THE CHILDREN OF THE BLACK WOLF'S BREED
According to the Governor's recollection, I had been gone only a short
space when a peremptory knock came upon his door. He opened it, and
there stood the Chevalier de la Mora, dishevelled and with evidences of
haste, but courteous as was his wont.
"I desire to speak with Captain de Mouret, at once, at once."
"That you can not do; he has gone. Chevalier, I am astonished. Had I
not a gentleman's parole that you should remain in your house this
night?"
"You had, sire, but the conditions were urgent, and see, I have sought
Captain de Mouret without arms, so no breach could occur between us."
"Fortunately, M. le Chevalier, Captain de Mouret has consented to leave
this colony to-night, and before the day dawns he will doubtless be
many miles away."
The Chevalier heard like one dumb and undecided, a great doubt tugging
at his heart. He departed unsteadily in the direction of the barracks.
"Here, my good fellow, hast seen Captain de Mouret?" he inquired of a
straggler.
The man saluted.
"Yes, sire, he but lately went the path towards the Bay."
"How long since?"
"A bare quarter of an hour. He was dressed for the forest and went
alone."
During this while I, Placide de Mouret, stranger and outcast, sat upon
a grassy hillock awaiting Pachaco with his boat. The echoes of my horn
had died away in the night, and soon after I caught the sound of
running feet, and heard a man's voice calling my name as he ran. To my
utter astonishment it was the Chevalier, breathless from his speed.
"Is it you--Captain de Mouret?"
"It is--Chevalier," I replied, uncertain at the first who the man could
be.
Seeing him in such a state of mind I knew the struggle had come. There
be times in every man's life when he recks lightly of consequences, and
this was not my night for caring. I had, in a measure, run away thus
far from him, and he, not content with this, had pursued me past the
limit of forbearance. So anticipating his own action, I began
carefully to take off my own coat, and remembered with pleasure that it
was not a slight rapier which now hung confidently by my side.
"No, Captain, not that. I have sought you this time in peace. See, I
have no weapons."
Suiting the gesture to the speech, he flung wide his arms, and showed
himself unprepared for battle.
"Captain, you and I have fought side by side. You are a man of
courage, and if you have injured me you will render me due account upon
my demand. I do demand this of you now, that you return with me to
Biloxi at once, upon my assurance as a soldier that no harm will there
befall you. This, sir, upon a soldier's honor."
It was a most unexpected outcome to such an interview. I hesitated
warily at his request, and then thinking it could make matters no
worse, inquired:
"How long will you require me, and for what purpose?"
"The time will be most brief, a moment should suffice. The purpose I
can not give, but it will bring you into no danger. I repeat, upon the
word of a man of honor, that you will be permitted to return safely as
you came, and no one will follow."
I must say, in spite of these protests, I did not want to go. But he
pressed his wish so earnestly that I followed the Chevalier down the
winding path back to Biloxi, not without great trepidation, however.
He walked rapidly in front, and not a word was exchanged between us.
We passed the barracks and the Governor's house, where I thought to
stop, but he led me on. Leaving the thicker portions of the little
town, he soon paused before his own gate and swung it open. The wild
thought now entered my brain that perhaps he had planned some terrible
revenge upon his wife, and desired to torture me by forcing me to
witness it. I hung back at the gate. My own good sword re-assured me,
and he mounted the step to throw open the door.
"Come in, Captain. I regret that I can not give you a more sincere
welcome."
Truly, there was nothing in the aspect of the room to cause alarm. Two
ladies were inside, one at either end of a simple working table--Agnes
and another lady, about her own figure, whom I did not know. The elder
woman looked straight in my face with an anxious air.
The Chevalier did not formally present me. Agnes drooped her head
somewhat, and never raised her eyes at my entrance. It was a most
awkward situation. As to what de la Mora contemplated I could not
venture the wildest guess; certainly no violence in the presence of
this other lady who looked so cool while yet so pale.
"Captain de Mouret, as you hope for your soul's salvation, I conjure
you to tell me the whole truth. I do solemnly promise you, upon a
soldier's honor, at the very worst which may come, I will only leave
this colony, and will not injure any one."
I had seen de la Mora on many a field, but never did he look stronger
or nobler than on that night. His voice sounded full and clear despite
the intensity of his suffering.
"Captain de Mouret, you are a soldier, a brave one, as my own eyes have
witnessed, reputed a man of untarnished honor. Will you truly answer
me one question upon the sacred Blood of Christ?"
