d figure above the altar seemed to turn its
head and look at the boy.

Laurence could scarcely repress a cry of terror. He set his hand to
the door, and lo! as it had opened, so it appeared to shut of itself.
He sank almost fainting against the cold iron bars of the window which
looked out upon the courtyard below. The wind blew in upon him sweet
and cool, and with it there came again the sound of the singing of the
choir. They were practising the song of the Holy Innocents, which, by
command of the marshal himself, Precentor Renouf had set to excellent
and accordant music of his own invention.

"_A voice was heard in Ramah,
In Ramah,
Lamentations and bitter weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children,
Refused to be comforted:
For her children,
Because they were not._"

Obviously there was some mistake or lack of attention on the part of
the choir, for the last line had to be repeated three times.

"_Because they were not._"

CHAPTER LI

THE MARSHAL'S CHAMBER

There came a low voice in Laurence MacKim's ear, chill and sinister:
"You do well to look out upon the fair world. None knoweth when we may
have to leave it. Yonder is a star. Look well at it. They say God made
it. Perhaps He takes more interest in it than in the concerns of this
other world He hath made."

The son of Malise MacKim gripped himself, as it were, with both hands,
and turned a face pale as marble to look into the grim countenance
which hid the soul of the Lord of Machecoul.

Gilles de Retz appeared to peruse each feature of the boy's person as
if he read in a book. Yet even as Laurence gave back glance for
glance, and with the memory of what he had seen yet fresh upon him, a
strange courage began to glow in the heart of the young Scot. There
came a kind of contempt, too, into his breast, as though he had it in
him to be a man in despite of the devil and all his works.

The marshal continued his scrutiny, and Laurence returned his gaze
with interest.

"Well, boy," said the marshal, smiling as if not ill pleased at his
boldness, "what do you think of me?"

"I think, sir," said Laurence, simply, "that you have grown older
since I saw you in the lists at Thrieve."

It seemed to Laurence that the words were given him. And all the time
he was saying to himself: "Now I have done it. For this he will surely
put me to death. He cannot help himself