The sight of the ring seemed indeed to have the power of a necromancer’s charm upon the Ober-Amtmann. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon it, than his cheek grew pale—his usually severe and stern face was convulsed with agitation—and he sank back in his chair with the low cry, “That ring! O God! After so many years of dearly-sought oblivion!”
At the sight of the Ober-Amtmann’s agitation and apparent swoon, a howl of execration burst from the crowd below, mingled with the cries of “Tear the wretch in pieces! She has poisoned him! Tear her in pieces!” Consternation prevailed through the whole assembly. Bertha sprang to her father’s side; but the Ober-Amtmann quickly rallied. He waved his daughter back with the remark, “It was nothing—it is past;” and raising himself in his chair, looked again upon the ring.
“There is no doubt,” he murmured, “it is that same ring—that Arabic ring, brought me from the East, and which I gave—oh, no!—impossible!” he hurriedly exclaimed, as a horrible thought seemed to cross him. “She has been dead many years since. Did not my own brother assure me of her death? It cannot be!”
After a moment’s pause to recover from his agitation, he gave orders to one of the guards to remove the hood from Magdalena’s head, that he might see her features. With the crooked end of a pike’s head, one of them tore back her hood; while another, with the staff of his pike, forced her hands asunder. Magdalena’s careworn and prematurely withered face was exposed to the gaze of all, distorted with emotion.
“Less rudely, varlets!” cried the Ober-Amtmann, with a feeling of sudden forbearance towards the wretched woman which surprised all present; for they could not but marvel at the slightest symptom of consideration toward such an abhorred outcast of humanity as a convicted witch; and as such the miserable Magdalena was already regarded.
For a moment the Ober-Amtmann considered Magdalena’s careworn, withered, and agitated face with painful attention; and then, as if relieved from some terrible apprehension, he heaved a bitter sigh, and murmured to himself—“No, no, there is no trace of that once well-known face. I knew it could not be. She is no more. It was a wild and foolish thought! but this ring—’tis strange! Woman, dost thou know me?” he asked aloud, with some remaining agitation.
“I know you not,” replied Magdalena with a low and choked voice; for she now trembled violently, and the tears gushed from her eyes.
“How camest thou then by this ring? Speak! I command thee,” continued the Ober-Amtmann.
Magdalena bowed her head with a gesture of refusal to answer any further question.
“Wretched woman! Hast thou violated the repose of the dead? Hast thou torn it from the grave? How else came it in thy possession?”