Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
While the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task foredone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud.
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide.
SHAKESPEARE: _Midsummer Night’s Dream_.
Let us now retrace our steps. We left Ordener and Spiagudry struggling
laboriously up the brow of Oëlmœ cliff by the light of the rising moon.
This rock, bare of vegetation at the point where it begins to curve, is,
from this peculiarity, called by the Norwegian peasants the Vulture’s
Neck,--a name which gives an excellent idea of the aspect of this huge
granite bowlder as seen from a distance.
As our travellers approached this part of the rock, the forest changed
to heather. Grass gave place to moss; wild brier-roses, broom, and holly
were substituted for oaks and beeches,--a scantier growth, which in
mountainous regions always shows that the summit is near, as it
indicates the gradual diminution of the stratum of earth covering what
may be termed the skeleton of the mountain.
“Mr. Ordener,” said Spiagudry, whose lively mind seemed ever a prey to a
varying world of ideas, “this is a very tiresome climb, and it takes all
my devotion to follow you. But it seems to me that I see a superb
_convolvulus_ yonder to the right; how I should like to examine it. Why
is it not broad daylight? Don’t you think it was a great piece of
impertinence to value a learned man like me at no more than four paltry
crowns? ’Tis true, the famous Phædrus was a slave, and Æsop, if we are
to believe the learned Planudes, was sold at a fair like a beast of
burden or household chattel. And who would not be proud to bear any sort
of resemblance to the great Æsop?”
“Or to the celebrated Hans?” added Ordener, with a smile.
“By Saint Hospitius,” replied the keeper, “do not utter that name so
lightly; I swear I could readily forego the latter comparison. But
wouldn’t it be strange if Benignus Spiagudry, his companion in
misfortune, should win the reward for his head? Mr. Ordener, you are
more generous than Jason, for he did not give the golden fleece to the
Argonaut pilot; and I am sure that your mission, although I do not
clearly understand its object, is no less perilous than that of Jason.”
“Well,” said Ordener, “since you know Hans of Iceland, tell me something
about him. You say that he is by no means a giant, as is generally
supposed.”
Spiagudry interrupted him: “Stop, master! Don’t you hear footsteps
behind us?”
“Yes,” quietly answered the young man; “don’t be alarmed; it is some
animal frightened at our coming, and brushing against the bushes in its
flight.”
“You are right, my young Cæsar; it is so long since these woods have
seen the face of man! If we may judge by its heavy tread, it must be a
good-sized animal. It may be an elk or a reindeer; this part of Norway
abounds in these beasts. Wildcats are also found here; I saw one myself,
which was brought to Copenhagen; he was monstrous big. I must give you a
description of this ferocious animal.”
“My dear guide,” said Ordener, “I would rather that you would give me a
description of another and no less ferocious monster, the horrible
Hans.”
“Speak lower, sir! How calmly you utter that name! You do not know--Good
Heavens, sir! just hear that!”
As Spiagudry said this, he drew closer to Ordener, who did indeed
distinctly hear a cry similar to the growl which, as the reader may
remember, had so alarmed the timid keeper on the stormy night of their
departure from Throndhjem.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered, breathless with fright.
“To be sure I did,” said Ordener; “but I don’t see why you tremble so
violently. It is the howl of some wild beast, possibly the cry of one of
those very wildcats of which you were just talking. Did you expect to
pass through such a place at this time of night without disturbing any
of its inhabitants? I’ll warrant you, old man, they are far more
frightened than you are.”
Spiagudry, seeing his young companion’s composure, was somewhat
reassured.
“Well, it may be, sir, that you are right. But that yell sounded
terribly like a voice that I--It was a very poor idea, let me tell you,
sir, to insist upon climbing up to this Vermund’s castle. I fear we
shall meet with some accident on the Vulture’s Neck.”
“Fear nothing while you are with me,” answered Ordener.
“Oh, nothing disturbs you; but, sir, nobody but the blessed Saint Paul
can handle vipers without getting bitten. You did not even notice, when
we struck into this confounded footpath, that it seemed to have been
recently trodden, and that the grass had not had time to lift its head
since it was trampled.”
