Again the greenwood rang with laughter.
“O Lord Jesus Christ! run, tell Thy Father He made a sad mistake, when He made us womankind. Jerome of the Dragon’s Dale is wiser! He knows we are only fiends let loose from hell.”
“Silence, sorceress! declare your errand, and briefly.”
The witch looked at him out of her little eyes with a sly quirk, very like that of Zebek.
“Ulrich of the Wartburg—” began she.
“A sinful man even amongst sinners,” assented the hermit.
“Has been on a raid.”
“He has done the like before; God assoil him—which I very much doubt.”
“And he has taken a prisoner.”
“Our Lady soften those beasts’ hearts that they demand a reasonable ransom. Ulrich commonly slaughters.”