His earnestness appealed to every better instinct of my nature, so I
replied to him:
"I will."
"Have I your oath?"
"You have."
"Then, sir, to which of these ladies, if either, did you intend this
note should be delivered; and which, if either, did you meet at the
ruined chapel at Sceaux? Speak, in God's name, and do not spare me!
Suspicion is more terrible than truth."
The very worst had come, and I felt my resolution waver. I knew not
what story Agnes had told her husband, nor did I know who that other
lady was. She looked enough like Agnes to have afforded shallow
pretext for an evasion. Verily here was a strong temptation for a lie,
and I was almost minded to tell it and relieve Agnes. Agnes, though,
would give me no cue; never once did she lift her eyes to mine. I
might even then have told the lie, but for the reflection it would
compromise an innocent woman.
"Captain, in God's name, speak! do you not see that I am quiet and
self-controlled?"
"Chevalier de la Mora, I shall tell you the exact truth, and hold you
to your promise that there shall be no violence--now. What I did was
through my fault alone, nor did your lady give me the slightest
encouragement--she is blameless. It is a sore strait you have placed
me in, but _this_ is the lady who has all a soldier's love, and a
soldier's respect, which she has done nothing to forfeit."
As I spoke, I indicated the shrinking figure of Agnes, and turned to
meet the storm. Verily the storm did come, but from a different source.
The elder lady rose with a fervent "Thank God!" which I could find no
reason for her saying. Agnes nervously twisted at the table cover, her
cheeks crimson with the shame. I could not resist a long look down
upon her, and do what I might, my love showed full and strong in my
face and mien.
De la Mora keenly watched us all. That other lady, for whom I had no
thought, to my utter surprise, moved toward him with hands
outstretched, and cried:
"Charles."
For a moment he hesitated, then:
"Oh, Agnes, Agnes, a lifetime's love and service can not compensate you
for what I've made you suffer--the doubt I bore my loyal wife."
He fell upon his knee before her and carried her hand to his lips as
though she were a goddess, and then sprang toward me with the gladdest
of glad smiles, thrust his hand at me, and came near to cracking mine
by the vigor of his grasp. His throat choked up, and he said nothing.
And all this while I looked from one to the other with a most dull and
stupid stare.
Agnes looked up at me once, radiant and confused, then lowered her eyes
again.
The Chevalier broke a silence which was becoming intolerable, to me at
least, who did not understand it all.
"Captain de Mouret, you have been in error, and have done me no wrong.
This lady here is my worshiped wife, Madame Agnes de la Mora." I
looked upon her incredulously, while that gracious woman took one hand
from her husband long enough to extend to me her greeting.
Thoroughly perplexed by this most unlooked for denouement, I asked:
"Who, then, is _this_?"
"This chit," he replied, walking round the table, happy as a boy, and
almost lifting her bodily, "this is Madame's little sister, Charlotte.
She confessed this evening to having spoken with you once in the Chapel
at Sceaux--and I, may God forgive me, doubted but she had done it to
shield her sister. I knew the little minx had warned you in the Park,
but thought nothing of it. Charlotte, come here!"
And Charlotte de Verges laid her warm little hand in mine. For thirty
years it has rested there in peace.
* * * * * *
Thus, through many strange perils and purifying sorrows came the
abiding happiness which blessed these last two children of the "Black
Wolf's Breed."
FINIS
APPENDIX
Note by the Author
I have included here the full text of the documents contained in the
iron box, sent to Placide de Mouret by Colonel D'Ortez, just prior to
his death. One of these papers, that showing the male descendants of
Henri d'Artin and of Pedro Ortez, which proved that Francois Rene Alois
de Pasquier was the father of Placide and which indicated that the wife
of the Chevalier de la Mora and her sister were the grandchildren of
Colonel D'Ortez, was set out in the body of the narrative and will be
found in Chapter XXII. These supplementary documents (which are
historically accurate) confirm, not only the story related by Colonel
D'Ortez to Placide, but also the strange story told by mad Michel under
the shadow of the Castle of Cartillon. While they may add little to
the narrative interest of the main story, these documents serve to
confirm some of the least credible incidents of the tale, and it was
thought, therefore, worth while to include them here.
DOCUMENT No. 1
Document No. 1, indorsed on back, "Notes chiefly written by the Abbot
of Vaux."
