The unhappy woman replied not. She had again covered her face with her hands, and the tears streamed through her meagre fingers.
“Speak, I tell thee! This ring has conjured up such recollections, that were there but one human link between thee and one who has long since rested from all sorrow in the grave, it might ensure thy safety.”
No answer was returned by Magdalena; although, to judge by the convulsed movement of her body, the struggle within must have been bitter and heavy to bear.
“Die then in thy obstinacy, miserable woman,” cried the Ober-Amtmann in a suppressed voice—“Let justice take its course!”
“Denouncer!” said the chief schreiber to the witchfinder, “hast thou further evidence to offer?”
“Needs it more to convict a criminal of the foul and infernal practices of witchcraft?” cried Black Claus with bitterness.
The chief schreiber turned to the Ober-Amtmann, as if to consult his will. For a moment the Ober-Amtmann passed one hand across his brow, as though to sweep away the dark visions that were hovering about it; and then, waving the other, as if he had come to a resolution which had cost him pain, said with stern solemnity—“Let the workers of the evil deeds of Satan perish, until the earth be purged of them all.”
This customary formula implied the condemnation of the supposed sorceress.
“To the stake! to the stake!” howled the crowd, upon hearing the delivery of this expected sentence.
After enjoining silence, which was with difficulty enforced, the chief schreiber rose, and addressed to Magdalena the accustomed question, “Woman, dost thou demand the trial by water, and God’s issue by that trial?”