Classic Audiobook Collection - Black Magic - a Tale of the Rise and Fall of the Antichrist by Marjorie Bowen ~ Full Audiobook [horror]

Episode Date: November 8, 2023

Black Magic - a Tale of the Rise and Fall of the Antichrist by Marjorie Bowen audiobook. Genre: horror Set in medieval Europe, Black Magic follows a talented but restless woodcarver in a northern French town who begins his days gilding a figure of the Devil and ends them studying forbidden arts. Drawn to secret texts, whispered rituals, and the promise of knowledge without limits, he makes a deliberate step into the occult - and discovers that power, once touched, demands to be pursued. His rise carries him far beyond his workshop into a world of ruthless nobles, shifting alliances, and a Church whose spiritual authority is inseparable from politics. Along the way, desire and devotion tangle into dangerous attachments, and acts of violence and deception spread like a stain through courts and cloisters alike. As rumors of witchcraft and sacrilege multiply, the cost of ambition becomes impossible to ignore: every gain invites a darker bargain, every victory creates a new enemy, and the line between human will and supernatural influence grows frighteningly thin. Part Gothic nightmare, part historical intrigue, Bowen's novel builds a tense struggle between temptation and conscience, and between the hunger for dominion and the possibility of grace. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:24:27) Chapter 02 (00:34:26) Chapter 03 (00:49:01) Chapter 04 (01:05:06) Chapter 05 (01:19:14) Chapter 06 (01:37:08) Chapter 07 (02:09:26) Chapter 08 (02:30:07) Chapter 09 (02:49:45) Chapter 10 (03:05:03) Chapter 11 (03:25:43) Chapter 12 (03:42:41) Chapter 13 (04:10:42) Chapter 14 (04:40:27) Chapter 15 (05:11:02) Chapter 16 (05:23:26) Chapter 17 (05:48:46) Chapter 18 (06:07:16) Chapter 19 (06:31:47) Chapter 20 (06:50:53) Chapter 21 (07:08:07) Chapter 22 (07:23:38) Chapter 23 (07:40:30) Chapter 24 (08:04:06) Chapter 25 (08:22:51) Chapter 26 (08:40:34) Chapter 27 (08:57:12) Chapter 28 (09:11:18) Chapter 29 (09:20:09) Chapter 30 (09:35:28) Chapter 31 (09:43:42) Chapter 32 (09:59:38) Chapter 33 (10:12:58) Chapter 34 (10:29:42) Chapter 35 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen, Part 1, The Nun. Chapter 1, Sunshine In the large room of a house in a certain quiet city in Flanders, a man was gilding a devil. The chamber looked on to the quadrangle round which the house was built, and the sun, just overhead, blazed on the vine leaves clinging to the brick, and sent a reflected glow into the somber spaces of the room. The devil rudely cut out of wood, rested by his three tails and his curled backhorns against the wall, and the man sat before him on a low stool. On the table in front of the open window stood a row of knights in fantastic armor,

roughly modelled in clay. Beside them was a pile of vellum sheets covered with drawings in brown and green. By the door, a figure of St. Michael lent against a church. chair, and round his feet were painted glasses of every color and form. On the whitewashed wall hung a winged picture representing a martyrdom. Its vivid hues were the most brilliant thing in the room. The man was dressed in brown. He had a long, dark face and straight, dull hair. From the roll of gold leaf on his knee, he carefully and slowly gilded the devil. The place was utterly silent.

the perfect stillness enhanced by the dazzle of the blinding sun without. Presently the man rose, and crossing to the window looked out. He could see the sparse plants bordering the neglected grass-grown paths, the house opposite with its double row of empty windows, and the yellowing vine leaves climbing up the tiled roof that cut the polished blue of the August sky. The man at the window rested his elbows on the wall. the sill. It was so hot that he felt it burning through his sleeve. He had the air of one habitually alone, the unquestioning calm that comes of long silences. He was young, and in a quiet fashion,

well-looking, wide in the brows and long in the jaw, with a smooth, pale skin and cloudy, dark eyes. His hair hung very straightly. His throat was full and beautiful. In expression, he was reserved and somber. His lips, well-shaped but pale, were resolutely set, and there was a fine curve of strength to his prominent chin. After a time of expressionless gazing at the sun-filled garden, he turned back into the room and stood in the center of the floor with his teeth set in his forefell. finger, looking ponderingly at the half-gilded devil. Then he took a bunch of beautifully wrought keys from his belt, and swinging them softly in his hand, left the chamber. Many curious and gorgeous objects were in those deserted rooms, carved presses full of tarnished silver, paintings of holy subjects, furniture covered with rich-hued tapestry, other pieces of arras on the walls, and in one chamber, purple silk hangings worked with ladies' hair in shades of brown and gold. One room was full of books, piled up on the floor, and in the midst of them stood a table bearing strange

goblets of shells, set in silver and electrum. Passing these things without a glance, the young man mounted to the upper story and unlocked a door whose rusty lock took his utmost strength to turn. It was a storeroom he entered, lit by low, long windows looking on the street and carefully shrouded by linen drawn across them. The chamber was chokingly full of dust and a sickly, musty smell. About the floor lay bales of stuff, scarlet, blue and green painted tiles, old lanterns, clothes, priest's garments wonderfully worked, glasses and little rusty iron coffers. before one of these the young man went on his knees and unlocked it it contained a number of bits of glass cut to represent gems he selected two of an equal size and a clear green color then with the same gravity and silence with which he had come he returned to the workshop when he saw the devil half bright gold half bald wood he frowned then set the green glass in the third

things hollow eye sockets. At the twinkling effect of the light and life produced by this, his frown relaxed. He stood for a while contemplating his handiwork, then washed his brushes and put away his paints and gold leaf. By now the sun had changed and was shining full into the room, casting hot shadows of the vine leaves over the little clay nights and dazzling St. Michael's wet red robe. For the second time, the young man left the room, now to go into the hall and open the door that gave upon the street. He looked on to an empty marketplace surrounded by small houses falling into decay, beyond them the double towers of the cathedral flying upwards across the golden blue. The young man shaded his eyes and gazed across the dazzling dreariness.

The shadow of his slack, slim figure was cast into the square of sun thrown across the hall through the open door. Under the iron bell that hung against the lintel stood a basket of bread, a can of milk, and some meat wrapped in a linen cloth. The youth took these in and closed the door. He traversed a large dining room, finely furnished, a small antechamber, came out into the arcaded end of the courtyard, entered the house by a low door next the pump and sew into his workshop again there he proceeded to prepare his food on the wide tiled hearth stood a tripod and an iron pot he lit a fire under this filled the pot with water and put the meat in then he took a great book down off a shelf and bent over it huddled up on a stool in the corner where the shade still lingered it was a book of a book of a shelf and bent over it huddled up on a stool in the corner where the shade still lingered it was a book filled with drawings of strange and horrible things and close writing embellished with blood-red capitals. As the young man read, his face grew hot and flushed where it rested on his hand,

and the heavy volume fell cumberous either side his knee. Not once did he look up or change his twisted position, but with parted lips and absorbed eyes poured over the black lettering. The sun sank the other side of the house. so that the garden and room were alike in shadow, and the air became cooler. Still, the young man made no movement. The flames leapt on the hearth, and the meat seethed in the pot unheeded. Outside, the vine leaves curled against the brick, and the stone faces looked down at the broken fountain, the struggling grass, and the tall white daisies. Still, the young man, bending lower, his heated cheek, pressed into his palm, his hair touching the page bent over the great tomb on his knee.

Not the devil with his green eyes staring before him. Not St. Michael in his red robe by the door. Not the martyr in the bright winged picture were more still than he, crouched upon his wooden stool. Then, without prelude or warning, the heavy clang of a bell woke the silence into trembling echoes. The young man dropped the book and sprang to his feet. Red and white chased across his face. He stood panting, bewildered, with one hand on his heart and dazed eyes. Again the bell sounded. It could only be that which hung at the front door.

Not for years had one rung it. He picked up the book, put it back on the shelf, and stood irresolute. For a third time, the iron clang, insistent, impatient rang through the quiet the young man frowned pushed back the hair from his hot forehead and went with a light and cautious step across the courtyard through the dark dining chamber into the hall here for a second he hesitated then drew back the bolt and opened the door two men stood without one was most gorgeously attired the other were a dark cloak and carried his hat in his his hand. You cannot want me, said the youth, surveying them, and there is no one else here. The splendidly dressed stranger answered, if you are Master Dirk Renswold, we are most desirous to see and speak with you. The young man opened the door a little wider. I am Dirk Renswold, but I know neither of you. I did not think so, the other answered. Still, we have a matter to

ask you of, I am Balthasar of Cotreg, and this is my friend whom you may call Tiri, born of Dendermonde. Balthasar of Cotreg, repeated the youth softly. He stood aside and motioned them to enter. Will you follow me? he added, and went before them to his workroom. The sun had left chamber and garden now, but the air was golden warm with it, and a sense of great heat still lay over the grass and vines seen through the open window. Dirk Renswode moved St. Michael from the chair and tossed a pile of parchments off a stool. He offered these seats to his guests who accepted them in silence. You must needs wait till the supper is prepared, he said, and with that placed himself on the stool by the pot,

and while he stirred it with an iron spoon, openly studied the two men. Baltasar of Cortreg was gorgeous. His age might be perhaps 26 or seven. He was of a large make, florid in face with a high red color and blunt features. His brows were straight and overfair. His eyes deep blue and expressionless. His heavy yellow hair was cut low on his forehead and fell straightly on to his neck. He wore a flat orange hat slashed and cut, fastened by purple cords to the shoulder of a gold doublet that opened on a shirt of fine lawn. His sleeves were enormous, fantastic, puffed and gathered. Round his waist was a linked belt into which were thrust numerous daggers and a short sword. His breeches of a most vivid blue were be ruffled with knots and tassels. His riding-boot

that came to his knees, stained with the summer dust, showed a small foot decorated with gilt spurs. He sat with one hand on his hip, and in the other held his leather gloves. Such the picture, Master Dirk Renswold, considering him coldly, formed a Baltasar of Courtrege. His companion was younger, dressed somberly in black and violet, but as well-looking as a man may be, He was neither dark nor fair, but of a clear brown hue, and his eyes were hazel, swift and brilliant. His mouth was set smilingly, yet the whole face expressed reserve and some disdain. He had laid his hat on the floor beside him, and with an interested glance was observing the room. But Baltasar of Cortreg returned Master Dirk Renswold's steady gaze.

You have heard of me, he said suddenly. Yes, was the instant answer. Then, be like, you know what I am here for. No, said Master Dirk, frowning. Balthasar glanced at his companion, who gave no heed to either of them, but stared at the half-gilded devil with interest and some wonder. Seeing this, Balthasar answered for himself

in a manner half-defiant and wholly arrogant. My father is Margrave of East Flanders, and the Emperor knighted me when I was fifteen. Now I am tired of Cortreg, of the castle, of my father. I have taken the road. The road to where? Dirk asked. Balthasar made a large gesture with his right hand. To Cologne, perhaps to Rome, to Constantinople, to Turkey, or Hungary. Knight-errant, said Master Dirk.

Balthasar tossed his fine head. By the rude, no, I have ambitions. Master Dirk laughed. And your friend? he asked. A wandering scholar, smiled Baltasar, also weary of the town of Courtrege. He dreams of fame. Thierry looked round at this. I am going to the universities, he said quietly.

to Paris, Bal, Padua. You have heard of them? The youth's cloudy eyes gleamed. Ah, I have heard of them, he replied upon a quick breath. Master Dirk was moving about, setting the supper. He placed the little clay nights on the windowsill and flung without any ado drawings, paints, and brushes onto the floor. Silence fell on them. The young host's bearing did not encourage comment, and the atmosphere of the room was languid and remote, not conducive to talk. Master Dirk, composed and aloof, opened a press in the wall, and took thence a fine cloth that he laid smoothly on the rough table. He then set on it earthenware dishes and plates, drinking glasses painted in bright colors, and forks with agate handles. They were well served for food,

even though it might not be the princely fair the Margrave son was used to. Honey in a silver jar, shining apples lying among their leaves, wheat and cakes in a plated basket, grapes on a gold salver, lettuces and radishes frequently wet. These Master Dirk brought from the press and set on the table. Then he helped his guests to meet, and Balthasar spoke. You live strangely here, so much alone. I have no desire for company.

I work and take pleasure in it. They buy my work, pictures, carvings, sculptures for churches, very readily. You are a good craftsman, said Thierry. Who taught you? Old Master Lucas, born of Ghent, and taught in Italy. When he died, he left me this house, and all it holds. Again their speech sank into silence. Balthasar ate heavily, but with elegance. Dirk, seated next the window, rested his chin on his palm, and stared out at the bright yet

fading blue of the sky, at the row of closed windows opposite, and the daisies waving round the broken fountain. He ate very little. Tierry placed opposite was of the same mind, and paying little heed to Baltasar, who seemed not to interest him in the least, kept curious eyes on Dirk's strange grave face. After a while, the Margrave's son asked shamelessly for wine, and the youth rose languidly and brought it. Tall bottles, white, red, and yellow in wicker cases, and an amber-hued beer such as the peasants drank. The placing of these before Baltasar seemed to rouse him from his apathy. Why have you come here? he demanded. Balthasar laughed easily. I am married, he said as a prelude, and lifted his glass in a large, well-made hand. At that, Master Dirk frowned. So are many men.