_In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Sanctus Spiritus. Amen._
I, Laurent of Lorraine, Benedictine, by Divine permission Abbot of
Vaux, do make these writings and divers memoranda, partly from my own
unworthy knowledge, and partly from facts openly notorious and resting
on the testimony of witnesses as credible as there be in this world of
falsehood and vanity.
All of which latter portion, concerning one Pedro d'Ortez and his
descendants, is here set down at the special prayer and persuasion of
said d'Ortez, a profane and sacrilegious lord, yet whose past service
to the Holy Church should not be forgotten, though his late riotous and
ungodly life hath much grieved the faithful brotherhood.
THEREFORE, I, Laurent, Abbot, as above stated, do make and inscribe
this chronicle, beginning this, the 29th day of June, in the year of
grace, one thousand five hundred and seventy-six, according to the
eccleciastical computation.
And herein:
ITEM the first--(Being a copy of entries made by my own hand upon the
register of the monastery, now preserved in the archives of the same.)
Aug. 26, 1572. Admitted to the sanctuary and protection of the
monastery this day a certain suckling babe, aged about two years.
The infirm servitor by whom said babe was tended, dying the same day,
despite all efforts and prayers.
August 28th, 1572. Died August 26th, 1572, at Cartillon, Henri
Francois Placide d'Artin, Count of Cartillon, Seigneur de Massignac,
etc., a heretic and apostate, falling before the wrath of God on
occasion of the pious stratagem of the Feast of the Blessed
Bartholomew, arranged by Her Most Gentle Majesty, and the dutiful son
of Church, Henri, duc de Guise.
Note. The babe aforementioned being the son and heir of above, was
admitted to communion of the church and baptized Bartholomew Pasquier.
Further note. Sept. 9th, 1589. Bartholomew Pasquier being designed
for orders, but unruly and rebellious in spirit, ran away upon the
murder of our good King Henri, third of that name, and joined himself
with the armies of the heretic Henri, Prince of Bearne, self-styled
King of France and Navarre.
Afterward, when the said Henri, repenting of his errors, reunited with
the true Church, said Bartholomew appears again as a major in his
guards, holding a firm place, it was said, in the King's favor.
DOCUMENT No. 2
(Abbot Laurent's writing)
Statement of Brothers Anselmo and Jehan, touching the rites of exorcism
by them administered, _contra daemonios_, to the temporal and
seigneural lord, Pedro d'Ortez, Count of Cartillon--fourteenth of said
lordship--a man of profane blood, dying in grievous torment of soul,
possessed of foul and wicked fiends--may God protect all true
Christians from the same. AMEN.
ANSELMO DI NAPOLI.
JEHAN DE TOURS.
_In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Sanctus Spiritus. Amen._
It was come the early part of the night when there arose at the outer
gate such an unseemly clattering of hoofs and rattle of worldly weapons
as greatly terrified our humble-minded brethren, engaged at their
devotions.
The holy Abbot, being retired at his prayer and pious meditations,
Brother Jehan, worthy and devout, in humility of spirit inquired of
their errand. Being informed in hot haste that the puissant and mighty
Lord of Cartillon lay dying in sin, possessed of frenzies and fiends,
and stood in need most urgent of extreme unction, we deliberated
thereupon together.
"Hurry, haste, good fathers, ere it be too late; we have here two stout
palfreys to bear you to his couch."
The Abbot having in due season come forth from his closet, we were
commanded to go forthwith to minister to the needs of the noble Count.
Provided with holy oil, and the ritual for casting out demons, bearing
a piece of the true cross, before which no evil being can prevail, we
rode away at so rough a pace withal, through constant urging and
imprecations of the men at arms, as caused us to be sorely shaken and
disturbed, both in mind and body.
Arrived at Cartillon, we made great speed to repair to his bedside,
where, of a truth, the man lay flat of his back, weak in flesh, but
stout and rebellious of soul, contrary to the doctrines of our most
blessed religion.
Before he caught sight of us, he moaned and heaved, pointing his
fingers ever out of the window, and uttering strange heathen
blasphemies--whereat we crossed ourselves piously.
Following the direction of his gaze we saw naught save the starlit dome
of heaven.
The eyes of the demon gave him power to see diabolical and unclean
forms.
Sorely distracted thereat, he cried out in direst fear:
"Hence! Hence! Seek my mother in Hell, for it was her doing. I would
have spared the women."
