"The afternoon is mild and sunny," observed the Duchess. "Tell them to saddle the horses and we will ride over, and see what they are doing. Ah--I forgot that thou complainedst of the fatigue of riding, when we returned from St. Gallus. So I will go there alone ..." Ekkehard meanwhile had inspected the scene of the nightly revel, of which but few traces remained. The earth around the oak-tree was still wet and reddish looking, and a few coals and ashes indicated where the fire had been. With astonishment he beheld here and there, hanging in the branches of the oak, small wax effigies of human limbs. There were feet and hands, as well as images of cows and horses,--offerings for the recovery of sick men and beasts, which the superstitious peasantry, preferred hanging up on old consecrated trees, to placing them on the altars of churches. Two men, with hatchets, now came up. "We have been ordered to come here," they said. "From the Hohentwiel?" asked Ekkehard. "We belong to the Duchess, but we live yonder on the Hohenhöwen; where you can see the smoke rise from the charcoal-pile." "Good," said Ekkehard. "You are to cut down this oak for me." The men looked at him. Embarrassment was visible in their faces. "Begin at once, and make haste, for before nightfall, the tree must be felled to the ground." Then the two men walked up to the oak. With gaping mouths they stood before the magnificent tree. One of them let his axe fall. "Don't you know the spot, Chomuli?" quoth he to his companion. "How should I know it, Woveli?" The former pointed towards the east, and lifting one of his hands to his mouth, imitated the act of drinking. "On account of that, Chomuli." Then the other looked downhill where Ekkehard was standing, and winking cunningly with one eye, said: "We know nothing, Woveli." "But he will know, Chomuli." "That remains to be seen," was the reply. "It is really a sin and a shame," continued the other. "That oak is at least two hundred years old, and has lived to witness many a bright May- and Autumn-fire. I really can't do it." "Don't be a fool," said his companion making the first stroke. "The more readily we hew away at the tree, the less yonder monk will believe, that we have sat under its branches in nightly worship. Remember the shilling fine! A man must be cautious, Woveli!" This last remark did not fail to have its effect. "Yes, a man must be cautious," he repeated aiming a blow at the tree of his devotion. But ten days ago, he had hung up a wax effigy himself, in order to cure his brown cow of fever. The chips flew about, and keeping regular time, their blows quickly followed each other. The deacon of Singen had also arrived with stole and mass-book. Ekkehard beckoned to him to go with him into the hut of the woman of the wood. She was still sitting motionless as before, beside her hearth. A sharp gust of wind, entering as the door opened, extinguished her fire.