Balthasar surveyed the tilting wine through half-closed eyes. It is about my wife, master, that I am here now. Dirk Renswold leant forward in his chair. I know of your wife. Tell me of her, said Balthasar of Kuchrague. I have come here for that. Dirk slightly smiled. Should I know more than you?

The Margrave's son flushed. What do you know? Tell me. Dirk's smile deepened. She was one Ursula, daughter of the Lord of Rousselaeret. She was sent to the convent of the white sisters in this town. So you know it all, said Balthasar. Well, what else? What else? Must I tell you a familiar tale? Certes, more so to you than to me. Then, since you wish it, here is your story, sir. She was educated for a nun, and, I think, desired to become one of the order of the white sisters. But when she was fifteen, her brother died, and she became her father's heiress.

So many entered the lists for her hand. They contracted her to you. Balthasar pulled at the orange tassels on his sleeve. without my wish or consent, he said. The young man took no heed. They sent a guard to bring her back to Russela Réry, but because they were fearful of the danger of journey, and that she might be captured by one of the pretenders to her fortunes,

they married her fast and securely, by proxy, to you. At this, the maid who wished most heartily, I take it, to become a nun, fell ill of grief, and in her despair she confided her misery to the abbess. I tell you a tale that I believe you know, but since you have come to hear me speak on that matter, I relate what has come to me of it. This Ursula was heiress to great wealth,

and in her love to the sisters and her dislike to this marriage, she promised them all her worldly goods when she should come into possession of them, if they would connive at saving her from her father and her husband. So the nuns, tempted by greed, spread the report that she had died in her illness, and being clever women, they blinded all. There was a false funeral, and Ursula was kept secret in the convent among the novices. All this matter was put into writing, and attested by the nuns, that there might be no doubt of the truth of it when the maid came into her heritage, and the news went to her home that she was dead.

And I was glad of it, said Balthasar. For then I loved another woman and was in no need for money. Peace, shameless, said Tiri, but Dirk Renswold laughed softly. She took the final, irrevocable vows, and lived for three years among the nuns, and the life became bitter. and utterly unendurable to her. And she dared not make herself known to her father because of the deeds the nuns held, promising them her lands. So as the life became more and more horrible to her, she wrote in her extremity and found means to send a letter to her husband. I have it here, Valthasar touched his breast. She said she had sworn herself to me before she had vowed herself to God. Told me of her deceit, he laughed, and asked me to come and rescue her.

Dirk crossed his hands that were long and beautiful upon the table. You did not come, and you did not answer. The Margrave's son glanced at Thierry, as he had a habit of doing, as if he reluctantly desired his assistance or encouragement. But again, he obtained nothing, and answered for himself after the slightest pause. No, I did not come. Her father had taken another wife and had a son to inherit. And I, he lowered his eyes moodily. I was thinking of another woman. She had lied, my wife, to God, I think. Well, let her take her punishment, I said. She did not wait beyond some months for your answer, said Master Dirk. Master Lucas, born of Ghent, was employed in the chapel of the convent, and she, who had to wait on him,

told him her story. And when he had finished the chapel, she fled with him here to this house. And again she wrote to her husband, speaking of the old man who had befriended her, and telling him of her abode. And again he did not answer. That was five years ago. and the nuns made no search for her asked Thiery. They knew now that the girl was no heiress,

and they were afraid that the tail might get blown abroad. Then there was war. The convent was burnt, and the sisters fled, continued Dirk. And the maid lived here, learning many crafts from Master Lucas. He had no apprentices but us. Balthasar leant back in his chair. That much I learnt, and that the old man dying left his place to you, and what more of this Ursula? The young man gave him a slow, full glance.

Strangely late you inquire after her, Baltassar of Cortegg. The knight turned his head away, half sullenly. A man must know how he is encumbered. No one save I is aware of her existence. distance, yet she is my wife. The young sculptor rested his smooth, pale face on his palm. Cloudy eyes and cloudy hair were hardly discernible in the twilight, but the line of the resolute chin was clear cut. She died four years ago, he said, and her grave is in the garden where those white daisies grow. End of Section 1, recording by Molly Craig.

Section 2 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 2, The Students. Dead, repeated Balthasar. He pushed back his chair and then laughed. Why, so is my difficulty solved. I am free of that, Tiri. His companion frowned.

Do you take it so? I think it is pitiful. The fool was so. so young. He turned to Dirk. Of what did she die? The sculptor sighed as if weary of the subject. I know not. She was happy here, yet she died. Balthasar rose. Why did you bury her within the house? he asked half uneasily. It was in time of war, answered Dirk. We did what we could, and she, I think, had wished it. The night turned with a little start and crossed himself. God grant that she sleep in peace, he cried.

Amen, said Thierry gravely. Dirk took a lantern from the wall and lit it from the coal still burning on the hearth. Now you know all I know of this matter, he remarked. I thought that someday you might come. I have kept for you her ring, your ring. Balthasar interrupted. I want none of it, he said. hastily. Dirk lifted the lantern. Its fluttering flame flushed the twilight with gold. "'Will you please to sleep here tonight?' he asked. The night, with his back to the window, assented in defiance of a secret dislike to the place. Follow me, commanded Dirk. Then, to the other, I shall be back anon. Good rest, nodded Balthasar. Tomorrow we will get horses in the town and start for Cologne.

The night went after his host through the silent rooms, up a twisting staircase into a low chamber looking on to the quadrangle. It contained a wooden bedstead covered with a scarlet quilt, a table and some richly carved chairs. Dirk lit the candles standing on the table, bade his guest a curt good-night, and returned to the workroom. He opened the door of this softly and looked in before he entered. By the wind, stood Thierry, striving to catch the last light on the pages of a little book he held. Dirk pushed the door wide and stepped in softly. You love reading, he said, and his eyes shone.

Hey, and you? Tiri asked tentatively. Master Lucas left me his manuscripts among his other goods, Dirk answered. Being much alone, I have read them. In the lantern light that the air brings you. breathed from the garden fanned into a flickering glow, the two young men looked at each other. An extraordinary expression, like a guilty excitement, came into the eyes of each. Being much alone, whispered Thiery, with a dead maid in the house, how have you spent your time?

Dirk crouched away against the wall. His hair hung lankly over his pallid face. "'You, you pitied her.' "'You would have come,' questioned Dirk, "'when she sent to you.' "'I should have seen no other thing to do,' answered Tiri. "'What manner of a maid was she?' "'I did think her fair,' said Dirk slowly. "'She had yellow hair.

"'You may see her likeness in that picture on the wall, "'but now it is too dark.' "'Tierry came round the table. "'You also follow knowledge?' He inquired eagerly. Dirk caught up the lantern. You are not aware of the nature of my studies, he cried, and his eyes shone wrathfully. Come to bed. I am weary of talking.

Thiery bent his head. This is a fair place for silences, he said. As if gloomily angry, yet disdaining the expression of it, Dirk conducted him to a chamber close to that where Balthasar lay, and left him without speech. nor did Thierry solicit any word of him. Dirk did not return to the workroom, but went into the garden and paced to and fro under the stars that burnt fiercely,

and seemed to hang very low over the dark line of the house. His walk was hasty, his steps uneven. He bit, with an air of absorbed distraction, his lip, his finger, the ends of his straight hair, and now and then he looked with tumultuous eyes up at the heavens, down at the ground, and wildly about him. It was well into the night when he at last returned into the house, and taking a candle in his hand, went stealthily up to Balthasar's chamber. With a delicate touch he unfastened the door, and very lightly entered. shielding the candle flame with his hand he went up to the bed the young knight lay heavily asleep his yellow hair was tumbled over his flushed face and about the pillow his arms hung slackly outside the red coverlet on the floor were his brilliant clothes his sword his belt his purse where his shirt fell open at the throat a narrow blue cord showed a charred

arm attached. Durk stood still, leaning forward a little, looking at the sleeper, and expressions of contempt, of startled anger, of confusion, of reflection passed across his haggard features. Balthasar did not stir in his deep sleep. Neither the light held above him nor the intense gaze of the young man's dark eyes served to wake him, and after a while Dirk left him and passed to the chamber opposite. There Le Thierry fully dressed on his low couch. Dirk set the candle on the table and came on tiptoe to his side. The scholar's fair face was resting on his hand, his chin uptilted, his full lips a little apart. His lashes lay so lightly on his cheek it seemed he must be glancing from under them. His hair dark, yet shining,

was heaped round his temples. Dirk, staring down at him, breathed furiously, and the color flooded his face, receded, and sprang up again. Then retreating to the table, he sank on to the rush-bottom chair and put his hands over his eyes. The candle flame leapt in unison with his uneven breaths. Looking round after a while, with a wild glance, he gave a long, distraught sigh,

and Thierry moved in his sleep. At this the watcher sat expectant. Tiri stirred again, turned, and rose on his elbow with a start. Seeing the light and the young man sitting by it, staring at him with brilliant eyes, he set his feet to the ground. Before he could speak, Dirk put his finger on his lips. Hush, he whispered. Berta Sard is asleep. Tyri, startled, frowned. What do you want with me? For answer, the young sculptor moaned and dropped his head into the curve of his arm. You are strange, said Tyri.

Dirk glanced up. Will you take me with you to Padua, to Bal? He said, I have money and some learning. You are free to go as I, answered Tyri, but awakened interest shone in his eyes. I would go with you, insisted Dirk intensely. Will you take me? Tyree rose from the bed uneasily. I have had no companion all my life, he said. The man whom I would take into my confidence must be of rare quality. He came to the other side of the table and across the frail gleam of the candle looked at Dirk. Their eyes met and instantly sank

as if each were afraid of what the other might reveal. I have studied somewhat, said Dirk hoarsely. You also, I think, in the same science. The silent awe of comprehension fell upon them. Then Thierry spoke. So few understand. Can it be possible that you? Dirk rose.

I have done something. Tire paled, but his hazel eyes were bright as flame. How much? Then he broke off. God help us. Ah, do you use that name? cried Dirk, and showed his teeth. The other, with cold fingers, clutched at the back of the rush-bottomed chair. So it is true. You deal with you. Ah, you! What was that book you were reading? asked Dirk sharply. There was a pause. Then Dirk crushed the candle out with his own. opened palm and answered on a half sob of excitement. Black magic! Black magic!

End of Section 2, recording by Molly Craig. Section 3 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 3. The Experiment. I guessed it, said Thiery, under his breath, when I entered the house. "'And you?' came Dirk's voice. "'I, I also.' There was silence.

Then Dirk groped his way to the door. "'Come after me,' he whispered. "'There is a light downstairs.' Tiree had no words to answer. His throat was hot, his lips dry with excitement. He felt his temples pulsating and his brow damp. Cautiously they crept down the stairs and into the workroom where the lantern cast long, pale rays of light across the hot dark.

Dirk set the window as wide as it would go and crouched into the chair under it. His face was flushed, his hair tumbled, his brown clothes dishevelled. Tell me about yourself, he said. What do you want to know? Tierie asked, half desperately. I can do very little. I have no chance to learn, Dirk whispered. Master Lucas had some books, not enough, but what one might do. I came upon old writings, said Thiery slowly.

I thought one might be great that way. So I fled from Cotrég. Dirk rose and beckoned. I will work a spell tonight, you shall see. He took up the lantern and Thierry followed him. They traversed the chamber and entered another. In the center of that, Dirk stopped and gave the light into the cold hand of his companion. Here we shall be secret, he murmured, and raised with some difficulty a trap-door in the floor.

Thierry peered into the blackness revealed below. Have you done this before? he asked fearfully. This spell? No. Dirk was descending the stairs into the dark. God will never forgive, muttered Tierry, hanging back. Are you afraid? asked Dirk wildly. Thierry set his lips. No, no!

He stepped on to the ladder, and holding the light above his head, followed. They found themselves in a large vault entirely below the surface of the ground, so that air was attained only from the ground. the trap door that they had left open behind them. Floor and walls were paved with smooth stones. The air was thick and intolerably hot. The roof only a few inches above Thierry's head. In one corner stood a tall, dark mirror resting against the wall. Beside it were a pile of books and an iron brazier full of ashes. Dirk took the lantern from Thierry and hung it to a nail on the wall. I have been studying, he whispered, how to raise spirits and see into the future.

I think I begin to feel my way. His great eyes suddenly unclosed and flashed over his companion. Have you the courage? Yes, Tyree said hoarsely, for what else have I left my home, if not for this? It is strange we should have met, shuddered Dirk. Their guilty eyes glanced away from each other. Dirk took a piece of white chalk from his pocket and began drawing circles, one within the other on the center of the floor.

He marched them with strange signs and figures that he drew carefully and exactly. Thierry stayed by the lantern, his handsome face drawn and pale, his eyes intent on the other's movements. The upper part of the vault was in darkness. Shadows, like a bat's wings, swept either side of the lantern that cast a sickly yellow light on the floor, and the slender figure of Dirk on one knee amid his chalk circles. When he had completed them, he rose, took one of the books from the corner, and opened it. Do you know this? With a delicate forefinger, he beckoned Thierry, who came and read over his shoulder.