The man being clearly possessed of an evil demon, we immediately made
ready the sacred offices of the church for the casting out of such.
Believing from the demon voice issuing through the possessed man's lips
that it was the woman fiend, Lilith, who in female guise doth walk the
earth in darkness, we resorted with much speed to the office specially
prepared for that evil and depraved being.
The holy ritual was being devoutly read by Brother Anselmo, when the
man, turning in his couch, caught sight of us at our sacred labors. He
thereupon, with many profane and blasphemous oaths, bade us cease and
begone.
"Out! Out upon you, thou shaveling hypocrites! Thinkest thou I am
become a helpless woman to profit of thy mummeries? No, by the body of
Jupiter. Get out! get out!"
"Oh, weak and rebellious son of Holy Church, calm thy troubled spirit
and take unto thyself the most blessed peace of God. Repent thine
errors, and prepare thy mind for the Paradise of the just."
Verily, it was an evil and malignant demon which controlled him, for
the words but struck a pagan madness to his heart, and he sprang from
his couch.
"Hush! Hush your priestly lies, which sink a new terror in my soul.
It can not, can not be, this other world where men receive the reward
or punishment drawn upon themselves in this. Thou liest, thou canting
monk-faced coward; it is all a lie of priestcraft.
"There is no God, no Hell; no, I will not, will not believe it. Get
thee hence before I drive thee to the gibbet and fling thy quarters to
hawk and hound."
We crossed ourselves in horror, kissing the piece of the true cross,
fearing his presence and terrible blasphemy would draw a bolt from
Heaven. But there he stood, for some divine purpose secure in his body
from the vengeance of God.
So fierce a fire consumed his strength he sank again in mortal weakness
on his couch.
We watched him long. He gazed as one fixed by an evil eye, through the
open window straight toward an ancient well across the court-yard.
He mumbled words whereof we could only guess the import. He raised a
long, thin finger, knotted at the joints, and pointed to the well:
"Do you hear it? Oh, mother, mother, it was your doing! Listen now.
Dost hear their cries in Hell? See, see, the body turns and swings,
softly, softly," and he covered his face, uttering the most plaintive
cries.
He started up again and went to the window, stretching out his arm as
before. We could see nothing but the court and old well, long dry of
water.
"See, there she is; see, see; I come, I come."
And regarding not our sacred relics or adjurations, he passed out the
door, down the stair of winding stone, through the men who, palsied by
craven fears, put not forth their hands to stay; staring before him
with wide-open eyes which saw not, d'Ortez strode through them all into
the vacant court-yard.
No pause he made, but straightway went toward the well, whither--at
some distance be it humbly confessed--we followed.
At first he but peered within and listened; then he stood quiet for a
space, as if he waited, for what we could not tell.
None of us being sufficiently near to prevent, and the power of the
demon prevailing over weak and mortal flesh, he mounted the curb, and,
amid the most horrid shrieks, cursings and revilings proceeding from
the foul demon Lilith, he plunged himself bodily in the darkness below,
wherefrom came only faint groans for a short space.
Thus died Pedro d'Ortez, Lord of Cartillon.
Leaving the task of getting out his body to those vassals who, greatly
perturbed in spirit, gathered at the spot, we hastened away horrified
at such abominations of Beelzebub as we had witnessed, being for our
fear and little faith made culpable before God, and hoping to
repurchase peace by great penitence.
Report made and rendered to the Most Reverend and Illustrious Father in
God, Laurent, Abbot of the Monastery of Vaux, this the tenth day of
July in the year of grace one thousand five hundred and ninety-six.
(Signed) ANSELMO DI NAPOLI,
JEHAN DE TOURS.
DOCUMENT No. 3
(Concerning Raoul d'Ortez)
Indorsed on back, "Further notes by Abbot of Vaux."
_In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Sanctus Spiritus. Amen._
Further facts having come to my knowledge, in this, the year of grace
one thousand five hundred and eighty nine, which do most gloriously
illustrate the dispensations of a just God, and His visitation of the
sins of the father upon the children of them who hate Him, it is deemed
meet and proper that they be here set down and perpetuated for that
future generations may know the truth; Therefore:
Be it held in everlasting memory, that Pedro d'Ortez, the same who has
been by me beforementioned as of a profane, carnal and blood-guilty
life, living not with the fear of God before his eyes, but filled with
evil at the instigation of the devil:--The said Pedro having at this
period two sons, desired that the elder should, according to secular
law, inherit his title and lands. He desired also, that the younger,
Raoul, might enter the armies of the King. But Raoul, nothing loath,
in so far as the fighting there was concerned, lusted yet for the gold
and acres which were his father's. Pedro, the elder brother, being of
a mild and amiable temper, designed more for the cloister than the
camp, Raoul jested and jibed at him alway for his gentle disposition
and meekness of spirit.