“I confess that I did not pay much heed to it, and that my peace of mind
is not dependent upon the state of a few blades of grass. See, we are
now out of the thicket; we shall hear no more from the wild beasts; I
need not therefore tell you, my brave guide, to summon all your
courage, but rather bid you muster all your strength, for this path, cut
in the rock, will doubtless be even steeper than the one we have left.”
“It is not that it is steeper, sir, but the learned traveller, Suckson,
says that it is often impeded by rocks or heavy stones too big to be
handled, over which it is not easy to clamber. Among others, there is,
just beyond the Maläer postern, which must be close at hand, a huge
triangular granite bowlder, which I have always had the greatest desire
to see. Schoenning asserts that he discovered the three primitive Runic
characters on it.”
The travellers had for some time been climbing the face of the rock;
they now reached a small, ruined tower, through which their path led,
and to which Spiagudry drew Ordener’s attention.
“This is the Maläer postern, sir. This path hewn in the living rock
contains several curious structures, which show the ancient style of
fortification used in our Norwegian manor-houses. This postern, which
was always guarded by four men-at-arms, was the first outwork of
Vermund’s fort. Speaking of posterns, the monk Urensius makes an odd
remark; he asks whether the word _janua_, derived from Janus, whose
temple doors were so widely celebrated, has any connection with
‘Janissary,’ a name applied to the troops who guard the sultan’s gate.
It would be strange enough if the name of the mildest prince known to
history should have passed to the most ferocious soldiers upon earth.”
In the midst of all the keeper’s scientific twaddle, they journeyed
laboriously along, over loose stones and sharp pebbles, mingled with the
short, slippery grass which sometimes grows upon rocks. Ordener beguiled
his weariness by thinking how delightful it would be to gaze once more
upon distant Munkholm; all at once Spiagudry exclaimed: “Oh, I see it!
This sight alone repays me for all my trouble. I see it, sir, I see it!”
“See what?” said Ordener, who was just then thinking of Ethel.
“Why, sir, the three-sided pyramid described by Schoenning. I shall be
the third scientific man, with Professor Schoenning and Bishop Isleif,
to have the pleasure of studying it. Only it is a great pity that there
is no moon.”
As they approached the famous bowlder, Spiagudry uttered an exclamation
of horror and distress. Ordener, in surprise, asked with some interest
the cause of this new emotion; but the archæologist was for a time
unable to reply.
“You thought,” said Ordener, “that this rock blocked the path; on the
contrary, you should be grateful to find that it leaves it entirely
open.”
“And that is the very thing which provokes me,” said Benignus, in
piteous accents.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, sir,” replied the keeper, “do you not see that the position of the
pyramid has been changed; that the base, which rested on the path, is
now uppermost; and that the bowlder stands upside down, upon the very
side on which Schoenning discovered the primordial Runic letters? I am
indeed unfortunate!”
“It is a pity,” said the young man.
“And besides,” hastily added Spiagudry, “the overturning of this mass of
stone proves the presence of some superhuman being. Unless it be the
work of the Devil, there is but one man in Norway whose arm could--”
“My poor guide, there you are, giving way again to your foolish fears.
Who knows but this stone has lain thus for more than a hundred years?”
“It is a hundred and fifty years, it is true,” said Spiagudry, more
quietly, “since the last scientific man observed it. But it seems to me
to have been moved recently; the place which it formerly occupied is
still damp. Look, sir.”
Ordener, impatient to reach the ruins, dragged his guide away from the
marvellous pyramid, and succeeded, by gentle words, in removing the
fresh fears with which this strange displacement inspired the aged
scholar.
“See here, old man, you can take up your abode on the borders of this
lake, and devote yourself to your important studies, when you get the
thousand crowns reward for Hans’s head.”
“You are right, noble sir; but do not speak so lightly of so dubious a
victory. I must give you one piece of advice which may help you to
overcome the monster.”
Ordener drew eagerly toward Spiagudry. “Advice! what is it?”
“The robber,” said the latter, in a low voice, casting uneasy glances
around him,--“the robber wears at his belt a skull, from which he
usually drinks. It is the skull of his son, of the mutilation of whose
corpse I am accused.”
“Speak a little louder, and don’t be frightened; I can hardly hear you.
Well, this skull?”
“This skull,” said Spiagudry, bending to whisper in the young man’s ear,
“you must try to obtain. The monster attaches a certain superstitious
importance to its possession. His son’s skull once yours, you can do
what you will with him.”