I have tried it. It has never succeeded. "'To-night, it may,' whispered Dirk. He shook the ashes out of the brazier and filled it with charcoal that he took from a pile near. This he lit and placed before the mirror. "'The future. We must know the future,' he said, as if to himself. "'They will not come,' said Thiery, wiping his damp forehead. "'I heard them once, but they never came.' "'Did you tempt them enough?'

breathed Dirk? If you have mandrake, they will do anything. I had none. Nor I. Still, one can force them against their will, though it is terrible. The thin blue smoke from the charcoal was filling the vault. They felt their heads throbbing, their nostrils dry. Dirk stepped into the chalk circles holding the book. In a slow, unsteady voice, he commenced to read. As Thierry caught the words of the blasphemous and horrible invocation, he shook and shuddered, biting his tongue to keep back the instinctive prayer that rose to his lips. But Dirk gained courage as he read. He drew himself erect, his eyes flashed, his cheeks burnt crimson.

The smoke had cleared from the brazier. The charcoal glowed red and clear. The air grew hotter. It seemed as if a cloak of lead had been flung over their heads. At last, Dirk stopped. Put out the lantern, he muttered. Tiri opened it and stifled the flame. There was now only the light of the burning charcoal that threw a ghastly hue over the dark surface of the mirror. Thierry drew a long, sighing breath. Dirk, swaying on his feet, began speaking again in a strange and heavy tongue.

Then he was silent. Faint, muttering noises grew out of the darkness, indistinct sounds of howling, sobbing. They come, breathed Thiery. Dirk repeated the invocation. The air shuddered with moanings. Ah, cried Dirk. Into the dim glow of the brazier, a creature was crawling, the size of a dog, the shape of a man, of a hideous color of mottled black. It made a wretched crying noise and moved slowly,

as if in pain. Tyree gave a great sob and pressed his face against the wall, but Dirk snarled at it across the dark. So you have come. Show us the future. I have the power over you. You know that. The thin flames leapt suddenly high.

A sound of broken wailings came through the air. Something ran round the brazier. The surface of the mirror was troubled as if dark wall. water ran over it, then suddenly was flashed on it a faint yet bright image of a woman, crowned and with yellow hair, as she faded, a semblance of one wearing a tiara appeared, but blurred and faint. More, cried Dirk passionately, show us more. The mirror brightened, revealing depths of cloudy sky, against them rose the dark blue of a galley, tree. Tyree stepped forward. With a sharp sound the mirror cracked and fell asunder. A howl of terror

arose and dark shapes leapt into the air to be absorbed in it and disappear. Dirk staggered out of the circle and caught hold of Thierry. You have broken the spell, he gibbered. You have broken the spell! An icy stillness had suddenly fallen. The brazier. The brazier. The brazier. flickered rapidly out, and even the coals were soon black and dead. The two stood in absolute darkness. They have gone, whispered Thierry. He wrenched himself free from Dirk's clutch and fumbled his way to the ladder. Finding this by reason of the faint patch of light overhead, he climbed up through the trap-door, his body heaving with long, drawn breaths. Dirk, light-footed and lulled, and he was, Lith followed him and dropped the flag.

The charm was not strong enough, he said, through his teeth. And you, Thierry broke in. I could not help myself. I saw them. Dirk moved into the workshop and came back with the candle and a great green glass of wine. He held up the light so that he could see the scholar's beautiful, agonized face, and with his other hand gave him the goblet. Thierry looked up and drank silently.

When he had finished, the color was back in his cheeks. Dirk took the glass from him and set it beside the candle on the windowsill. What did you see? In the mirror, he asked. I do not know, answered Thierie wildly. A woman's face. Eh? Broke in Dirk. Now what was she?

she to us, and a figure like the Pope. He smiled derisively. I saw that, said Thiery. But what should they do with holy things? And then I saw, Dirk swung round on him, each white despite the candlelight. Nay, there was no more after that. There was, insisted Thiery, a stormy sky and a gallows tree. His voice fell hollowly. "'The foul little imps,' Dirk said passionately. "'They deceived us.' "'Will you continue these studies?' Tierry questioned. The other gave him a quick look over his shoulder. "'Do you think of turning aside?'

"'Nay, nay,' answered Tierry, "'but one may keep knowledge this side of things blasphemous and unholy.' Dirk laughed hoarsely. "'I have no fear of God,' he said. in a thick voice, but you, you are afraid of satanas. Well, go your way. Each man to his master. Mine will give me many things. Look to it, yours does the like by you. Listen to me. I am not afraid. Nay, why did I leave Cortreg? With resolute, starry eyes, Durk gazed up at Tyree, who was near a head taller, and his proud,

mouth curled a little. I may not disregard the fate that sent me here, continued Thierry. Will you come with me? I can be loyal. Together might we do much, and it is ill work studying alone. The younger man put out his hand. If I come, will you swear a pact with me of friendship? We will be as brothers, said Thierry gravely, sharing good and ill. "'keeping our secret?' whispered Dirk. "'Allowing none to come between us?' "'Yes.' "'You are attuned to me,' said Dirk.

"'So be it. I will come with you to bow.' "'He raised his strange face, in the hollowed eyes, "'in the full colorless lips, "'were a resolution and a strength that held and commanded the other. "'We may be great,' he said. "'Tierry took his hand. The red candlelight was being subdued and vanquished by a glimmering gray that overspread the stars. The dawn was peering in at the window.

Can you sleep? asked Tyree. Dirk withdrew his hand. At least I can feign it. Balthasar must not guess. Get you to bed. Never forget tonight and what you swore. With a soft, gliding step he gained the door. opened it noiselessly and departed. Terri stood for a while listening to the slight sound of the

retreating footfall. Then he pressed his hands to his forehead and turned to the window. A pale, pure flush of saffron stained the sky above the roof line. There were no clouds, and the breeze had dropped again. In the vast and awful stillness, Thierry feeling marked, set apart and deviled with blasphemy, yet elated also, in a wild and wicked manner, tiptoed up to his chamber. Each creaking board he stepped on, each shadow that seemed to change as he passed it, caused his blood to tingle guiltily. When he had gained his room, he bolted the door and flung himself along his tumbled couch, holding his fingers to his lips, and with strained eyes gazing at the window, so he lay through long hours of sunshine in a half swoon of sleep.

End of Section 3, recording by Molly Craig. Section 4 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 4, The Departure. He was at length fully aroused by the sound of loud and cheerful singing. My hearts and none within my breasts, so cold is she, so cloistered cold. Thiery sat up, conscious of a burning, aching head and a room flooded with sunshine. To her my sins are all confessed, so wise is she, so wise and old, so I blow off my loves like

the thistle down. A burst of laughter interrupted the song. Tyree knew now that it was Balthasar's voice, and he rose from the couch with a sense of haste and discomfiture. What hour was it? The day was of a drowsing heat. The glare of the sun had taken all color out of the walls opposite the grass and vines. They all blazed together a shimmer of gold. So I blow off my loves like the thistle down, and ride from the gates of Cortrechtown. Tyri descended. He found Baltasar in the workshop. There were the remains of a meal on the table,

and the night, red and fresh as a rose, was polishing up his sword handle, singing the while, as if in pleased expression of his own thoughts. In the corner sat Durk, drawn into himself and gilding the devil. Tyri was conscious of a great dislike to Baltasar. Ghosts nor devils, nor the thought of them had troubled his repose. There was annoyance in the fact that he had slept well, eaten well, and was now singing in sheer careless gaiety of heart. Yet what other side of life should a mere animal like Baltasar know? Dirk looked up, then quickly looked down again.

Thiery sank on a stool by the table. Balthasar turned to him. Are you sick? he asked wide-eyed. "'Something sick,' Thierry answered curtly. Balthasar glanced from him to Dirk's back, bending over his work. "'There is much companionship to be got from learned men, truly,' he remarked. His blue eyes and white teeth flashed in a half amusement. He put one foot on a chair and balanced his glittering sword across his knee.

Thiery averted a bitter gaze from his young splendor, But Baltasar laughed and broke into his song again. My heart's a nun within my breast, so proud is she so hard and proud, absolving me, she gives me rest. We part ways here, said Thierry. So soon, asked the night, then sang indifferently. So I blow off my loves like the thistled down and ride through the gates of Cortreg Town. Therie glanced now at his bright face, smooth yellow hair and gorgeous vestments. "'A,' he said, "'I go to Bal, and I to Frankfurt. Still, we might have kept company a little

longer.' "'I have other plans,' said Thierry shortly. Balthasar smiled good-humoredly. You are not want to be so evil-tempered, he remarked. Then he looked from one to the other, silent both and unresponsive. I will even take my leave. He laid the great glittering sword across the table. Dirk turned on his stool with the roll of gilding in his hand. At this cold gaze that seemed to hold something of enmity and an unfriendly knowledge, Balthasar's dazzlingly fresh face flushed deeper in the cheeks. Since I have been so manifestly unwelcome, he said, I will pay for what I have had of you. Dirk rose, you mistake, he answered. I have been pleased to see you for many reasons,

Balthasar of Cortague. The young knight thrust his hands into his linked belt and eyed the speaker. You condemn me, he said defiantly. Well, Thierie is more to your mind. He opened his purse of curiously cut and colored leather, and taking from it four gold coins, lay them on the corner of the table. So you may buy masses for the soul of Ursula Ries, he indicated the money with a swaggering gesture. Thank you, her soul is lost, queried Dirk. Acquired saint is glad of prayers, returned Balthasar, but you are in an ill mood, master, so goodbye to you and God send you sweeter manners when next we meet. He moved to the door, vivid blue and gold and purple. Without looking back, he flung on his orange hat. Tiri roused himself and turned with a

reluctant interest. You are going to Frankfurt? he asked. A. Balthasar nodded pleasantly. I shall see in the town to the hire of a horse and man, mine own beast being lamed, as you know, Tiri. The scholar rose. Why do you go to Frankfurt? he asked. All men go to Frankfurt, Balthasar answered. is not the emperor there? Tyree lifted his shoulders. Tis no matter of mine. Nay, said Balthasar, who appeared to have been both disturbed

and confused by the question, no more than it is my affair to ask you, why go you to Baal? The scholar's eyes gleamed behind his thick lashes. It is very clear why I go to Baal to study medicine and philosophy. They quitted the room, leaving Dirk looking covertly after them, and were proceeding through the dusty,

neglected rooms. I do not like the place, said Balthasar, nor yet the youth, but he has served my purpose. And now they were in the hall. We shall meet again, said Thierry, opening the door. The night turned his bright face. Like enough, he answered easily, farewell. With that and a smile, he was swinging off across the cobbles, tightening his sword-straps. Against the sun-dried, decayed houses, across the grass-grown square, his vivid garments flashed, and his voice came over his shoulder through the hot blue air. So I blew off my loves like the thistle-down, and rode through the gates of Cortretown. Thierry watched him disappear round the angle of the houses, then bolted the door and returned to the workroom. Dirk was standing very much as he had left him, half resting against the table

with the roll of gilding in his white fingers. What do you know of that man, he asked as Tierry entered. Where did you meet him? Balthasar? Yay! At his father's house, I taught his sister music. There was, in a manner, some friendship between us. We both wearied of Courtregue. So it came we were together. I never loved him. Dirk returned quietly to the now completely gilded devil. Know you anything of the woman he spoke of? He asked. Did he speak of one?

Dirk looked over his shoulder. Yay, he said. Besides, I was thinking of another woman. They were his words. Thiery sat down. He felt faint and weak. I know not. There were so many.

As we traveled together, he made his prayers to one Isabel, but he was secret about her, never his way. Isabel, repeated Dirk, a common name. Ay, said Tyree indifferently. What had he done if she had been living? Dirk asked. Then without waiting for a reply, he began swiftly on another subject. I have finished my work. I wished to leave it complete.

It was for the church. of St. Bavon, but I shall not give it them. Now we can start when you will." Thiris looked up. What of your house and goods? he asked. I have thought of that. There are some valuables, some money, these we can take. I shall lock up the house. It will fall into decay. I care not. With a clear flame of eagerness alight in his eyes, he flashed a full glance at Thierry. seeing the young scholar pale and drooping, disappointment clouded his face. Do you commence so slackly? he demanded. Are you not eager to be abroad? Eh, answered Thierry, but...

Dirk stamped his foot. We do not begin with butts, he cried passionately. If you have no heart for the enterprise. Give me some food, I pray you, Tiery said, for I ate but little yesterday. Dirk glanced at him. I forgot, he answered, and set about rearranging the remains of the meal he and Baltasar had shared in silence. Tiri sat very still. The door into the next room was open, as he had left it on his return, and he could see the line of the trap door. He felt a great desire to raise it, to descend into the vault and gaze at the cracked mirror, brazier of dead coals and the mystic circles on the floor.

