The guests of the preceding day were assembled in the farm house of Philip Mullerhorn, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Adolf. Old Mullerhorn went frequently to the door, and looked out, with anxiety, down the road which Adolf usually took when he visited the farm.

“I fear all is not right with him,” said he. “Adolf is late in coming this morning. He should have been here a full hour before this.”

“Peradventure,” snuffled Chriss, “the young man has fled, doubting whether he could make good his boasts of yesterday.”

“Not so fast, my good friend,” said the voice of Adolf himself, who then entered, bearing in his hand a valise, evidently containing articles of weight. “We shall soon prove whose boasts shall be first accomplished.” As he spoke, he threw the valise upon the table, before Mullerhorn, “I am come,” said he, “Father Philip, to receive my bride.”

“Heavens!” said Barbara, earnestly regarding the countenance of Adolf, “what has thus blanched thy brow, and changed thy visage? Thy cheek is ghastly, and thy look unearthly! Why glares thine eye so wildly? What hast thou done? The light of thine eye is not from heaven! Holy Virgin! the cave! the cave!” cried she, fainting.

“Adolf, what ails thee?” asked Mullerhorn. “Thy brow is indeed pale, and thine eye fierce and blood-shot. Thou comest from no holy work this morning. Hadst thou the whole treasure of earth, no daughter of mine, Adolf Westerbok, should’st thou wed, until the secret of thy conduct is explained.”

“It is nothing,” said Adolf, stammering as he spoke, “a weariness—a sickness—it will soon be over.”

“I fear the mark on thy brow is of no earthly malady. Remain here no longer. Depart from us, for thy society is not for that of Christian men.”

“I come to claim my bride!” cried Adolf, hoarsely, “and to pay the dower. No man shall prevent me from this. Why gaze ye thus on me? Stand back; the man who interferes in this shall rue his intrusion. Barbara, dear Barbara, you cannot, do not thus repulse me?”

“Adolf,” said Barbara, gaining courage, and her voice before faltering, becoming firm and steady, “depart from me. All is now explained. Thy anxiety of last evening; thy expedition to the cave of Schwearenheim; all is explained. Barbara Mullerhorn may have loved thee, and she did so; but she will never consent to be the bride of a forsaken wretch like thee.”

A sudden exclamation from Piet Albrecht attracted the attention of all present, and aroused Adolf from the stupor into which the words of Barbara had thrown him. The room was filled with a rich, purple light, in which the figure of Rudenfranck, arrayed in his magical vestures, and holding the ivory sceptre of Bructorix, appeared to the terrified spectators. Well might they be terrified; for upon the brow of the hunter a brilliant star gleamed brightly with a sulphurous light, and his tall figure seemed to dilate to superhuman size.

“Why dost thou stare at me?” sneered Rudenfranck to Adolf, who gazed upon him with a bewildered look; “why dost thou stare at me? Produce thy treasure and claim thy bride.”

“No! no bride of hell!” shouted Mullerhorn. “I doubted this yesterday. Away from us, Adolf Westerbok; and thou, mysterious being, whether thou be phantom or devil, in the name of God I defy thee.”

“And see,” cried Mienckel, tearing open the valise, “what is here?”

“Old chips of iron and leather, as I live,” said Albrecht. “It is the Evil One. Let us fly from here, else we die!”

Adolf gazed wildly at the valise, and with a loud cry of despair, seized his rifle, and vainly endeavored to destroy himself.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Rudenfranck, “thou hast yet seven years to enjoy thy gold. These are the treasures for which thou hast forfeited thy soul. Miserable fool! Did’st thou think it mattered to me whether thy fate was prosperous or not! Into the snare thou did’st enter of thine own accord, and thou must pay the penalty. Farewell! My ends are accomplished! For the prescribed space of my life, wealth, wisdom, and power in the fullest are mine! That space expired, I will mock at thee in the halls of the fiend. This sacrifice of thy soul hath ensured my success, and I thank thee for it. Farewell, Adolf Westerbok. Fool! idiot! driveller! Thou hast thy hire, and I triumph over the world of spirits.”

As he spoke, he waved his magic sceptre. The cloud enveloped him in its folds, and he disappeared, with a laugh of malicious scorn.

Barbara Mullerhorn survived the misfortunes which had attended her early love, and lived to marry a wealthy farmer of the neighborhood, who proved himself every way worthy of her choice.

Piet and Agatha also entered upon the matrimonial engagement, and their descendants may still be found among the hills.

For some years after, a wan, gaunt, and ragged wretch might have been seen toiling and digging incessantly along the range of the Wolf Hills. The fire of lunacy burned in his eye, he spoke to no one, and never uttered language, save in his insane self-communings. The neighbors universally shunned him, and no charitable voice soothed his misery. He dwelt in the gloomy cave by the run, where the unholy rites of Rudenfranck had been celebrated. His sole occupation consisted in a continual search after hidden treasure.

Seven years had elapsed since the occurrences above narrated, were reported to have taken place, when a hunter, pursuing his game among the Wolf Hills, accidentally discovered the dead body of a man, shockingly torn and mangled, at the entrance of the cavern of the recluse. It was the corpse of Adolf Westerbok, the Silver Digger of the Wolf Hills.