Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
As I have said, I could catch little or nothing of the purport of the
conversation; but I saw that both looked eager and determined. Presently
after the woman had been speaking the man shrugged his shoulders, and
laughed mockingly. He spread out his large bony hands deprecatingly and
I could see from the expression on his face that he was telling her that
it was impossible to grant the request.
Then she changed her attitude. She appeared to be angry and to threaten
him. I saw her lift her right hand and point at him with her forefinger.
She seemed also to be urging something that made him afraid, for I saw
him look around the room like a man in fear. But this was only for a
moment. By the time she had finished speaking he had regained his former
self-possession and seemed to regard her threats as so many idle words.
Then I thought they changed places. He seemed to be making some request
of her, a request which I thought put fear into her heart, although she
yielded not to him. If she could not make him bend to her will neither
could he make her bend to his. What impressed me, moreover, was the
courage of this young girl. For although she might be the wife of the
man at the inn, ay, and even obeyed him in unreasonable requests, she
held her ground boldly before this old man living in the lonely house in
the midst of the Pycroft woods. But the wonder of it was to me beyond
words. A young girl fighting for her ends against this weird looking old
man. What was the meaning of it?
Presently their conversation seemed to change again. I saw her point to
the curious looking things which lay on the table, and this drew my
attention to what seemed to me like glass tubes, several strange looking
vases, and, what was to me more strange and mysterious still, two human
skulls. As she spoke he took up one of the skulls, and as far as I could
judge began to tell her something of the horrible thing which he held in
his hand.
To this she seemed to say something as if in protest for I heard his
answer, in a harsh cracked voice.
"Let them. They who would harm me must know my secrets, and they who
would know my secrets must penetrate the depths of this old brain. And
can they, ah, can they?"
Her reply to this did not reach me plainly, but I gathered that she told
him of men who for dealing with the powers of darkness had suffered at
the stake.
"Burn me!" he cried, and his voice reached me clearly. "Let them try.
Before a man is burnt, he confesses, and I would confess! Ay, I would
confess such things as would bring many a high head low. Judges, judges.
Ay, but who is the judge that would dare to anger me?"
He shook his fist angrily, while his long beard waved to and fro as he
shook his head in rage.
After this I could gather nothing for a long time. Sometimes they moved
to another part of the room and then I could see nothing but dim blurred
figures behind the thick uneven glass, while their voices only reached
me in low mutterings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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