Looking up, his eyes met Dirks, and without words, his thought was understood. Leave it alone now, said the sculptor softly. Let us not speak of it before we reach Baal. At these words, Thierry felt a great relief. The idea of discussing, even with the youth who so fascinated him, the horrible, alluring thing that was an intimate of his thoughts but a stranger to his lips, had filled him with uneasiness and dread.

While he ate the food put before him, Dirk picked up the four gold coins Balthasar had left, and looked at them curiously. Masses for her soul, he cried, did he think that I would enter a church and bargain with a priest for that? He laughed, and flung the money out of the window at the nodding daisies. Tiree gave him a startled glance. why, till now, I had thought that you felt tenderly towards the maid.

Dirk laughed, not I. I have never cared for women. Nor I, said Thiery simply. He leant back in his chair and his dreamy eyes were grave. When young they are ornaments, it is true, but pleasant only if you flatter them. When they are overlooked, they become dangerous, and a woman who is not young is absorbed. in little concerns that are no matter to any but herself. The smile, still lingering on Dirk's face, deepened derisively, it seemed. Oh, my fine philosopher, he mocked. Are you well fed now and preaching again?

He leant against the wall by the window, and the intense sunlight made his dull brown hair glitter here and there. He folded his arms and looked at Thierry narrowly. I warrant your mother was a fair woman, he said. I do not remember her. They say she had the loveliest face in Flanders, though she was only a clerk's wife, answered the young man. I can believe it, said Dirk. Thiery glanced at him, a little bewildered. The youth had such abrupt changes of manner, such voice and eyes, unfathomable, such a pale, fragile appearance, yet such a spirit of tempered courage. I marvel at you, he said. You will not always be unknown. No, answered Dirk, I have never meant that I should be soon forgotten. Then he was beside Tiri,

with a strip of parchment in his hand. I have made a list of what we have in the place of value, but I care not to sell them here. Why? questioned Tiree. Dirk frowned. I want no one over the threshold. I have a reputation, not one for holiness. His strange face relaxed into a smile. Thierry glanced at the list. Certe. How might one carry that even to the next town? Without a horse, it were impossible. Silverware, glass, pictures, raiment were marked on the strip of parchment. Dirk bit his finger. We will not sell these things Master Lucas left to me, he said suddenly, only a few, such as the silver and the red copper wrought in Italy.

Thiery lifted his grave eyes. I will carry those into the town if you give me a merchant's name. Dirk mentioned one instantly and where his house might be found. A Jew, but a secretive and wealthy man, he added. I carved a staircase in his mansion. Thierry rose, the ache in his head, and the horror in his heart had ceased together. The sense of coming excitement crept through his veins. There is much here that is worthless, said Dirk, and many things dangerous to reveal.

Yet a few of those that are neither might bring a fair sum. Come, and I will show you. Tiri followed him through the dusty, sunny chambers to the storerooms on the upper floor. Here, Dirk brought treasures from a press in the wall, candlesticks, girdles with enamel links, carved cups, crystal goblets. Selecting the finest of these, he put them in a coffer, locked it, and gave the key to Therri. There should be the worth of some golden there, he said, read in the face from stooping, and essayed to lift the coffer but failed.

"'Tierry, something amazed, raised it at once. "'Tis not heavy,' he said. "'Nay,' answered Dirk, "'but I am not strong, and his eyes were angry. "'Tierry was brought by this to give him some closer personal scrutiny "'than as yet he had. "'How old are you?' he asked. "'Twenty-five,' Dirk answered curtly.

"'Serté! "'Tirie's hazel eyes flew wide. I had said eighteen. Dirk swung on his heel. Oh, get you gone, he said roughly, and be not over long, for I would be away from this place at once. Do you hear, at once? They left the room together.

You have endured this for years, said Thierry curiously, and suddenly you count the hours to your departure? Dirk ran lightly ahead down the stairs, and his laugh came low and pleasant. Untouched, the wood will lie forever, he answered, but set it alight and it will flame to the end. End of Section 4, recording by Molly Craig. Section 5 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Liber Vox recording is in the public domain.

Part 1, Chapter 5. Comrades They had been a week on the road and now were nearing the borders of Flanders. The company of the other had become precious to each, though Thierry was grave and undemonstrative, Dirk, changeable and quick of temper. Today, however, the silence of mutual discontent was upon them. Open disagreement had happened once before, at the beginning of their enterprise, when the young sculptor resolutely refused, foolishly it seemed to Thierry, to sell his house and furniture, or even to deliver at the Church of Saint-Bavon, the figures of St. Michael and the devil, though the piece was finished.

Instead, he had turned the key on his possessions, leaving them the prey of dust, spiders, and rats, and often Thierry would think uneasily of the shut-up house in the deserted square, and how the merciless sunlight must be streaming over the empty workroom and the daisies growing upon the grave of Balthasar's wife. Nevertheless, he was enthralled to the attraction of Dirk Renswote. Never in his life had he been so at ease with anyone. Never before felt his aims and ambitions understood and shared by another. He knew nothing of his companion's history. Nor did he care to question it.

He fancied that Dirk was of noble birth. It seemed in his blood to live gently and softly. At the hostel where they rested, it was he who always insisted upon the best of accommodation, a chamber to himself, fine food, and humble service. This nicety of his it was that caused the coolness between them now. At the little town they had just left, a fair was in holding, and the few inns were full. Lodging had been offered them in a barn with some merchant's clerks,

and this Thierry would have accepted gladly, but Dirk had refused peremptorily, to the accompaniment of much jeering from those who found this daintiness amusing in a poor traveller on foot. After an altercation between the landlord and Thierry, a haughty silence of flashing eyes and red cheeks from Dirk, they had turned away through the gay fair, wound across the town and out onto the high road. This led up a steep mountainous incline. They were carrying their possessions in bundles on their backs, and when they reached the top of the hill they turned off from the road onto the meadows that bordered it and sank on the grass, exhausted. Tiery, though coldly angry with the whim that had brought them here to sleep under the tree, could not but admit it was an exquisite place.

Dirk sat apart, resting his back against the foremost of the pine trees. The cause of the quarrel had ceased to be any matter to Tiree. Indeed, he could not but admit it preferable to lie here than to herd with noisy beer-drinking clerks in a close barn. But recollection of the haughty spirit Dirk had discovered held him estranged still. Yet his companion occupied his thoughts. His wonderful skill in those matters he himself was most desirous of fathoming, the strange way in which they had met, and the pleasure of having a companion so different from Balthasar, of a kindred mind, however whimsical his manner. At this point in his reflections,

Dirk turned his head. "'You are angry with me?' he said. Tyree answered calmly. You were foolish. Dirk frowned and flushed. Sarté, a fine comrade. His voice was vehement. Did you not swear fellowship with me? How do you fulfill that compact by being wrathful the first time our wills clash? I am not wrathful, Tire smiled, and you have had many whims. None of them have I opposed. Dirk answered angrily.

You make me out a fantastical fellow. It is not true. It is true. You are as nice as a girl, Tiri answered. Many a time I would have slept by the kitchen hearth, A, and have done, but you must always lie soft as a prince. Dirk was scarlet, from brow to chin. Well, if I choose, he said defiantly.

If I choose as a little. long as I have money in my pocket to live gently. Have I interfered? Interrupted Tyri. You are of a lordly birth, be like. Yay, I am of a great family, flashed Dirk. Ill did they treat me. No more of them.

Are you still angry with me? He rose. The red cloak slipped from his shoulders to the ground. He stood with his hand on his hip, looking down at Tyri. "'Come,' he said gravely. "'We must not quarrel, my comrade, my one friend. "'When shall we find another with such aims as ours? "'We are bound to each other. Are we not?'

"'Certé, you swore it.' "'Tierry lifted his beautiful face. "'I do like you greatly,' he answered, "'and in no wise blame you "'because you are weakly and used to luxury. "'Others have found me over gentle. Then I am pardoned. Tierie smiled.

Nay, I do regret my evil humor. The sun was fierce, and the bundles heavy to drag up the hill. Dirk sank down upon the grass beside him. Truly, I am weary to death. Thierry considered him, panting a little. Dirk stretched himself his full length on the blowing grass. The young scholar used and indifferent to his own great beauty, was deadened to the effect of it in others, and to any eye Dirk could be no more than

well-looking. As Thierry studied him, he spoke. My heart, it is sweet here. Oh, sweet. Faint airs wafted from the pine, and the wildflowers hidden in the woods below them stole through the grass. A glowing purple haze began to obscure the valley, and where it melted into the sky, the first star shone, pale as the moon. Over head, the dome of heaven was still blue, and in the tops of the pines was a continuous whispering of the perfumed boughs one to another. Now, wish yourself back in the town among their drinking and swearing, said Dirk. Nay, smiled Tyree, I am content. The faint purple color slowly spread over everything. The towers of the town, came dark, and little sharp lights twinkled in them. Dirk drew a great breath.

What will you do with your life? he asked. Tiri started. In what manner? Why, if we succeed in any way, if we obtain great power, what would you do with it? I would be great, Tyrie whispered, like Flacus Alcun, like Avlard, like Saint Bernard. And I would be greater than any of these, as great as the master we serve can make his followers. Thiery shuddered. These I speak of were great, serving God. Dirk looked up quickly. How know you that? Many of these holy men owe their position to strange men. means, I at least would not be content to live and die in woolens when I could command the means to clothe me in golden silks. The beautiful darkness now encompassed them. Below them the lights of the

town, above them the stars, and here in the meadow land the night breeze in the long grass and in the deep boughs of pine. I am but a neophyte. said Thiery, after a pause. Very little have I practiced of these things. I had a book of necromancy and learned a little there. But why do you pause, demanded Dirk. One may not do these things, answered Tiery slowly, without great blasphemy. Dirk laughed. I care nothing for all the angels and all the saints. I desire vast wealth, huge power. I would see nations at my footstool. Ah, but I have a boundless ambition. He sat up suddenly and softly and laid his hand on Tyree's arm. If they, the evil ones, offered you that, would you not take it?

Tyree shuddered. You would! You would! cried Dirk. And pay your soul for it, gladly. The scholar made no answer, but reclined motionless, gazing over the human lights in the valley to the stars beyond them. Dirk continued, See what a liking I have for you that I tell you this,

that I give you the secret of my power to come? "'Tis my secret also,' answered Thierry hastily. "'I have done enough to bring the everlasting wrath of the church upon me.' Gradually, by ones and twos, the lights in the town were extinguished, and the valley was in darkness. Thierry folded up his cloak as a pillow for his head, and lay down in the scented grass. As he fell into a half-sleep, the great sweetness of the place was pretext. present to his mind, torturing him. He knew by the pictures he had seen that paradise was like this,

remote and infinitely peaceful, meadows and valleys spreading beneath a tranquil sky. He knew it was desirable and that he longed for it, yet he must meddle with matters that repelled him, even as they drew him with their horror. He fell into heavy dreams, moaning in his sleep. Dirk rose from beside him and walked up and down in the dark. The dew was falling. His head uncovered. He stooped, felt for his mantle, found it and wrapped it about him, pacing, to and fro, with calm eyes defying the dark.

Then finally he lay down under the pines and slept, to awake suddenly and find himself in a sitting posture. Like wine poured into a cup, light began to fill the valley and the hollows in the hills. Faint mystic clouds gathered and spread over the horizon. Dirk shudderingly drew his mantle closer. Thierry sighed and woke. Dirk gave him a distracted glance and turned away so rapidly and softly that Thierry, with the ugly shapes of dreams still riding his brain,

cried out, Is that you, Dirk? And sprang to his feet. Dirk stayed his steps halfway to the pines. What is the matter? He asked in an odd voice. Tiree pushed the hair away from his forehead. I know nothing.

The air seemed suddenly to become colder. The hills that on all sides bounded their vision, rose up stark from gray mists, an indescribable tension made itself felt like a pause in the stillness. Dirk stepped back to Thierry and caught his arm. They stood motionless in an attitude of expectancy. A roll of thunder peeled from the brightening sky and faded slowly into silence. They were looking along the hills with straining eyes.

On the farthest peak appeared a gigantic, black horseman outlined against the ghostly light. He carried a banner in his hand. It was the color of blood and the color of night. For a moment, he sat his horse motionless, facing towards the east. Then the low thunder pealed again. He raised the banner, shook it above his head, and galloped down the hillside. Before he reached the valley, he had disappeared, and at that instant the sun rose above the horizon and sparkled across the country. Tirey hid his face in his sleeve and trembled terribly, but Dirk gazed over his bent head with undaunted eyes. And of Section 5, recording by Molly Craig.

Section 6 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Lipbervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 6. The Lady Through the blue-pointed arches that gave on to the sunny gardens, a thin stream of students issued from the lecture room. Behind the castellated roof of the university, the mountains appeared. Snow cold against the sunlit sky. At the bottom of the gently sloping garden lay the town of Baal.

with the broad blue rhine flowing between the glittering houses. The students came in twos and threes and little groups, laughing together over the doctor who had been lecturing them, over some point in their studies that had roused their amusement, or merely because it was a relief after being confined for hours in the dark hall. The long straight robes, dark shades of purple, blue and violet, fluttered behind them in the summer wind as they gradually dispersed to right and left among the trees. Tyree, walking with two others, looked about him for Dirk, who had not attended the lecture.

