those dark men who decree the taxes detested in Tyrol.

The song had as yet but fairly commenced, when a break in the ‘piff-paff’ chorus warned Andreas that he was losing influence, women and men were handing on a paper and bending their heads over it; their responses hushed altogether, or were ludicrously inefficient.

“I really believe the poor brute has come to a Christian finish—­this Ahasuerus of steinbocks!” said the duchess.

The transition to silence was so extraordinary and abrupt, that she called to her chasseur to know the meaning of it.  Feckelwitz fetched the paper and handed it up.  It exhibited a cross done in blood under the word ‘Meran,’ and bearing that day’s date.  One glance at it told Laura what it meant.  The bride in the court below was shedding tears:  the bridegroom was lighting his pipe and consoling her; women were chattering, men shrugging.  Some said they had seen an old grey-haired hag (hexe) stand at the gates and fling down a piece of paper.  A little boy whose imagination was alive with the tale of the steinbock, declared that her face was awful, and that she had only the, use of one foot.  A man patted him on the shoulder, and gave him a gulp of wine, saying with his shrewdest air:  “One may laugh at the devil once too often, though!” and that sentiment was echoed; the women suggested in addition the possibility of the bride Lisa having something on her conscience, seeing that she had lived in a castle two years and more.  The potential persuasions of Father Bernardus were required to get the bride to go away to her husband’s roof that evening:  when she did make her departure, the superstitious peasantry were not a merry party that followed at her heels.

At the break-up of the festivities Wilfrid received an intimation that his sister had arrived in Meran from Bormio.  He went down to see her, and returned at a late hour.  The ladies had gone to rest.  He wrote a few underlined words, entreating Vittoria to grant an immediate interview in the library of the castle.  The missive was entrusted to Aennchen.  Vittoria came in alarm.