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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"The House of the Wolf; a romance"

And him
a heretic!"
"It is the black art," the other answered, crossing herself.
"Maybe it is! But he will need it all to give that big man the
slip to-day," replied the first speaker comfortably.
"That devil!" Margot exclaimed, pointing with a stealthy gesture
of hate at the Vidame. And then in a fierce whisper, with
inarticulate threats, she told a story of him, which made me
shudder. "He did! And she in religion too!" she concluded.
"May our Lady of Loretto reward him."
The tale might be true for aught I knew, horrible as it was! I
had heard similar ones attributing things almost as fiendish to
him, times and again; from that poor fellow lying dead on
Pavannes' doorstep for one, and from others besides. As the
Vidame in his pacing to and fro turned towards us, I gazed at him
fascinated by his grim visage and that story. His eye rested on
the crowd about us, and I trembled, lest even at that distance he
should recognise us.
And he did! I had forgotten his keenness of sight. His face
flashed suddenly into a grim smile.


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