turally be accounted for, and he must undo the spell before he can hope to be successful.”
“Talk not so foolishly,” answered the old forester; “to believe such a thing would be quite superstitious, and a brave huntsman, you know, should be above such fears.”
“Take my word for it, William,” rejoined Rudolf, “it is just as I have told you. Go some Friday at midnight to a cross-road, and draw a circle around you with the ramrod of your gun, or with a bloody sword; then bless it thrice, as the priest does, but in the name of Samiel”
“Hush!” interrupted the forester angrily. “Knowest thou what name thou wert now using? That is one of the devil’s chief spirits. God shield thee and every other Christian from him!”
William crossed himself fervently, and would hear no more, but Rudolf adhered to his opinion. All that night he kept cleaning at his gun, and examined every spring and screw; and when morning dawned he went forth once more to try his luck.
But still William’s efforts were fruitless, though the deer came crowding around him as if to dare his skill. At ten paces he levelled at a roebuck, twice his gun flashed in the pan,—the third time the buck plunged uninjured into the neighbouring copse. The unlucky hunter threw himself in despair upon the sward, and began to bemoan his unhappy fate, when an old soldier with a wooden leg suddenly stept out from among the bushes, and hailed him with a “Good morning, comrade! Why so gloomy? Art love-sick, my