We are going up the river, said one of his companions. We have a fair sailing boat. It will be pleasant by Ovette. Will you come? asked the other. Thiery shook his head. nay, I cannot. They came to a pathway bordered with laurels and dark glossy plants, and from a seat amid them, Dirk rose at their approach. He was distinguished from the others by the greater richness of his dress. His robe, very voluminous and heavy, was of brown silk. He wore a gold

chain twisted round his flat black cap, and his shirt was a fine lawn, laced and embroidered. The two students doffed their hats in half-mocking recognition of the exquisite air of aloofness that was his habitual manner. He gave them a steady look out of half-closed eyes. Hast learnt much to-day, he asked. Aristotle is not comprehended in an afternoon, answered the student, smiling, and I was at the back. Master Joris of Thuringa, yawned and yawned and fell off his. his stool asleep. The doctor was bitter. It was amusing, said the other, yet he was not asleep,

but swooned from the heat. Mass, but it was hot. Where were you? Improving my Latin in the library. This afternoon I have put the story of Tyros and Filomena into the vulgar tongue. Give you good even, the two linked arms. We know a joyful inn up the river. As they disappeared, Dirk turned sharply to Tilly. Did they ask your company? Yay. Dirk frowned. You should have gone.

I had no mind to it. They're foolish. A, but we are beginning to be remarked for closeness in our habits. It would not be pleasant should they suspect. Tis not possible, said Tiree hastily. It must not be, was the first. firm answer, but be not churlish or over-reserved. I wish for no company but thine, replied Thirri. What have I in common with these idlers? Dirk gave him a bright, tender look. We need not stay here

over long, he answered. I do think we know all this school can teach us. Tiree put back the laurel bow that swung between them. Where would you go? He asked, if was noticeable how in all things he had begun to defer to the younger man. Paris, Padua, flashed Dirk. Would you consider that? One might attain a reputation, and then, or one might lecture in any large town, Cologne, Strasbourg. Meanwhile? Meanwhile, I progress, was the whispered answer.

I have essayed some things. Will you come to my chamber tonight? A? Secretly? Dirk nodded. His grave young face under the student's flat hat was slightly flushed. He laid his hand on Thierry's arm. I have something to tell you. Here it is scarcely wise to speak. There is one who hates me. Yoris of Thieringa. Now, goodbye. His great eyes lit with a look of strong affection that was flashed back in Tyree's glance. They clasped hands and parted. Thierry looked after the brown silk-clad figure as it moved rapidly towards the university. Then he took his own way, out of the gardens, on to the hillside, away from the town.

With his hands clasped behind his back and his handsome head bent, he followed aimlessly, a little path. And as he wound his way through the trees, wild daydreams stirred his blood. He was on the eve of putting himself in possession of immense power. These evil spirits whom he would force to serve him could give him anything in the world, anything in the world. Presently, a human sound forced itself on Thierry's senses. Insistently, even through his abstraction, the sound of weeping, sobbing. He started, gazed about him with dazed eyes, like a blind man recovering sight, and discerned a lady upon the other side of the stream, seated on the grass, her head

bowed in her right hand. Tiree paused, frowned and hesitated. The lady warned of something, glanced up, and sprang to her feet. He saw now that she held a dead bird in her left hand. Her face was flushed with weeping, her long yellow hair disordered about her brow. She gazed at him with wet, grey eyes, and Thiery felt it imperative to speak. You are troubled, he asked, then flushed, thinking she might term it insolence. But she answered simply, and at once, about him I am. She held the little brown bird out on her palm.

He was on the small poplar tree and singing. He held his head up so. She lifted her long throat. And I could see his heart beating behind the feathers. I listened to him. Oh, with pleasure. Fresh tears started to the eyes that she turned on Tyree. Then my miserable cat that had followed me

leapt on him and slew him. Oh, I chased them, but when I got him back, he was dead. Tiree was extraordinarily moved by this homely tragedy. It could not have occurred to him that there was matter for tears in such a common thing. But as the lady told the story, holding out as if secure of his sympathy, the poor little ruffled body, he felt that it was both pitiful, and monstrous. You may chastise the cat, he said, for he saw the elegant, soft animal rubbing itself against the stem of the poplar.

I have beaten her, she confessed. You can hang her, said Thiery, thinking to console still more. But the lady flushed up. She is an agreeable cat, she answered. She cannot help her nature. Oh, it would be an odious cruelty to hang her. her. See, she does not understand. Tiri, rebuked, was at a loss. He stood looking at the lady,

feeling helpless and useless. She wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief and stood in a piteous, meek silence, holding her dead bird in a trembling hand. If you buried it, suggested Tiree desperately, I do think it would have wished to be buried here. To his joy she brightened a little. You think so, she asked wistfully. Sirte, he reassured her eagerly. See, I have a knife. I will make a pleasant grave.

She stepped to the edge of the stream as near as she could to him, and because she came unconsciously with no thought for anything save the bird in her hand, Thierry thrilled with a great pleasure, as should a wild deer come fearlessly. I cannot cross. The water is too wide, she said. But will you take him and make his grave? She went on one knee among the sorrel leaves and daisies.

Thiery had a swift picture of her as she leant forward, stretching her arm towards him over the stream that divided them. Her pale red dress rippled about her on the grass. Her curls and her veil, were blown back from her face. Thirri knelt and held out his hand. Over midstream their fingers touched.

He took the bird and she drew back hastily. As he, still on his knees, looked at her, he saw that she was no longer unconscious. She stood erect, as if commanding herself not to fly. And, as she was very slender, He likened her to the pale crimson pistol of a lily, which has yellow on the head. Her hair, he told himself. I am vexed to trouble you, she spoke haltingly.

There were so many things he wished to say in answer to this that he said nothing, but took his knife from his belt and cut a little square of turf. You are a clerk from the college, she asked. A, he answered, and wished fiercely he could have given himself a finer name. There are many learned men there, she said courteously. He would not have believed it possible to find in himself such care over a trivial thing as he now took over this little bird's grave, for he knew she watched him with judgment in her eyes. The unholy daydreams that had vexed and enthralled him were completely forgotten in this new feeling.

The lines of a verse he had not noticed when he read it came back to him, beating in his head. Pleasant is she of a fair white favour, sweetly her caress as the ripe grapes flavor, and her lips are like the rose in their savor. Seeing her my pulses quicken, I turned from common things and sicken, For the quiet woods where the may buds thicken. Hearing her my breath is taken, My bold heart bowed and shaken,

And I from sloth at last awaken. He dug into the soft brown earth with the point of his knife, lined the grave with leaves, and picked up the little bird. for a moment he held it in his hand as she had done and he dared not look at her then he laid it in the ground and replaced the grass and daisies when he raised his head his face flushed from stooping he saw that she was no longer watching him but she had turned sideways and was gazing at the distant woods Thiery rose from his knees. She turned. I thank you, she said. Then, on a quick breath, do you often come here?

Nay, never before. I did not know the place. That is my home yonder, said the lady. Yours? And he pointed to the castle walls. Yay, I am an orphan and the emperor's ward. She looked at the point of her shoe showing beneath her breast. pale crimson robe. What town do you come from? she asked. Cortreg. I know no town save Frankfurt. A silence fell between them. The wicked grey cat walked in a stately manner along the edge of the stream. I shall lose her, said the lady. Good even, gentle clerk. My name is Jacoba of Martzburg.

Perhaps I shall see you again? He had never felt more desirous of speaking, never, less capable. He murmured, I do hope it, and colored burningly at his awkwardness. She gave him a half look, a flash from grave, gray eyes, instantly veiled, and with an unsmiling mouth bade him again. Good even. Then she was gone after the cat. He saw her hasten down the side of the stream, her dress bending the grasses and leaves. He saw her stoop and snatch up the creature, and, holding it in her arms, take the path towards those lordly gates. He hoped she might look back and see that he gazed after her, but she did not turn her head. And when the last flutter of pale red had disappeared, he moved reluctantly from the place. On the slopes that

adjoined the garden of the college, Thierry came upon a little group of students lying on the grass. Just beyond them the others were standing. Dirk, noticeable by his rich dress and elegant bearing, and another youth whom Thierry knew for Joris of Feringa. A glance told him there were words between them. Even from where he stood, he could see Dirk was white and taut. Yoris hot and flushed. He crossed the grass swiftly.

He knew that it was their policy to avoid quarrels in the conunds. college. "'Sir's, what is this?' he asked. The students looked at him. Some seemed amused, some excited. His heart gave a sick throb as he saw that their glances were both unfriendly and doubtful. One gave him half-scornful information. Thy friend was caught with an unholy forbidden book, though he denies it. He cast it into the river sooner than allow us a sight of it, and now he is bitter with Yoros's commentary thereon. Dirk saw Tyree and turned his pale face toward him. This churl insulted me, he said.

Yay, laid hands upon me. A burst of half angry, half good-humored laughter came from Yoris. I cannot get the little youth to fight by Christius his mother. he is afraid because I could break his neck between my finger and thumb. Dirk flashed burning eyes over him. I am not afraid. Never could I fear such as thee, but neither my profession nor my degree permit me to brawl.

Be silent and be gone. The tone could not fail to rouse the other. Who art thou? he shouted. To speak as if thou wert a noble son. I did by my son. touch thy arm to get the book. The rest joined in. Sirte, he did no more, and what was the book? Dirk held himself very proudly. I will no more be questioned than I will be touched. Fine words for a paltry, Flemish knave, jeered one of the students. Words I can make good,

flashed Dirk, and turned towards the college. Yorres was springing after him when Thierry caught his arm. Tis but a peevish youth, he said. The other shook himself free and stared after the bright figure in silk. He called me a son of a Thuringa thief, he muttered. A laugh rose from the group. How knew he that? From the unholy book? Yoris frowned heavily. His wrath flared in another direction. Yach! Silence! Son of a British swineherd, thou red face. The group seethed into fisticuffs. Thiery followed Dirk across the gardens.

End of Section 6. Recording by Molly Craig. Section 7 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Slibervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 7, Spells. Thierry found Dirk as he was passing under the art. colonnade. Prudence, he quoted, where is your prudence now? Durk turned quickly. I had to put on a bold front. Seres, I hate that knave, but let him go now. Come with me! Tyrie followed him through the college, up the dark stairway into his chamber. It was a low-arched room looking on to the garden,

barely furnished, and containing only the bed, a chair, and some books on a shelf. Dirk opened the window on the sun-flushed twilight. The students are jealous of me because of my reputation with the doctors, he said, smiling. One told me today. I was the most learned youth in the college, and how long have we been here? But ten months. Tiree was silent. The triumph in his companion's voice could find no echo in his heart. Neither in his legitimate studies nor in his secret experiments had he been as successful as Dirk, who in ancient and modern lore, in languages, algebra, theology, oratory, had far outshone all competitors,

and who had progressed dangerously in forbidden things. Tyree shook off the feeling of jealousy that possessed him and spoke on another subject. Dirk, I saw a lady today. Such a lady. A, t'was in the valley. A valley, I mean, which I had never seen before. Oh, Dirk! He was leaning against the end of the bed, gazing across the dusk. T'was a lady so sweet she had. Dirk interrupted him. "'Certes!' he cried angrily. "'She had grey eyes, belike, and yellow hair. "'Have they not always yellow hair?

"'And a mincing mouth, "'and a manner of glancing sideways and cunning words. "'I'll warrant me.' "'Why, she had all this,' answered Thiery, bewildered. "'But she was pleasant, had you but seen her dirk.' "'The youth sneered. "'Who is she, thy lady?' "'Jacobia, of Martsburg.'

He took obvious pleasure in saying her name. She is a great lady and gracious. Out on Yee! exclaimed Dirk passionately. What is she to us? Have we not other matters to think of? I did not think Ye so weak as to come chanting the praises of the first thing that smiles on Yee. Thierie was angered.

Tis not the first time. And what have I said of her? Oh, enough. You have lost your heart to her, I doubt not. And what use will ye be, a lovestick knave? Nay, answered Thierry hotly, You have no warrant for this speech? How should I love the lady seeing her once?

I did but say she was fair and gentle. Tis the first woman you have spoken of to me, in that voice, did ye not say, such a lady? Tiri felt the blood stinging his cheeks. Could you have seen her? he repeated. A. Had I seen her, I could tell you how much paint she wore, how tight her lace was. Tiri interrupted. I'll hear no more. Art a peevish youth, knowing nothing of women.

She was one of God's roses, pink and white, and we not fit to kiss her little shoes. that's pure truth. Dirk struggled for a moment with a heaving breast and closed his teeth over a rebellious lip. Then he crossed the room and opened the door of an inner chamber. He had obtained permission to use this apartment for his studies. The key of it he carried always with him, and only he and Thierry had ever entered it. In silence, lighting a lamp and placing it on the window-sill, He beckoned Thierry to follow him.

It was a dismal room, piled against the walls where the books Dirk had brought with him, and on the open hearth some dead charred sticks lay scattered. See, said Dirk, he drew from a dark corner, a roughly carved wooden figure, some inches high. I wrought this to-day, and if I know the spells all right, there is one will pay for his insolence. Thiery took the figure in his hand. Tis Yoris of Thuringa! Dirk nodded somberly.

