The angels of light,
Have laid the command;
From the Dawn-spirit’s hall,
At the Dragon-prince’s call,
I am sent, I am sent,
Agnes, maid, to demand!”
Had the witch’s voice power to freeze their breasts to ice? Fritz’s hand twitched on his hunting-knife. A flash from Martha’s eye—it sank palsied from the hilt. But Wolf was stouter hearted than his sire. So much good silver from Jew Mordecai lost? Not without one struggle. As a doe poises for the bound he made to leap from the charmed circle, but his captor’s glance was too quick. He hesitated, was lost. For Martha’s hands flew in mystic passes, the two ravens screamed together, and the enchantress sang:—
“Cross the line, the fiends are waiting;
Death is sure, none shuns the fating
Writ up large on high!