“That is all very well, my good fellow; but how am I to get this skull?”
“By some stratagem, sir. While the monster sleeps, perhaps.”
Ordener interrupted him: “Enough. Your good advice is useless. I cannot
be supposed to know when my enemy is asleep. My sword is the only weapon
which I recognize.”
“Sir, sir! it has never been proved that the archangel Michael did not
resort to stratagem to vanquish Satan.”
Here Spiagudry stopped short, and stretching out his hands, exclaimed in
scarcely audible tones, “Oh, heavens! Oh, heavens! What do I see? Look,
master; is not that a short man walking before us in the path?”
“Faith,” said Ordener, raising his eyes, “I see nothing.”
“Nothing, sir? To be sure, the path bends, and he has disappeared behind
that rock. Go no farther, sir, I entreat you.”
“Surely, if the person whom you imagine that you saw disappeared so
quickly, it shows that he has no idea of waiting for us; and if he
chooses to run away, that is no reason why we should do the same.”
“Watch over us, holy Hospitius!” ejaculated Spiagudry, who in all
moments of danger remembered his favorite saint.
“You must,” added Ordener, “have taken the flickering shadow of some
startled owl for a man.”
“And yet I really thought I saw a little man; to be sure, the moonlight
often produces strange delusions. It was in the moonlight that Baldan,
lord of Merneugh, took a white bed-curtain for his mother’s ghost; which
led him to go next day and confess himself guilty of parricide before
the judges of Christiania, who were about to condemn the dead woman’s
innocent page. So we may say that the moonlight saved that page’s life.”
No one was ever more ready than Spiagudry to forget the present in the
past. One anecdote from the vast storehouse of his memory was enough to
banish all thought of the present. Thus the story of Baldan diverted his
fears, and he added in a tranquil voice, “It is quite possible that the
moonlight deceived me too.”
Meantime, they gained the top of the Vulture’s Neck, and began to get
another glimpse of the ruins, which the steep slope of the rock had
hidden from them as they ascended.
The reader need not be surprised if we frequently encounter ruins on the
topmost peak of Norwegian mountains. No one who has travelled among the
mountains of Europe can have failed to notice the remains of fortresses
and castles clinging to the top of the loftiest peaks, like the deserted
nest of a vulture or the eyrie of some dead eagle. In Norway especially,
at the period of which we write, the variety of these aerial structures
was as amazing as their number. Sometimes they consisted of long
dismantled walls, enclosing a rock, sometimes of slender pointed
turrets, surmounting a sharp peak, like a crown; or upon the snowy
summit of a lofty mountain might be seen great towers grouped about a
massive donjon, looking in the distance like an antique diadem. Here
were the graceful pointed arches of a Gothic cloister, side by side with
the heavy Egyptian columns of a Saxon church; there, close by some pagan
chieftain’s citadel with its square towers, stood the crenellated
fortress of a Christian lord; or, again, a stronghold crumbling with
age, neighbored by a monastery ravaged by war. Of all these edifices--a
strange medley of architectural styles, now almost forgotten, daringly
constructed in apparently inaccessible spots--but a few ruins remained
to bear witness alike to the power and the impotence of man. Within
their walls deeds were perhaps done far worthier of repetition than all
the stories which are written now; but time passed; the eyes which
witnessed them are closed; the tradition of them died with the lapse of
years, like a fire which is not fed; and when that is lost, who can read
the secret of the ages?
The manor-house of Vermund the Refugee, which our two travellers had now
reached, was one of those places about which popular superstition has
woven endless amazing histories and marvellous legends. By its
walls--composed of pebbles bedded in cement, now harder than stone--it
was easy to determine that it was built about the fifth or sixth
century. But one of its five towers remained standing; the other four,
more or less dilapidated, and strewing the top of the rock with broken
fragments, were connected by a line of ruins, which also showed the
ancient limits of the inner courts of the castle. It was very difficult
to penetrate this enclosure, littered as it was with stones and
shattered blocks of granite, and overgrown with weeds and brambles
which, clambering from ruin to ruin, crowned the broken walls with
verdure, or overhung the precipice with long, flexible branches. On
these drooping tendrils, it was said, dim ghosts often swung in the
moonlight,--the guilty spirits of those who had wilfully drowned
themselves in Lake Sparbo; and to these twigs, too, the water-sprite
fastened the cloud which was to bear him home again at sunrise. Fearful
mysteries were these, more than once witnessed by hardy fishermen, when,
to take advantage of the time when dogfish sleep,[13] they ventured to
row as far as Oëlmœ cliff, which loomed up in the darkness over their
heads like the broken arch of some huge bridge.
