ree children. Shrieks
and growls were then mingled together in one dreadful, hideous
pandemonium, which all of a sudden ceased, and was succeeded by the loud
crunching and cracking of bones. At last that, too, ceased, and Tina
heard footsteps rapidly approaching her door. For a moment the room and
everything in it swam round her. She felt choked; the dinning in her
ears came again, it beat louder and louder and completely paralysed her.
A crash on the door panel, however, abruptly restored her faculties, and
the idea of escaping by the window for the first time entered her mind.
If her husband could use the window as a means of exit, why couldn't
she? Not a second was to be lost--the creatures outside were now
striving their utmost to get in. It was the work of a moment to throw
open the window, and almost before she knew she had opened it, she found
herself standing on the ground beneath. The night had grown darker; she
could not see the path; she knew that she was losing time, and yet that
all depended on her haste; she felt fevered with impatience, yet torpid
with terror. At length she disengaged herself from the broken, uneven
soil on to which she had dropped, and struggled forward. On and on she
went, not knowing where her next step would land her, and dreading every
moment to hear the steps of her pursuers. The darkness of the night
favoured her, and by dodging in and out the bushes and never keeping to
the same track, although still keeping a forward course, she
successfully eluded her enemies, whose hoarse cries gradually grew
fainter and fainter. By good luck she reached the high road, which
eventually brought her to Orsk; and there she sought shelter in a hotel.
In the morning, on learning from the landlord that a friend of hers, a
Colonel Majendie, was in the town, Tina sought him out, and into his
sympathizing ears poured the story of her adventures.

Now it so happened that a priest of the name of Rappaport, a friend of
the Colonel's, came in before Tina had finished her story, and on being
told what had happened, declared that Ivan Baranoff and his servants had
long been suspected of being werwolves. He then begged that before
anything was done to them he might be allowed to try his powers of
exorcism. The Colonel ridiculed the idea, but in the end was persuaded
to postpone his visit to the chateau till the evening, and to go there
with an escort, a quartette of his most trusted soldiers, and
accompanied b