The room was thick with unhealthy odors, and a close, stagnant smoke seemed to hang round the roof. The lamp cast a pulsating yellow light over the dreariness, and through strange-shaped shadows from the jars and bottles standing about the floor. What is this Yoris to you? Tiri curiously. Dirk was unrolling a manuscript inscribed in Persian. Nothing.

I would see what skill I have. The old evil excitement seized Tiri. They had tried spells before, on cattle and dogs, but without success, his blood tingled at the thought of an enchantment potent to confound enemies. Light the fire, commanded Dirk. Thiery set the image by the lamp and poured a thick yellow fluid from one of the bottles over the dead sticks.

Then he flung on a handful of grey powder, a close dun-coloured vapour rose, and a sickly smell filled the room. Then the sticks burst suddenly into a tall and beautiful flame that sprang noiselessly up the chimney and cast a clear and unnatural glow round the chamber. Tyri drew three circles round the fire, and marked the outer one with characters taken from the manuscripts Durk held. Dirk was looking at him as he knelt in the splendid glow of the flames, and his own heavy brows were frowning. Was she beautiful? He asked abruptly.

Thierry took this as an atonement for the late ill-temper, and answered pleasantly, Why, she was beautiful, Dirk. And fair? Certe's yellow hair. No more of her, said the youth, in a kind of fierce mournfulness. The legend is finished. Yay. Tire rose from his knees. And now? Dirk was anointing the little image of the student on the breast, the eyes, and mouth, with a liquid poured from a purple vial. Then he said, set it within the circle round the flame. Tis carved of ash plucked from a churchyard, he said, and the ingredients of the fire are correct.

Now, if this fails, their duched lies. He stepped up to the fire and addressed an invocation in Persian to the soaring flame, then retreated to Thierry's side. The whole room was glowing in the clear red light cast by the unholy fire. The cobweb hung rafters, the gaunt walls, the books and jars on the bare floor were all distinctly visible, and the two could see each other, red from head to foot. Look, said Dirk with a slow smile. The image lying in the magic circle, and almost touching the flames, though not burnt or even scorched,

was beginning to writhe and twist on its back like a creature in pain. "'Ah!' Durk showed his teeth. "'The Magian spell has worked!' "'A sensation of giddiness ceased Tyree. "'He heard something beating loud and fast in his ear, it seemed, "'but he knew it was his heart that thumped so up and down. "'The figure, horribly like Yoris, "'with its flat hat and student's robe,

"'was struggling to its feet and emitting little mrs. moans of agony. It cannot get out, breathed Thierry. Nay, whispered Dirk. Wherefore did you draw the circle? The flame was a column of pure fire, and it cast a glow of gold on the thing imprisoned in the ring Thierry had made. Durk watched in an eager way, with neither fear nor compunction, but Thierry felt a wave of sickness mount to his brain. The creature was making useless endeavors to escape from the fiery glare. It groaned and fell on its face, twisted on its back, and made frantic attempts to cross the line that imprisoned it.

Let it out, whispered Thiery faintly. But Dirk was elate with success. You are mad, he retorted, the spell works bravely. On the end of his words came a sound that caused both to wince. Even in the lurid light, Dirk saw his companion pale. It was the bell of the college chapel ringing the students to the Vespers. I had forgotten, muttered Dirk.

We must go. It would be noticed. We cannot put the fire out, cried Tierry. Nay, we must leave it. It must burn out, answered Dirk hurriedly. The creature, after rushing round the circle in an attempt to escape, had fallen, as if exhausted with its agony, and lay quivering. We will leave him, too, said Dirk unpleasantly. But Tiari had a tearing memory of a lady kneeling among green grasses,

and bending towards him with a dead bird in her hand, tears for it on her chest. cheeks, a dead bird, and this. He stooped and snatched up the creature. It shrieked dismally as he touched it, and he felt the quick flame burn his fingers. Instantly the fire had sunk into ashes, and he held in his hand a mere morsel of charred wood. With a sound of disgust he flung this on the ground. Should have let it burn, said Dirk, with the lamp held aloft to show him the way across the now dark chamber. Perchance we cannot relight it, and I have not finished with the ugly knave. They stepped into the outer chamber, and Dirk locked the door. Tiree gasped to feel the fresher air in his nostrils, and a sense of terror clouded his brain. But Dirk was in high spirits,

His eyes narrowed with excitement, his pale lips set in a hard fashion. They descended into the hall. Without a word to each other, but side by side, the two students passed into the antechamber that led into the chapel. And there they stopped. The pale rays of a candle dispersed the gathering dark and revealed a group of men standing together and conversing in whispers. why do they not enter the church breathed thiery with a curious sensation at his heart something has happened some of the students turned and saw them they were forced to come forward dirk was silent and smiling

have you heard asked one all were sober and subdued a horrible thing said another jores of theringa is struck with a strange illness certes He fell down amongst us, as if in the grip of hellfire. The speaker crossed himself. Thierry could not answer. He felt that they were all looking at him, suspiciously, accusingly, and he trembled. We carried him up to his chamber, said another. He shrieked and tore at his flesh, imploring us to keep the flames off. The priest is with him now.

God guard us from unholy things. Why do you say that? demanded Thierry fiercely. Be like his disease was but natural. A look passed round the students. I know not, one muttered. It was strange. Dirk, still smiling and silent, turned into the chapel. Tiri and the others, hushing their surmises, followed. There were candles on the altar, six feet high, and a confusion of the senses overcame Thierry,

in which he saw them as white angels with flaming halos coming grievingly for his destruction. A wave of fear and sorrow rushed over him. He sank on his knees on the stone floor, and fixed his eyes on the priest, whose tossable was gleaming gold through the dimness of the incense-filled chest. chapel. The blasphemy and mortal sin of what he had done sickened and frightened him. Was not his being here the most horrible blasphemy of all? He had no right. He had made false confessions to the priest. He had received absolution on lies. Daily he had come here, worshipping God with his lips and Satan with his heart.

A groan broke from him. He bowed his beautiful face in his hands, and his shoulders shook. He thought of Yoris of Thuringa, writhing in the agony caused by their unhallowed spells, of the eager devils crowding to their service. And far away, in a blinding white mist, he seemed to see the ark of the saints and angels,

looking down on him while he fell away farther, farther, into unfathomable depths of darkness. With an uncontrollable movement of agony, he looked up, and his starting eyes fell on the figure of Dirk, kneeling in front of him. The youth's calm both horrified and soothed him. There he knelt. Who had but a little while before been playing with devils? with a face as unmoved as a sculptured saint, with a placid brow, quiet eyes, and hands folded on his brevery. He seemed to feel Therese intense gaze,

for he looked swiftly round, and a look of caution, of warning, shot under his white lids. Therese's glance fell. His companions were singing, with uplifted faces, but he could not join them. the pillars with their foliated capitals oppressed him by their shadow the saints glowing in mosaic on the drums of the arches frightened him with the unforgiving look in their long eyes

laudet puri dominum la de nomin domini sit nam dominie benedictum ex hogg nuke eusk in A solaceousselis to usk adocasm, laudable nomin domini. The fresh young voices rose lustily. The church was full of incense and music. Theriv rose with the hymn singing in his head and left the chapel. The singers cast curious glances at him as he passed. And when he reached the door, he heard a patter of feet behind him, and turned to see Dirk at his elbow. I have done with it, he said hoarsely. Dirk's eyes were flaming.

Do you want to make public confession? He demanded, breathing hard. Remember, it is our lives to pay if they discover. Tiri shuddered. I cannot pray. I cannot stay in the church. For days I have felt the blessing scorch me. "'Come upstairs,' said Dirk.

As they went down the long hall, they met one who was a friend of Joris of Thuringa. Dirk stopped. "'Hast come from the sick man?' "'Ye?' "'Is he mending?' Thierry stared with wild eyes, waiting the answer. "'I know not,' said the youth. "'He lies in a swoon and pants for breath.

He passed on, something abruptly. "'Art afraid?' asked Dirk quietly. Yay, I am afraid. So am not I, answered Dirk composedly. I cannot stay here, breathed Thiery, with agonized brows. Dirk bit his forefinger. Nay, for we have but little money, and know all these pendants can teach us.

Tis time we began to lay the cornerstones of our fortune. Talk not to me of fortunes. I have set my soul. in deadly peril. I cannot pray. I cannot take the names of holy things upon my lips, said Tyrie. "'Is this your courage?' said Dirk softly. "'Is this your ambition, your loyalty to me?' "'Would you run whining to a priest, with a secret that is mine as well as yours? Is this, oh noble youth, what all your dreams have faded to?' Tiree groaned. "'I know not. I know not. I know not.' Dirk came slowly nearer. Is this to be the end of comradeship, our league?

He took the others slack hand in his, and as he seldom offered or suffered a touch, Tiri thrilled at it as a great mark of affection, and at the feel of the smooth, cool fingers, the fascination, the temptation that this youth stood for stirred his pulses. still he could not forget the stern angel he thought he had seen upon the altar, and the way his tongue had refused to move when he had striven to pray. Be like, I have gone too far to turn back, he panted with questioning eyes. Dirk dropped his hand. Be of me, or not with me, he said coldly.

Surely, I can't stand alone. Nay, answered Thierry, "'Sertes, I love thee. "'Dirk, as I have never cared for any, do I care for thee?' "'Dirk stepped back and looked at him out of half-closed eyes. "'Well, do not stop to paltor with talk of priests. "'Certainly, I will be faithful to you, unto death and damnation, "'and be you true to me.'

"'Tiris made a movement to answer, "'but a sudden and violent knock on the door checked him. They looked at each other, and the same swift thoughts came to each. The students had suspected, had come to take them by surprise, and the consequences. For a second, Dirk shook with suppressed wrath. Curse the Magian spell, he muttered. Curse, zurduced, and his foul bruise, for we are trapped and undone! Tilly sprang up and tried the inner door.

"'Tis secure,' he said. He was now quite calm. "'I have the key.' Dirk laid his hand on his breast, then snatched a couple of volumes from the shelves and flung them on the table. The knock was repeated. "'Unbolt the door,' said Thierry.

He seated himself at the table and opened one of the volumes. Dirk slipped the bolt. The door sprang back and a number of students, headed by a monk bearing a crucifix, surged into the room. What do you want? demanded Dirk, fronting them quietly. You interrupt our studies. The priest answered sternly,

There are strange and horrible accusations against you, my son, that you must disprove. What accusations? asked Dirk. His demeanor appeared to have changed as completely as Tierrez had done. He had lost. his assured calm. His defiant bearing was maintained by an obvious effort, and his lips twitched with agitation. The students murmured, and forced further into the room. The monk answered, "'Ye are suspected of procuring the dire illness of Joris of Thuringa by spells.' "'It is a lie,' said Dirk faintly, and without conviction. But Thierry replied boldly, "'Upon what do you base this charge, father?'

"'The monk was ready. "'Upon your strange and close behaviour. "'The two of you, upon our ignorance of whence you came, "'upon the suddenness of the youth's illness "'after words passed between him and Master Durk. "'A, put in one of the students eagerly, "'and he lapped water like a dog. "'I have seen a light here well into the night,' said another.

"'And why left they before the Vespers were finished, demanded a third. Tilly smiled. He felt that they were discovered, but fear was far from him. These are childish accusations, he answered. Get you gone to find a better. Dirk, who had retreated behind the table, spoke now. Ye smarch us with wanton words, he said pantingly. It is a lie. Will you swear to that? asked the monk quickly. Tiri interposed. Search the chamber, father. I warrant you have already been peering through mine. Yay. And you found? Nothing. Then you are not content, cried Dirk. The murmur of the students swelled into an angry cry. Nay, can ye not spirit away your implements if ye be wizards?

Great skill do you credit us with, smiled Thiery, but on nothing you can prove nothing. Although he knew that he could never allay their suspicions, it occurred to him that it might be possible to prevent the discovery of what the locked room held. And in that case, though they might have to leave the college, their lives would be safe. He snatched up the lantern and held it aloft. See you anything here? They stared round the bare walls with eager, straining eyes. One came to the table and turned over the vault. there. Seneca! He flung them down with disappointment. The priest advanced and gazed about him.

Dirk stood silent and scornful. Tiri was bold to defy them all. I see no holy thing, said the monk, neither virgin nor saint, nor pritou, nor holy water. Dirk's eyes flashed fiercely. Here is my brevary, he pointed to it on the table. One of the students cried, Where is the key? To the inner chamber! There were three or four of them about the door. Dirk, turning to see them striving with the handle, went ghastly pale and could not speak. But Thierry broke out into great wrath. The room is disused. No affair of mine or Dirk. We know nothing of it. Will you swear? asked the priest.

"'Certes, I will swear.' But the student, struggling with the door, cried out. Dirk Renswode asked for this room for his studies. I do know it, and he had the key. Dirk gave a great start. Nay, nay, he said hurriedly, I have no key. Search, my sons, said the priest. Their blood was up.