Our two adventurers climbed the manor wall, though not without some
difficulty, and crept through a crevice, for the door was filled with
fragments. The only tower which, as we have said, remained standing, was
at the extreme edge of the rock. It was, Spiagudry told Ordener, from
the top of this tower that Munkholm lighthouse could be seen. They went
towards it, although the darkness was at that moment complete, the moon
being hidden by a great black cloud. They were about to cross a breach
in another wall, in order to enter what was once the second courtyard
of the castle, when Benignus stopped short, and suddenly seized
Ordener’s arm with such a trembling hand that the young man himself
almost fell.
“What now?” asked Ordener in surprise.
Benignus, without answering, pressed his arm more firmly, as if begging
him to be silent.
“Well--” said the young man.
Another pressure, accompanied by an ill-suppressed sigh, decided him to
wait patiently until this fresh fright should cease.
At last Spiagudry asked, in a stifled voice: “Well, master, what do you
say now?”
“To what?” said Ordener.
“Yes, sir,” added the other, in the same tone; “I suppose you are sorry
now that you came here?”
“No, indeed, my worthy guide; on the contrary, I hope to climb higher
still. Why should you think that I am sorry?”
“What, sir, did you not see?”
“See! What?”
“You saw nothing?” repeated the honest keeper, with ever-increasing
terror.
“Truly I did not,” impatiently answered Ordener; “I saw nothing, and I
heard nothing but the sound of your teeth chattering with fright.”
“What! not behind that wall, in the shadow, those two flaming eyes, like
comets, fixed directly upon us,--did you not see them?”
“Upon my honor, I did not.”
“You did not see them move up and down, and then disappear among the
ruins?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Besides, what if I did see
them?”
“What! Mr. Ordener, don’t you know that there is but one man in Norway
whose eyes gleam in that way in the dark?”
“Well, and what then? Who is this man with the eyes of a cat? Is it
Hans, your much-dreaded Icelander? So much the better if he be here! It
will spare us a journey to Walderhog.”
This “so much the better” was not to the taste of Spiagudry, who could
not help betraying his secret thought by the involuntary ejaculation:
“Oh, sir, you promised to leave me at the village of Surb, a mile away
from the battle.”
The generous and kindly Ordener understood, and smiled.
“You are right, old man; it would be unfair to make you share my danger;
therefore fear nothing. You see this Hans of Iceland everywhere. May
there not be some wildcat lurking among these ruins, whose eyes shine
quite as fiercely as his do?”
Once more Spiagudry’s fears were set at rest, either because Ordener’s
suggestion struck him as very plausible, or because his young
companion’s composure proved contagious.
“Ah, sir,” said he, “if it had not been for you I should have died a
dozen deaths from fright as I climbed these rocks. To be sure, I should
never have attempted such a task if it had not been for you.”
The moon, which now broke through the clouds, showed them the gateway to
the highest tower, the foot of which they had already reached. They
entered, after raising a thick curtain of vines, which showered them
with drowsy lizards and old decayed bird’s-nests. The keeper picked up a
couple of pebbles, and striking them together, produced a few sparks, by
means of which he soon set fire to a heap of dead leaves and dry
branches collected by Ordener. In a few moments a bright column of flame
rose into the air, and banishing the darkness about them, permitted them
to examine the interior of the tower.
Nothing was left but a circular wall, which was very thick, and was
overgrown with moss and vines. The ceiling and floors of its four
stories had crumbled away one after the other, and now formed a vast
heap of rubbish upon the ground. A narrow spiral staircase, entirely
without a railing, and broken in various places, was built in the wall,
to the top of which it led. As the fire began to crackle cheerily, a
swarm of owls and ospreys flew up heavily, with strange, weird cries,
and huge bats now and then hovered above the flames, poised upon their
ashen wings.
“Our hosts do not receive us very merrily,” said Ordener; “but do not
take fright again.”
