University of Virginia Library

31. XXXI.

Like an abandoned wretch, he rode over to
Staremberg castle. He could not depart without
seeing Bertha and his child. Their absence had
already half reconciled him to the worst. But
where were they? Neither baron nor baroness had
yet seen their daughter and grandson.

“Trifle not with me, I pray you,” cried Rodolph,
in his agony. “Bring me to them. I
am in no mood for sport; I cannot brook delay.”

When assured that they had not yet made their
appearance, with a mad yell he rushed away into
the forest. The retainers of Staremberg followed
in pursuit; and the old baron himself, who tenderly
loved his daughter, did not withhold himself
from the search which was instituted for her. It

was the fortune of the unhappy Rodolph to gain
the first tidings of his beloved. Midway between
his own and Staremberg castle, the carriage lay
overturned, and almost torn to pieces. The horses
were stiff dead, and yet there were no marks or
wounds upon them. They seemed literally to have
been blasted. The dead body of a man lay
stretched out before a portion of the vehicle,
wearing a dress like that of Claus, to whose custody
Bertha had been intrusted; but what was
the horror of Rodolph, on approaching the body,
to discover the features of his ancient comrade,
Conrade Weickhoff, once again visibly before him.
And the horrible image unclosed its eyes, and
glared upon him, as with a lustful longing, from
beneath the sickly glaze which still overspread the
rapidly decaying orbs.

The fear of death was no longer a fear with
Rodolph Steinmyer. The goods of life were
gone — the things which he had lived for, and
which had made life a province of delight superseding
the desire in his mind for any other, were
all gone. The wife and the child were torn from
him for ever — murdered, doubtlessly, by the
demon fingers of his foul associates, or the demon
agents of that awful being with whom, it was now
the fear of Rodolph, he had been commercing

but too freely. As he thought on these matters,
however, he congratulated himself that, though
bargaining with the demon, he had sold him nothing
but his life — he had not traded away his
soul! Rodolph was not so subtle a casuist as the
devil! A yell of derisive laughter rose in the air
around him, the moment that his lips gave utterance
to the absurdity; and he distinctly beheld the
long, bony, and skinless fingers of Conrade Weickhoff
stretching up toward him from the carcass.

He rushed away from the dreadful place and
spectacle. Madness seemed to prompt his course,
and desperation gave him wings. But there was
method in his madness. His mind had reached
that stage of frenzy in which nothing can touch
it farther. He was now insensible to hope and
fear, as he was indifferent to life. One met him
in his flight, whom he saw not, but the voice of
Hans Busacher he knew.

“We go together,” said Hans.

“We do!” was the reply.

“You are waited for!” said the former.

“Who waits?” demanded Rodolph, fiercely.

A finger rested upon his wrist, and the touch
seemed to enfeeble him, while the other briefly replied
—

“Oberfeldt! — Weickhoff! — Bertha!”

“Ha! I am ready!” was the desperate, but
shuddering response; and they entered together
the gates of Oberfeldt castle, which immediately
closed heavily behind them. There was now no
escape for Rodolph, but he thought not of that.