All of these facts being stated and related to me by Brother Julian,
who went betimes to the castle for alms and tithes--which same were
frequent denied and withheld, to the great detriment of our just dues.
One day, after a more than usually violent quarrel between Pedro and
Raoul, their father came suddenly upon them in a retired portion of the
castle grounds. The sight was enough to startle even a man so used to
shedding human blood as had been the Lord of Cartillon.
Pedro was slowly sinking to the ground, easing himself down somewhat
upon his knees and elbows. His brother stood near watching, and calmly
wiping the red drippings from his sword upon the grass. Not a
semblance of regret did he show for the deed of blood.
The father gazed transfixed with horror from one son to the other,
until the slow comprehension came to him.
"How now, Raoul, what hast thou done?" the older man demanded of Raoul.
"Canst thou not see? He stood between me and the lordship of this fair
domain," the younger replied full as sturdily, hot and scornful, with
lowering brow and unrepenting glare.
"Thou foul and unnatural murderer, and thinkest thou to profit by thy
brother's death? No; I swear--"
"Hold, old man; swear not and taint not thy soul with perjury. Have a
care for thine own safety. It is now but the feeble barrier of thy
tottering age which prevents all these acres, these fighting men, these
towers from being my own. Have a care, I say, that thou dost not lie
as low as he, and by my hand."
The old man fell back a pace affrighted, feeling for the first time in
his life a fear, fear of his own son. Yet the scornful and defiant
face before him was that of his true child. Therein he saw reflected
his own turbulent and reckless youth. The wretched old man covered his
face from the sight of Pedro, his first born, who had settled down upon
his back in the repose of death, and moaned aloud in his agony.
"Nay, sorrow not, my father," Raoul commanded harshly, "it was but a
weakling who stood next thy seat of power. Behold! I, too, am thy
son; I am stronger, of a stouter heart, abler and more courageous than
he, and will make thee a fitter heir. Didst thou not slay thy brother
to sit in his hall? Didst not thou hang him to drink his wine, to
command his servants? Have I done aught but follow thy example?"
Heedless of his father's sobs Raoul pursued his unrelenting purpose.
"What the sword did for thee it has done for me, all glory to the
sword," and he raised the reeking blade to his lips to kiss. The elder
man shrank away from him as he approached.
"Nay, as I tell thee, draw not thy hand away, turn not from me, or by
the blood of Christ, by thine own gray hairs, I'll lay thee beside thy
woman-son, the puny changeling whose face now is scarce paler than his
blood was thin. Now, by the God who made ye, swear 'twill be given out
as but an accident, and no man will ever know from thee the truth."
"I swear, I swear," the old man repeated piteously after his son.
And so it came to be that Raoul, the second son, succeeded his father
as Lord of Cartillon.
And thus is the promise of the Lord God made true.
DOCUMENT No. 4
(Concerning the making of the locket)
Extracts from the statement of Miguel Siliceo, goldsmith, of San
Estevan de Gormaz, as given in presence of Brothers Jehan and Hubert,
only such portions being here set out as have relation hereto, for the
sake of greater brevity and perspicuity.
Said Miguel Siliceo, Spaniard, sojourning in the town of Rouen, having
come to the Monastery of Vaux to unburthen his soul of certain
diabolical knowledge and happenings which preyed thereon, to his great
distress and distraction of mind, having first solemnly sworn upon the
name of St. Iago of Compostella, his patron, to speak truth, did say: *
* *
I came to Chateau Cartillon in the year of grace one thousand six
hundred and forty-two, upon the solicitation of its lord, he having
known me upon the banks of the Douro for a master workman, well skilled
in rare and curious devices, both of metals and precious stones. For
more than two years I rested in and about the castle, seeing much
whereof my soul hath need of ease and God's forgiveness. * * *
* * * One day Count Raoul, being vexed and much disturbed, commanded my
attendance upon him.
"My good Miguel," he spake in voice much softer than was his wont, "I
do require of you a proof of utmost skill."
