. A wide-skirted coat
of red fell nearly to his knees and hid his breeches. His short black
periwig was bobbed, and a black silk tie was knotted about his neck.
Stockings were rolled above his knees, and a huge tongue thrust out from
each of his buckled shoes. And in his left hand was a heavy riding-whip
whose handle was wrought about with gold. This he kept clapping against
his leg with a smack and a ghastly relish that there was no mistaking.

Again that phantom chorus rose up and rang in my ears--

"_A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut tree,
The more you beat them, the better they be._"

But the jubilant note was gone, and, though the tune was the same, the
voices were harsh, and there was a dreadful mockery of woe in the stave
that made me shudder.

My lady heard it too.

"No, no, Ralph. You do me wrong. I plucked them myself. Who is there now
to send me posies? And I am sick--you know it. The last time----" The
hurrying voice faltered and stumbled piteously over a sob. "The last
time I was near spent, Ralph. So near. And now----You do not know your
strength. Indeed----Oh, Ralph, Ralph, what have I done that you should
use me so?"

The bitter cry sank into a dull moan, and, setting a frail white arm
across her eyes, she bowed her head upon it, as do weeping children, and
fell to sobbing with that subdued despair that spells a broken spirit.

My lord's withers were unwrung.

For a moment he stood still, leering like some foul thing that feasts on
Anguish. Then he let fall the nosegay and took the whip in his right
hand....

And I stood there frozen and paralysed and dumb.

Posing his victim with a horrible precision, the monster raised his
whip, but it struck a pendant lantern, and with an oath he turned to the
gallery, where he should find room and to spare for his brutality. At
this delay my lady fell upon her knees, in a wild hope, I think, to turn
her respite into a reprieve, but the beast cried out upon her, struck
down her outstretched hands, and, twisting his fingers in her soft dark
hair, dragged her incontinently out of the closet. The little whimper
she gave was awful....

And I stood there paralysed.

Five minutes, perhaps, had passed, slow-treading, pregnant minutes, when
my lord reappeared. He stood for a moment listening at the top of the
stairs, his chin on his shoulder. Then he stepped lightly down. His vile
face was pale and his eyes shifted uneasily. The devil looked out of
them yet, bu