of wolfish mania, in the paroxysms
of which he was wont to tear himself and grovel in the dust like a
beast.

This she told them over and over as she moved about setting before
them provend from secret stores of her own, obviously unknown or
perhaps forbidden to Caesar Martin.

Wild bee honey from the woods she placed before them and white wheaten
bread, such as could not be got nearer than Paris, with wine of some
rarer vintage than that out of the cripple's resinous pigskin. These
and much else La Meffraye pressed upon them till she had completely
won over the Lord James, and even Malise, easy natured like most very
strong men, was taken by the sympathetic conversation and gracious
kindliness of the wife of poor afflicted Caesar Martin of Saint
Philbert. Only Sholto kept his suspicion edged and pointed, and
resolved that he would not sleep that night, but watch till the dawn
the things which might befall in the house on the forest's border.

Yet it was conspicuously to Sholto that La Meffraye directed most of
her blandishments.

Her ruddy face, so bright that it seemed almost as if wholly covered
with a birthmark, gleamed with absolute good nature as she looked at
him. She threw off the black veil which half concealed her strange
coiffure of green toadstool-coloured hair. She placed her choicest
morsels before the young captain of the Douglas guard.

"'Tis hard," she said, touching him confidentially on the shoulder,
"hard to dwell here in this country wherein so many deeds of blood are
wrought, alone with a poor imbecile like my husband. None cares to
help me with aught, all being too busy with their own affairs. It
falls on me to till the fields, which, scanty as they are, are more
than my feeble strength can compass unaided. Alone I must prune and
water the vines, bring in the firewood, and go out and in by night and
day to earn a scanty living for this afflicted one and myself. You
will hear, perchance, mischief laid to my charge in this village of
evil speakers and lazy folk. They hate me because I am no gadabout to
spend time abusing my neighbours at the village well. But the children
love me, and that is no ill sign. Their young hearts are open to love
a poor lone old woman. What cares La Meffraye for the sneers of the
ignorant and prejudiced so long as the children run to her gladly and
search her pockets for the good things she never forgets to bring them
from her kitchen?"

So the old woman, talking