— 13 — THE SNARING
OF JACOBEAThe great forest was so silent, so lonely, the aisles of a vast church could have been no more sanctified by holy stillness. Even the summer wind that trembled in the upper boughs of the huge trees had not penetrated their thick branches and intertwined leaves, so that the grass and flowers were standing erect, untroubled by a breath of air, and the sun, that dazzled without on the town of Frankfort did not touch the glowing green gloom of the forest. Seated low on the grass by a wayside shrine that held a little figure of the Madonna, Nathalie the witch, hunched together in a brown cloak, looked keenly into the depths of cool shade between the tree trunks. She was watching the distant figure of a lady tremble into sight among the leaves of the undergrowth. A
