Whereupon the witch answered scornfully--"If that could kill, then
were we all dead long since, for the wind blows on us every
minute, and we blow upon our hot broth to cool it, yet who dies
thereof? How could a bishop be so sunk in superstition? As to
Prechln of Buslar, no wonder if God had smitten him for his pride
and arrogance, as it is said (Luke i. 51), 'He scatters such as
are proud of heart,' for, though her feudal vassal, he had refused
to do her homage; therefore here was no witch-work, but only God's
work, testifying against sinful haughtiness and pride.

"Moreover, it was false that she had blown upon the children; the
silly fool Prechln had imagined it all--nothing was too absurd for
stupidity like his to believe; and what then? Can't people die but
by witchcraft? Did St. Peter bewitch that covetous knave Ananias
(Acts v.) when he fell down dead at his feet for having lied to
the Holy Ghost? Let the honourable convocation answer her truly."

Summa.--The end of all was (as we may imagine) that the cunning
Satan was allowed to depart in peace, only receiving a wholesome
admonition from his Highness Duke Philip, and another from my
worthy father-in-law, Dr. Cramer.

But what happened as she returned to her lodgment in the Ruedenberg
Street? Behold Joachim Wedel of Cremzow, whom she had made
contracted, sat at his window to enjoy the air, but the evil hag
no sooner looked up and saw him than she began to mock him,
twisting her mouth awry, even as he twisted his mouth. When he
observed her, his face grew red with anger, and he cried out of
the window, "Ha, thou accursed witch, I am not so