“I, sir,” replied Spiagudry, seating himself close to the fire; “I fear
an owl or a bat! I have dwelt with corpses, and I do not fear vampires.
Ah, I only dread the living! I am not brave, I admit; but at least I am
not superstitious. Come, sir, take my advice; let us laugh at these
ladies in black petticoats and with such hoarse voices, and let us be
thinking of supper.”
Ordener thought of nothing but Munkholm.
“I have here a few provisions,” said Spiagudry, drawing his knapsack
from under his cloak; “but if your appetite be as good as mine, this
black bread and mouldy cheese will not go far. I see that we shall have
to observe the limits of the law laid down by the French king, Philip
the Fair,--_Nemo audeat comedere præter duo fercula cum potagio._ There
must be nests of gulls or pheasants on the top of this tower; but how
are we to get there by that dilapidated staircase, which does not look
as if it would bear the weight of anything but a sylph?”
“Still,” answered Ordener, “it must needs bear mine, for I shall
certainly climb to the top of this tower.”
“What, master! to get a few gull’s-nests? Do not, for mercy’s sake, be
so rash! It is not worth while to kill yourself for the sake of a better
supper. Besides, suppose you should make a mistake and take the nests of
these owls?”
“Much I care for your nests! Didn’t you tell me that I could see
Munkholm light from the top of this tower?”
“So you can, young master; it lies to the south. I see that your desire
to establish this point, so important to the science of geography, was
your motive for taking this fatiguing journey to Vermund castle. But do
consider, good Mr. Ordener, that it may sometimes be the duty of a
zealous student to brave toil and hardship, but never to run into
danger. I implore you, do not attempt that poor broken-down staircase,
upon which even a crow would not venture to perch.”
Benignus was by no means anxious to be left alone in the tower. As he
rose to take Ordener’s hand, his knapsack, which was lying across his
knees, fell upon some stones, and gave forth a clear metallic ring.
“What have you in your wallet that rings so loudly?” asked Ordener.
This was such a delicate question that Spiagudry lost all desire to
restrain his young companion.
“Well,” said he, without answering the question, “if, in spite of all my
prayers, you persist in climbing to the top of this tower, at least
beware of the broken places in the stairs.”
“But,” repeated Ordener, “you have not told me what you have in your
knapsack to make it sound so metallic.”
This indiscreet persistence was extremely unpleasant to the old keeper,
who cursed the questioner from the bottom of his soul.
“Oh, noble master,” he replied, “how can you show such curiosity about a
paltry iron barber’s-basin, which clinked against a stone? If I cannot
persuade you to change your mind,” he made haste to add, “come back as
soon as you can, and be careful to hold fast to the vines which cover
the wall. You will see Munkholm lighthouse to the south, between
Frigga’s Footstools.”
Spiagudry could not have said anything better calculated to drive every
other idea out of the young man’s head. Ordener, throwing aside his
mantle, sprang toward the staircase, up which the keeper followed him
with his eyes until he could only see him move like a faint shadow
upward to the top of the wall, dimly lighted by the flickering flames
and the cold rays of the moon.
Then reseating himself and picking up his knapsack, he said: “Now, my
dear Benignus Spiagudry, while that young lynx cannot see you, and you
are alone, make haste and break the cumbrous iron envelope which
prevents you from taking possession, _oculis et manu_, of the treasure
undoubtedly contained in this casket. When it is delivered from its
prison, it will be lighter to carry and easier to conceal.”
Arming himself with a huge stone, he was about to break the lid of the
box, when the firelight, falling on the iron lock, suddenly arrested the
antiquarian.
“By Saint Willibrod the Numismatologist, I am not mistaken,” he
exclaimed, eagerly rubbing the rusty lid; “those are indeed the arms of
Griffenfeld. I came near doing a very foolish thing in breaking this
lock. This may be the only perfect copy in existence of those famous
armorial bearings destroyed in 1676 by the hangman’s hand. The devil! I
will not touch this box. Whatever may be the value of its contents,
unless, as seems scarcely probable, it should be coin of Palmyra or
Carthaginian money, this is certainly still more precious. So here I am
the sole owner of the now obsolete arms of Griffenfeld! Let me hide this
treasure carefully, and I may some time discover the secret of opening
the casket without committing an act of vandalism. The Griffenfeld arms!
