Presently the Baroness raised her head, and, in tones of some feeling, asked what had become of that wretched Martha, gnashing her teeth as she spoke with an air that inspired considerable doubts as to her being’ able to keep her new resolution. This, however, was not put to the test as far as Martha was concerned. As soon as she perceived that things were going wrong, but that the harper was not alluding to _her_ in his verse, that worthy person slipped quietly from the room and the castle, and sought refuge in the wood where her wehr-wolves usually met her. The animals were there as at other times, but their reception of her was not the same. No sooner was she within the wood than the expression of their countenances grew strange and fierce, so that the woman trembled all over. In another instant they seized upon her and dragged her, one on each side, near to where the wood touched the banks of the river. Wildly she shrieked for aid, and in another moment the form of the River-demon appeared upon the bank. This time, however, he had no cheering counsel to give. With a wild and derisive laugh he pointed jeeringly at the unhappy woman, whom the wehr-wolves held fast, while they growled-fearfully and savagely all the while. “Ha, Martha!” he cried, “hast thou come to the end of thy revenge at last? They who seek demon-help must have demon-punishment, and thine hour is come to-day. Know this, poor wretch! that those who yield to their passions cherish within them that which will one {101}day tear and destroy them as the wehr-wolves are about to do to thee, and those who wish for a happy end must control and govern themselves on the journey!” Then, with a fiendish leer and grin, he nodded his head to the wehr-wolves, and in another moment the wretched Martha was tom limb from limb, and perished miserably. Folks say that her spirit still haunts that wood, and that on dark and stormy nights her shrieks may be heard, accompanied by the growling of the wehr-wolves and the laugh of the exulting demon. But you and I, Brother Thames, know well how foolish mortals are with their tales of horror, and how ready they are to mistake a creaking tree for a shriek and a moonbeam for a spirit.