Some ten or twelve had crowded into the chamber. They hurled the books off the shell. scattered the garments out of the coffer, pulled the quilt off the bed, and turned up the mattress, finding nothing they turned on Dirk. He has the key about him! All eyes were now fixed on the youth who stood a little in front of Tierry, he, continuing to hold the lamp scornfully aloft to aid them in their search. The light rested on Dirk's shoulders, causing the bright silk to glitter, and flickered in his short, waving hair. There was no trace of color in his face. His brows were raised and gathered into a hard frown. "'Have you the key of that chamber?' demanded the priest.

Dirk tried to speak, but could not find his voice. He moved his head stiffly in denial. "'But answer,' insisted the monk, "'what should it avail me if I swore? The words seemed rinded. from him. Would you believe me? His eyes were bright with hate of all of them. Swear on this, the monk pro-offered the crucifix. Dirk did not touch it. I have no key, he said. There is your answer, flashed Thierry, and set the lamp on the table. The foremost student laughed. Search him, he cried. His garments. Be like he has the key in his breast. Again, Dirk gave a great start.

The table was between him and his enemies. It was the only protection he had. Thierry, knowing that he must have the key upon him, saw the end, and was prepared to fight it finally. What are ye going to do now, he challenged. For answer, one of them leant across the table, and seized Dirk by the arm, swinging him easily into the center of the room. another caught his mantle. A yell of, Search him! arose from the others. Dirk bent his head in a curious manner,

snatched the key from inside his shirt, and flung it on the floor. Instantly they let go of him to pick it up, and he staggered back beside Tiri. Do not let them touch me, he said. Do not let them touch me. Art a coward, answered Tierry angrily, now we are utterly lost? He thrust Dirk away as if he would abandon him, but that youth caught hold of him in desperation. Do not leave me, they will tear me to pieces.

The students were rushing through the unlocked door, shouting for lights. The priest caught up the lamp and followed them. The two were left in darkness. Ye are a fool, said Tiri, with some cunning the key might have been saved. A horrid shout arose from those in the inner chamber, as they discovered the remains of the incantations. Thirie sprang to the window, Dirk after him.

Tiri! Gentle Tiri! Take me also! Can see I am helpless? Ah! I am small and pitiful! Tiri! Tiri had one leg over the window-sill. Come then! in the fiend's name, he answered. A hoarse shout told them. them, the students had found the little image of Yorres. Those, still on the stairway, saw them at the window. Tiri helped Dirk on to the window ledge. The night air blew hot on their faces, and they felt

warm rain falling on them. There was no light anywhere. The students were yelling, in a thick fury as they discovered the unholy unguents and implements. They turned suddenly and dashed to the window. Tyree swung himself by his hands, then let go. With a shock that jarred every nerve in his body, he landed on the balcony of the room beneath. Jump! he called up to Dirk, who still crouched on the window-sill. Ah, soul of mine! Ah, I cannot! Dirk stared through the darkness in a wild endeavor to discern Tiri. I am holding out my arms. Jump! The students had knocked over the lamp, and it had checked them for the moment. But Dirk, looking back, saw the room flaring with fresh lights and seething figures pushing up to the window.

He closed his eyes and leapt in the darkness. The distance was not great. Thierry half caught him. He half staggered against the balcony. A torch was thrust out of the window above them. Frenzied faces looked down. Tyri pushed Dirk roughly through the window before them, which opened onto the library, and followed. Now for our lives, he said.

They ran down the dark length of the chamber and gained the stairs. The students, having guessed their design, were after them. They could hear the clatter of feet on the upper landing. How many stairs? How many before they reached the hall? Dirk tripped and fell. Thierie dragged him up. A breathless youth overtook them.

Thirri panting, turned, and struck him backwards sprawling. So they reached the hall, fled along it and out into the dark garden. A minute after the pursuers, bearing lights and half delirious with wrath and terror, surged out of the college doors, Tyree caught Dirk's arm and they ran, across the thick grass, crashing through the bushes, trampling down the roses, blindly through the dark till the shouts and the lights grew fainter behind them, and they could feel the trunks of trees impeding them, and so knew that they must have reached the forest.

Then Thierry let go of Dirk, who sank down by his side and lay sobbing in the grass. End of Section 7, recording by Molly Craig. Section 8 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 8, The Castle Tiri spoke angrily through the dark. Little fool, we are safe enough.

They think the devil has carried us off. Be silent. Dirk gasped from where he lay. I'm not afraid, but spent. They have gone? A, said Tiree, peering about him. There was no trace of light anywhere in the murky dark, nor any sound. He put his hand out and touched the wet trunk of a tree, resting his shoulder against this,

for he also was exhausted. He considered, angrily, the situation. Have you any money, he asked? Not one white piece. Thiery felt in his own pockets. Nothing. Their plight was pity of it. their belongings were in the college, probably by now being burnt with a sprinkling of holy water,

they were still close to those who would kill them upon sight, with no means of escape. Daylight must discover them if they lingered, and how to be gone before daylight? If they tried to wander in this dark, likely enough they would, but find themselves at the college gates. Thiery cursed softly. Little avail our enchantments now, he commented bitterly. It was raining heavily, drumming on the leaves above them, splashing from the boughs and dripping on the grass. Dirk raised himself feebly.

Cannot we get shelter? he asked peevishly. I am all bruised, shaken, and wet. Wet! Likely enough, responded Thierie grimly. But unless the charms you know, Zurdush's incantations and magian spells, can avail to spirit us away, we must even stay where we are. Ah, my manuscripts, my vials and bottles, cried Dirk. I left them all. They will burn them, said Tiery. Plague blast and blight the thieving, spying knaves, answered Dirk fiercely. He got onto his feet

and supported himself the other side of the tree. Certes, curse them all, said Tyree, if it anything helps. He felt anger and hate towards the priest and his followers, who had hounded him from the college. No remorse stung him now. Their action had swung him violently back into his old mood of defiance and hard-heartedness. His one thought was neither repentance nor shame, but a hot desire to triumph over his enemies and outwit their pursuit. My ankle, moaned Dirk, oh, I cannot stand. Thiery turned to where the voice came out of the blackness. "'Defend me not with thy complaints, weakling,' he said fiercely,

"'has behaved in a cowardly fashion to-night.' Dirk was silent, before a new phase of Tiree's character. He saw that his hold on his companion had been weakened by his display of fear, his easy surrender of the key. He put out his hand round the tree and touched the wet silk mantle. Despite the heat, Dirk was shivering. What shall we do? he asked, and strove to keep his teeth from chattering. If we might journey to Frankfurt. Why Frankfurt?

"'Certes. I know an old witch there who was friendly to Master Lucas, and she would receive us, surely. We cannot reach Frankfurt or any place without money. How dark it is! Ugh! How it rains! I am wet to the skin! And my ankle!' Tiri set his teeth. We will get there in spite of them. Are we so easily daunted? "'Tierry stared about him "'and saw in one part of the universal darkness "'a small light with a misty halo about it, "'slow coming nearer. "'A traveller,' said Tyri.

"'Now shall he see us or no?' "'Be like, he would show us on our way,' whispered Dirk, "'if he be not from the college. "'Nay, he rides!' "'They could hear now through the monotonous noise of the rain. The sound of a horse, slowly, cautiously advancing, the light swung and flickered in a changing oval that revealed faintly a man holding it, and a horseman whose bridle he caught with the other hand. They came at a walking pace, for the path was unequal and slippery, and the illumination afforded by the

lantern feeble at best. The horseman and his attendant were now quite close, The light showed the overgrown path they came upon, the wet foliage either side, and the slanting silver rain. Thiery stepped out before them. Sir, he said, know you of any habitation other than the town of Bal? The rider was wrapped in a mantle to his chin and wore a pointed felt hat. He looked sharply under this at his questioner. My own, he said, and halted his.

horse, a third of a league from here. At first he had seemed fearful of robbers, for his hand had sought the knife in his belt. But now he took it away and stared curiously, attracted by the student's dress and the obvious beauty of the young man who was looking straight at him with dark, challenging eyes. We should be indebted for your hospitality, even the shelter of your barns, said Thiery. The horseman's glance traveled to Dirk, shivering in his silk. Clerks, from the college, he questioned. Yay, answered Thierry. We were, but I sorely wounded one in a fight and fled. My comrade chose to follow me. The stranger touched up his horse. Certes, you may come with me. I watch there is room in now. The light held by the servant,

showed a muddy, twisting path, the shining wet trunks, the glistening leaves either side, the great brown horse steaming and passive with his bright scarlet trappings, and his rider muffled in a mantle to the chin. Dirk looked at man and horse quickly in silence. Tiree spoke. It is an ill night to be abroad. I have been in town, answered the stranger, buying silks for my lady. And you? So you killed a man? He is not dead, answered Thiris, but we shall never return to the college. The horseman had a soft and curiously pleasing voice. He spoke as if he cared nothing what he said or how he was answered. Where will you go? he asked. To Frankfurt, said Therri. The emperor is there now,

though he leaves for Rome within the year, they say, remarked the horseman, and the Empress. Have you seen the Empress? Tiri put back the bows that trailed across the path. No, he said. Of what town are you? Cortreg. The Empress was there a year ago, and did you not see her? One of the wonders of the world, they say, the Empress. I have heard of her, said Dirk, speaking for the first time, but, sir, we go not to Frankfurt to see the empress. Likely ye do not, answered the horseman, and was silent. They cleared the wood and were crossing a sloping space of grass, the rain full in their faces,

then they again struck a well-worn path, now leading upwards among scattered rocks. As they must wait for the horse to get a foothold on the slippery stones, for the servant to go ahead and cast the lantern, light across the blackness, their progress was slow, but neither of the three spoke until they halted before a gate in a high wall that appeared to rise up suddenly before them out of the night. The servant handed the lantern to his master and clanged the bell that hung beside the gate. Thiery could see by the massive size of the buttress that flanked the entrance that it was a large

castle the night concealed from him. The dwelling was a large castle the night concealed from him. The dwelling certainly of some great noble. The gates were opened by two men carrying lights. The horseman rode through, the two students at his heels. Tell my lady, he said to one of the men, that I bring two who desire her hospitality. He turned and spoke over his shoulder to Thierry. I am the steward here. My lady is very gentle-hearted. They crossed a courtyard and found themselves before the square door of the d'angorke looked at thierry but he kept his eyes lowered and was markedly silent their guide dismounted gave the reins to one of the valets who hung about the door and commanded them to follow him the door opened straight on to a large chamber the entire size of the donjon it was lit by torches

stuck into the wall and fastened by iron clamps. A number of men stood or sat about, some in livery of bright golden-colored and blue cloth, others in armor or hunting attire. One or two were pilgrims, with the cockle shells round their hats. The steward passed through this company, who saluted him with but little attention to his companions, and ascended a flight of stairs set in the wall at the far end. These were steep, damp, and gloomy, ill-lit by a lamp placed in the niche of the one narrow, deep-set window. Dirk shuddered in his soaked clothes. The steward was unfastening his mantle. It left trails of wet on the stone steps. Thierie marked it. He knew not why. At the top of the stairs, they paused on a small stone landing.

"'Who is your lady?' asked Thierry. "'Jacobia of Martzburg, the Emperor's Ward,' answered the steward. He had taken off his mantle and his hat, and showed himself to be young and dark, plainly dressed in a suit of deep rose color, with high boots spurred and a short sword in his belt. As he opened the door, Dirk whispered to Thiery. "'It is the lady. You met to-day?' to-day breathed tirie yea it is the lady they entered by a little door and stepped into an immense chamber the great size of the place was emphasized by the bareness of it and the dim shifting light that fell from the circles of candles hanging from the roof facing them in the opposite wall was a high arched window faintly seen in the shadows

to the left a huge fireplace with a domed top meeting the wooden supports of the lofty beamed roof beside this a small door stood open on a flight of steps and beyond were two windows, deep set, and furnished with stone seats. The brick walls were hung with tapestries of a dull purple and gold color. The beams of the ceiling painted. At the far end was a table, and in the center of the hearth lay a slender white boorhound asleep. So vast was the chamber, and so filled with shadows, that it seemed as if empty, save for the dog, But Thierry, after a second, discerned the figures of two ladies in the farthest window seat. The steward crossed to them, and the students followed.

One lady sat back in the niche seat, her feet on the stone ledge, her arm along the windowsill. She wore a brown dress, shot with gold thread, and behind her, and along the seat, hung and laid draperies of blue and purple. On her lap rested a small gray cat, asleep. The other lady sat along the floor on cushions of crimson and yellow. Her green dress was twisted tight about her feet, and she stitched a scarlet lily on a piece of red samite. This is the chattelaine, said the steward.

The lady in the window seat turned to her head. It was Jacobia of Martsburg, as Thierie had known since his eyes first dressed on her, and this is my wife, Sibylla. Both women looked at the strangers. These are your guests until tomorrow, my lady, said the steward. Jacobia lent forward. Oh, she exclaimed and flushed faintly.

Why, you are welcome. Thierry found it hard to speak. He cursed the chance that had made him beholden to her hospitality. We are leaving the college, he answered. not looking at her, and for to-night could find no shelter. Meeting them, I brought them here, added the steward. You did well, Sebastian, surely, answered Jacobia. Will it please you to sit, sirs?

