"Take yourselves off, ye deceiving phantoms!" screamed the recluse. "I know the snares of the Tempter. Hence, begone!"
But Praxedis now approached the window, and humbly dropping a low curtsey to the old hag, explained to her that she did not come from hell, but from the Hohentwiel. Showing that the Greek maiden could be a little deceitful, she added, that she had already heard so much of the great piety of the far-famed Sister Wiborad, that she had availed herself of the first opportunity of paying her a visit, though the fact was, that she had before that day never heard about the cell and its inhabitant.
After this the wrinkles on Wiborad's forehead began somewhat to disappear. "Give me thy hand, stranger," said she, stretching her arm out of the window, which as the sleeve fell back, could be seen in all its skinny leanness.
Praxedis held up her right hand, and as the recluse touched with her dry fingers the soft warm hand with its throbbing pulses, she became slowly convinced, that the young girl was a being of flesh and blood.
Romeias on perceiving this change for the better rolled some big stones under the window of the cell. "In two hours I shall be back to fetch you;--God bless you, virgins all," he said aloud and then added in a whisper to the Greek maid,--"and don't be frightened if she should fall into one of her trances."
Whistling to his dogs he then quickly strode towards the wood. The first thirty steps or so, he got on without any impediment; but then he suddenly stopped; and turning first his shaggy head round, and then the whole body, he stood leaning on his spear, intently gazing at the spot before the cell, as if he had lost something there. Yet he had forgotten nothing.
Praxedis smiled and kissed her hand to the rudest of all gate-keepers. Then Romeias quickly turned round again, shouldered his spear,--dropped it, took it up again, then stumbled and finally managed to complete his retreat, after which he vanished behind the moss-grown stems.
"Oh thou child of the world, groping in darkness," scolded the recluse, "what meant that movement of thy hand?"
"A mere jest," replied Praxedis innocently.
"A downright sin," cried Wiborad in rough accents, so that Praxedis started,--and then continuing with her preaching added: "Oh the Devil's works and delusions! There you cast your eyes slily about until they enter a man's heart like lightning, and kiss your hands to him as if that were nothing! Is it nought that he looks back who ought to be looking forwards? No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God. 'A jest?' O give me hyssop to take away your sin, and snow to wash you clean!"