“A masterpiece of generalship,” said Conrad.
“Pst!” warned Veit, for the old woman was returning. She was about to provide them with wine, but Veit beckoned to her and said: “We have no wish for a carousal this time, Mother Ruschen. I will quench my thirst with a good drink from my own cellar, and don’t care to spoil the taste of it now.” Turning to his companions, he added: “You shall be my guests to-night. We must leave for home to-morrow at an early hour. We will make preparations for a little ride; it is bad luck that I cannot ride the black horse. The beast went suddenly lame, and that is why I wait here so long. It must have been bewitched.”
“Yes, yes!” said Jörgel, “I have no doubt witchery is back of it. I wonder who could have done it!”
“What is bewitched once is likely to be bewitched again,” said Conrad.
“That is what is troubling me,” said the knight.
“Why not depend upon the church’s ban and consult your chaplain? The priests understand this witchery business.”
“To be sure! I never thought of that,” said the old woman, who had listened to the conversation. “I know a pious father who can help your horse, noble sir.”
“Where is he?” all three exclaimed together.
Mother Ruschen pointed to a dark corner of the room. They went there and found a figure stretched out on the bench apparently sound asleep.
“Ho! wake up, reverend father,” cried the old woman, shaking him roughly. As he raised himself and looked up, the knights forgot all about the horse, and with furious execrations dragged him to his feet. His face was half hidden in a cowl.