Oh, yes! here are the hand of Justice and the scales upon a gules
ground. What luck!”
At each fresh heraldic discovery that he made as he polished the ancient
coffer, he uttered a cry of admiration or an exclamation of content.
“By means of a solvent, I can open the box without breaking the lock. It
probably contains the ex-chancellor’s treasure. If any one, tempted by
the bait of the four crowns offered by the council for my head, should
recognize me now and stop me, I can readily buy my freedom. So this
blessed casket will save me.”
As he spoke, he looked up mechanically. All at once his grotesque
features changed with lightning speed from an expression of intense
delight to that of stupefied dismay; his limbs trembled convulsively,
his eyes became fixed, his brow furrowed, his mouth gaped wide, and his
voice stuck in his throat.
Before him, on the other side of the fire, stood a little man with
folded arms. By his dress of blood-stained skins, his stone axe, his red
beard, and the ravenous stare fastened on his face, the wretched keeper
at once recognized the frightful character whose last visit he had
received in the Spladgest at Throndhjem.
“It is I!” said the little man, with terrible calmness. “That casket
will save you,” he added with a bitterly sarcastic smile. “Spiagudry, is
this the way to Thoctree?”
The unfortunate man tried to stammer a word of excuse.
“Thoctree! Sir--My lord and master,--I was going--”
“You were going to Walderhog,” replied the other, in a voice of thunder.
The terrified Spiagudry mustered all his forces to deny the charge.
“You were guiding an enemy to my retreat. I thank you! ’Twill be one
living man the less. Fear nothing, faithful guide; he shall follow you.”
The luckless keeper strove to shriek, but could with difficulty utter a
feeble moan.
“Why are you so frightened at my presence? You were seeking me. Hark ye!
Do not speak, or you are a dead man.”
The little man swung his stone axe above the keeper’s head. He added, in
a voice which sounded like the roar of a mountain torrent as it bursts
from some subterranean cave: “You have betrayed me.”
“No, your Grace! No, your Excellency!” gasped Benignus, scarcely able to
articulate these words of apology and entreaty.
The other gave vent to a low growl.
“Ah! you would deceive me again! Hope not to succeed. Listen! I was on
the roof of the Spladgest when you sealed your compact with that mad
fool; twice you have heard my voice. It was my voice you heard amid the
storm upon your road; it was I whom you met in Vygla tower; it was I who
said, ‘We shall meet again!’”
The terrified keeper looked about him in despair, as if to summon help.
The little man went on: “I could not let those soldiers who pursued you,
escape my wrath; they belonged to the Munkholm regiment. I knew that I
should not lose you. Spiagudry, it was I whom you saw again in Oëlmœ
village beneath the miner’s hat; it was my footstep and my voice that
you heard, and my eyes that you saw as you climbed to these ruins. It
was I!”
Alas! the unfortunate man was but too well convinced of these dreadful
truths. He rolled upon the ground at the feet of his fearful judge,
crying in faint and agonizing accents, “Mercy!”
The little man, his arms still folded, fixed upon him a murderous look,
more scorching even than the flames upon the hearth.
“Ask that casket to save you, as you said it would do,” he said
sarcastically.
“Mercy, sir, mercy!” repeated the expiring victim.
“I warned you to be faithful and to be dumb. You have not been faithful;
but in future I protest that you shall be dumb.”
The keeper, grasping the horrible meaning of these words, uttered a deep
groan.
“Fear nothing,” said the man; “I will not part you from your treasure.”
At these words, unfastening his leather belt, he passed it through a
ring on the cover of the casket, and by this means hung it about
Spiagudry’s neck, the poor fellow bending beneath its weight.
“Come!” rejoined the monster, “to what devil will you confide your soul?
Make haste and summon him, lest another demon whom you do not care
about, take possession of it before him.”
The desperate old man, past all power of speech, fell at the little
man’s knees, making countless gestures of terror and entreaty.
“No, no!” said his tormentor; “my faithful Spiagudry, you need not be
distressed at leaving your young companion without a guide. I promise
you that he shall go where you go. Follow me; you do but show him the
way. Come!”
With these words, seizing the wretched man in his powerful arms, he bore
him from the tower as a tiger might carry off a writhing serpent, and a
moment later a fearful shriek rang through the ruins, mingled with a
horrible burst of laughter.