I bowed my willingness to undertake a commission.
"I require a golden locket, such as man never saw before, of rare and
cunning device. Do you forthwith make it for me, showing upon the one
side the black wolf's head of d'Artin, and quarterings, in fairest
inlaid work. Upon the other and hidden side, let it appear the black
wolf's head as before, but surcharged with the bar sinister. You know.
And let it be concealed by so secretly a hidden spring, no hand but
mine can touch or find," and as he spoke on, his tongue flew the
taster, his eyes roved about, he kept tight grip upon his sword as if
he feared. He, Raoul of Cartillon, the man whose headlong courage was
an army's byword, he feared in his own hall.
Even so, for proceeding further, his speech grew more wild, and I fain
would have fled.
"You know my oath to my father." I of course knew naught of the
matter, nor do I know it yet, though I have diligent inquired.
"My oath to forego the hall, give up my place with my fighting men.
Yea, upon my father's sword I swore, recking light of an oath, and the
old man, dying, would have it so. That oath torments me now. The evil
demons of the air haunt my bed; fiends leer at me through the day and
whisper all the night. I see my father's soul writhing in the fires of
Hell, and there he lays and beckons me to him. But no, by the heart of
Mars I'll be no craven fool to give up my castle and my name. Perhaps
my son may, I'll make him swear to me to do so. Yet I fear; I fear; I
like not that pit of scorching flame where my father suffers because he
did lay his hand upon his brother."
I could not but look him in the face, and he thought there was wisdom
in my glance, for he clutched me at the throat.
"Ah, thou prying hound, what dost thou know? Speak! Speak!"
But speak I could not, though a soul's salvation hung on my glib and
nimble tongue.
Count Raoul soon loosed me, seeing my ignorance. Yet some dark story
had I heard and repeated not--the crimes of the great are too dangerous
morsels for a poor man to mouth.
"Go now to thy shop, and mark ye, sirrah, that no man sees thy work."
I had hardly gotten well to my forge before three stout varlets came in
on a pretense of seeing a golden bracelet which I showed them without
suspecting aught. When, my back well turned, they slipped gyves upon
my wrists, bound me by a great band of iron at the waist, and made all
fast to the huge stone pillar.
Thenceforward, all through the days and nights which followed, one of
these men stood ever at my window to see I worked with speed, worked on
the locket and not upon my chains.
Count Raoul came many times as the work progressed, but the guards were
alway at too great a distance to tell in what quaint form my beaten
gold was fashioned.
Many, many lockets I made of cunning workmanship and design, of curious
chasings and most marvelous wrought intertwinings, yet none suited my
lord. One after one they returned to the melting pot and my labors
re-commenced.
During the long months I was thus engaged, I saw the Count often, nay,
more than daily, for his whole feverish life seemed in-woven with the
yellow and white metals I was busy interlacing and rounding and
polishing up.
At times an abject fear sat upon his countenance, and he mumbled of
strange sights he saw, of communings with the Prince of Darkness, of
specters gaunt and hideous that glided through the deserted court-yard,
and stood beside his chair even in the noisy banquet chamber.
For that the Count was mad I could not doubt.
Yea, of all these things he spake as he urged me on as a lazy horse
under whip and goad, to finish, finish.
I inquired of this at great risk of one of the men who stood guard; he
tapped his forehead, and replied:
"He does all things so. It is so in camp, on the field, in the hall.
Aye, but he's a very fiend in battle," and the fellow's eye brightened
with a fierce pleasure at the thought of his lord's well-known
prowess--for Count Raoul had wandered much in foreign lands, and deeds
of blood followed in whispers to his door.
* * * * * *
It is of these dealings with the evil lord, and close association with
one possessed, I seek cleansing. * * * Too often did I pass the names
of Rusbel, Ashtaroth, Beelzebub, Satan and others trippingly upon my
tongue--may the Saints defend--to keep my lord's temper smooth, for I
verily believe he meant to slay me when my task was done.
It was for this I made my work long and tedious, that the acid I was
daily using on my chains might have due season to eat them through, and
I could be free.
* * * finished at length to his satisfaction, and slipped off through
the night.
* * * * * *
Stated and subscribed in presence of Brothers Jehan and Hubert, on this
the morrow of All Saints', in the year of grace one thousand six
hundred and forty-six.
MIGUEL SILICEO.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Black Wolf's Breed, by Harris Dickson