It seemed that she would leave it at that, with neither question nor comment, but Sibilla, the steward's wife, looked up smiling from her embroidery. Now wherefore left you the college, on foot, on a way, wet night, she said. I killed a man, or nearly, answered Thierry curtly. Jacobia looked at her steward. Are they not wet, Sebastian? I am well enough, said Thierry quickly. He unclasped his mantle. Certes, under this I am dry. That am not I, cried Dirk. At the sound of his voice, both women looked at him. He stood apart from the others.

and his great eyes were fixed on Jacobia. The rain has cut me to the skin, he said, and Thierry crimsoned for shame at his complaining tone. It is true, answered Jacobia courteously. Sebastian, will you not take the gentle clerk to a chamber? We have enough empty, I want, and give him another habit? Mine are too large, said the steward, in his indifferent voice. The youth will fall with an IQ,

remarked his wife. Give him something, Sebastian. I warrant he will not quarrel about the fit. Sebastian turned to the open door beside the fireplace. Follow him, fair sir, said Jacobia gently. Dirk bent his head and ascended the stairs after the steward. The shuttle lane pulled a red bell rope that hung close to her, and a page in gold and blue livery came after a while. She gave him instructions in a low voice. He picked up Thiris wet mantle, set him a carved chair, and left. Thiery seated himself. He was alone with the two women and they were silent, not looking at him.

A sense of distraction of uneasiness was over him. He wished that he was anywhere but here, sitting a dumb suppliant in this woman's presence. Fertively he observed her, her clinging gown, her little velvet shoes beneath the hem of it, her long white hands resting on the soft grey fur of the cat on her knee, her yellow hair knotted on her neck, and her lovely, meek face. Then he noticed the steward's wife, Sibylla. She was pale, of a type not greatly admired or belotted, but gorgeous, perhaps to the taste of some. Her russet red hair was splendid in its gleam, through the

gold net that can find it. Her mouth was a beautiful shape and color, but her brows were too thick, her skin too pale, and her blue eyes over-bright and hard. Tierry's glance came back to Jacobia. His pride rose that she did not speak to him, but sat there idle as if she had forgotten him. Words rose to his lips, but he checked them and was mute, flushing now and then as she moved in her place, and still did not speak. Presently the steward returned and took his place on a chair between Thiery and his wife, for no reason save that it happened to be there, it seemed. He played with the tagged laces on his sleeves and said nothing. The mysterious atmosphere of the place stole over Thirri with a sense of the portentous. He felt that something was brooding over

these quiet people who did not speak to each other, something intangible, yet horrible. He clasped his hands together and stared at Jacobia. Sebastian spoke at last. You go to Frankfurt? Yay, answered Thiris. We also, soon. Do we not, Sebastian? said Jacobia. You will go to the court, said Thierry. I am the Emperor's ward, she answered. Again there was silence. Only the sound of the silk drawn through the Samite

as Cibilla stitched the red lily. Her husband was watching her. Thierry, glancing at him, saw his face fully for the first time and was half startled. It was a passionate face, in marked contrast with his voice. voice, a dark face with a high arched nose and long black eyes, a strange face.

How quiet the castle is tonight, said Jacobia. Her voice seemed to faint beneath the weight of the stillness. There is noise enough below, answered Sebastian, but we cannot hear it. The page returned, carrying a salver bearing tall glasses of wine, which he offered to Thierry, then to the steward. Tilly felt the green glass cold to his fingers and shuddered. Was that sense of something awful impending, only matter of his own mind, stored of late with terrible images? What was the matter with these people? Jacobia had seemed so different this afternoon. He tasted the wine. It burnt and stung his lips, his tongue, and sent the blood to his face. It still was. It still rains, said Jacobia. She put her hand out of the open window and brought it back wet.

But it is hot, said Sibylla. Once more the heavy silence. The page took back the glasses and left the room. Then the place beside the fireplace was pushed open, and Dirk entered softly into the mute company. End of Section 8, recording by Molly Craig. of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 9, Sebastian. He wore a flame-colored mantle that hung about him in heavy folds, and under that a tight yellow doublet. His hair drooped smoothly. There was a bright color in his face, and his eyes sparkled. Ye are merry, he mocked, glancing round him. Will you that I play or sing?

He looked in his direct burning way at Jacobia, and she answered hastily, "'Sertes! With all my heart, the air is hot and thick to-night!' Dirk laughed, and Thierry stared at him, bewildered, so utterly had his demeanor changed. He was gay now, radiant. He leant against the wall in the center of them, and glanced from one silent face to another.

I can play rarely, he smiled. Jacobia took an instrument from among the cushions in the window seat. It was red, with a heart-shaped body, a long neck, and three strings. You can play this? she asked in a half-frightened manner. A. Dirk came forward and took it. I will sing you a fine tune, surely. I will sing you the tune of a foolish lady, he smiled. His shadow was heavy on the wall behind him. The dark purple hues of the tapestry threw into brilliant relief the flame hues of his robe and the clear pale color of his strange face. He held the instrument across his knees and commenced playing on it with the long bow Jacobia had given him. An irregular quick melody arose, harsh and jeering. After he had played a while he began to sing. But in a chant,

under his breath, so that the quality of his voice was not heard. He sang strange, meaningless words at first. The four listening sat very still. Only Sibylla had picked up her sewing, and her fingers rose and fell steadily as the bodkin glittered over the red lily. Tiri hid his face in his hands. He hated the place, the woman quietly sewing, the dark-faced man beside him. He even, even hated the image of Jacobia, that he saw, as clearly as if he looked at her brightly before him. Dirk broke into a little doggerel rhythm, every word of which was hard and clear. The turkess in my fine-spun hair was brought to me from Barberer. My pointed shield is rouge and ver, where mullets three shine royally.

Now if he guessed he need not wait in poor estate But on his breast wear all my state And be my mate For sick for very love am I My heart is weak to kiss his cheek But he is low and I am high I cannot speak for I am weak Jacobia put the cat among the cushions and rose she had a curious set smile on her lips.

Do you call that the rhyme of a foolish lady, she asked. A. For if she had offered her love, surely it had not been refused, answered Dirk, dragging the bow across the strings. You think so, said Jacobia, in a shrinking tone. Mark you! She was a rich lady, smiled Dirk, and fair enough, and young and gentle, and he was poor, so I think. if she had not been so foolish she might have been his second wife at these words thiris looked up he saw jacobia standing in a bewildered fashion as if she knew not whether to go or stay and in her eyes an unmistakable look of amazement and horror the rhyme said nothing of the first wife remarked savilla without looking up from the red lily the rhyme says very little answered dirk it is an old story

story. The squire had a wife, but if the lady had told her love belike, he had found himself a widower. Jacobia touched the steward's wife on the shoulder. Dear heart, she said, I am weary, very weary, with doing not, and it is late, and the place strange to-night, at least. She gave a trembling smile. I feel it, strange, so good even. Sibylla rose. Jacobia's lips touched her on the forehead. The steward watched them. Jacobia, the taller of the two, stooping to kiss his wife.

Thierry got to his feet. The Chattelaine raised her head and looked toward him. Tomorrow I will bid you Godspeed, sire. Her blue eyes glazed aside at Dirk, who had moved to the door by the fireplace, and held it open for her. She looked back at Thierry, then round in silence and colored swiftly. Sibylla glanced at the sand clock against the wall.

Yay, it is near midnight, I will come with you. She put her arm around Jacobia's waist and smiled backwards over her shoulder at Thierry. So they went, the sound of their garments on the stairs making a faint, soft noise. The little cat rose from her cushions, stretched herself, and followed them. Sebastian picked up the red silk lily that his wife had flung down on the cushions. The candles were guttering to the iron sockets, making the light in the chamber still dimmer. The corners, still more deeply obscured with waving shadows. You know your chamber, said the steward to Dirk. You will find me here in the morning.

Good night. Good night, said Thierie heavily. Dirk smiled and threw himself into the vacated window-seat. The steward crossed the room to the door by which they had entered. He did not look back, though both were watching him. The door closed after him violently, and they were alone in the vast darkening hall. This is fine hospitality, sneered Dirk. Is there none to light us to our chamber? Trierie walked to and fro with an irregular,

step. What was that song of yours? he asked. What did you mean? What ails this place and these people? She never looked at me. Dirk pulled at the strings of the instrument he still held. They emitted little wailing sounds. She is pretty, your chatelaine, he said. I did not think to see her so soon. You love her, or you might love her. "'Ye mock and sneer at me,' answered Tiri hotly, "'because she is a great dame. I do not love her. And yet—'

"'And yet?' go to Dirk. "'If our arts can do anything for us, could they not, if I wished it, "'some day get this lady for me?' "'You shall never have her,' said Dirk, biting his under lip. "'Tierry turned on him violently. You cannot tell.' of what use to serve evil for naught ye have done with remorse be like mocked dirk ye have ceased too long for priests and holy water ay said tierie recklessly i shall not falter again i will take these means any means to attain her dirk got up from the window-seat and rose to his full height thiery gave him a sick look i will not bandy's taunts with you. I must sleep a little. They have given us the first chamber ye come to,

ascending those stairs, answered Dirk quietly. There is a lamp, and the door is set open. Good night. You will not come? asked Thierry sullenly. Nay, I will sleep here. Why? You are strange to-night. Dirk smiled unpleasantly. There is a reason, a good reason. get to bed. Tiree left him without an answer and closed the door upon him. When he had gone, a great change swept over Dirk's face. A look of agony, of distraction, contorted his proud features. He paced softly here and there, twisting his hands together and lifting his eyes blindly to the painted ceiling. Half the candles had flickered out. The others smoked and flared. in the sockets. The rain, dripping on the windowsill without, made an insistent sound.

Dirk paused before the vast bare hearth. He shall never have her, he said, in a low, steady voice, as if he saw and argued with some personage facing him. No, you will prevent it. Have I not served you well? Ever since I left the convent? Did you not promise me great power? as the black letters of the forbidden books swam before my eyes, did I not hear you whispering? Whispering? He turned about as though following a movement in the person he spoke to, and shivered. I will keep my comrade. Do you hear me? Did you send me here to prevent it? They seemed to know you were at my elbow to-night. Hush! One comes! The door at the far end of the chamber,

was slowly opened. A man stepped in and cautiously closed it. A little cry of triumph rose to Dirk's lips, but he repressed it and gave a glance into the pulsating shadows as if he communicated with some mysterious companion. It was Sebastian who had entered. He looked swiftly round and seeing Dirk came towards him. In the steward's hand was a little Crescent lamp. The clear heart-shaped flame illuminated his dark face and his pink habit. His eyes looked over this light in a burning way at Dirk. So, you are not a bed, he said. There was more than the aimless comment in his tone, an expectation and excitement. You came to find me, answered Dirk. Why? Sebastian set the lamp on the little bracket by the window. He put his hand to his neck, loosening.

his doublet and looked away. It is very hot, he said in a low voice. I cannot rest. I feel tonight as I have never felt. I think the cause is with you. What you said has distracted me. He turned his head. Who are you?

What did you mean? You know, answered Dirk, what I am. A poor student from Bale College. And in your heart you know. what I meant. Sebastian stared at him a moment. God! But how could you discern? Even if it be true. You, a stranger.

But now I think of it. Be like there is reason in it. Certees. She has shown me favor. Dirk smiled. Tis a rich lady. Her husband would be a noble. Think of it. What ye put into me, cried Sebastian in a distracted voice, that i should talk thus to a prating boy but the thought clings and burns and surely ye are wise dirk still leaning against the wall smoothed the arras with delicate fingers surely i am wise well skilled in difficult sciences am i and quick to see and understand take this for your hospitality sir steward watch your mistress Sebastian put his hand to his head.

I have a wife. Dirk laughed. Will she live forever? Sebastian looked at him and stammered, as if some sudden sight of terror seared his eyes. There, there is wishcraft in this, your meaning. Think of it, flashed Dirk. Remember it.

Ye get no more from me. The steward stood quite still, gazing at him. I think that I have. have lost my wits tonight, he said in a low voice. I do not know what I came down to you for, nor whence come these strange thoughts. Dirk nodded his head. A small, slow smile trembled on the corners of his lips. Perchance, I shall see you in Frankfurt, Sir Stuart. Sebastian caught at the words with eagerness. Yay, I go there with my lady. He stopped blankly.

As yet, said Dirk, I know neither my dwelling there nor the name I shall assume. But you, if I need to, I shall find you at the Emperor's Court. Yay, answered Sebastian. Then reluctantly, what should you want with me? Will it not be you who may need me? smiled Dirk. I, who have to-night put thoughts into your brain that you will not forget? Sebastian turned about quickly and caught up the

crescent lamp. I will see you before you go, he whispered, horror in his face. Yay, on the morrow, I shall desire more speech with you. Like a man afraid, in terror of himself, filled with a dread of his companion, Sebastian, the pure flame of the lamp quivering with the shape of the shaking of his hand, crossed the long chamber, and left by the door through which he had entered. Dirk gave a half-suppressed shiver of excitement. The candles had mostly burnt out. The hall seemed monstrous in the gusty, straggling light. He crept to the window. The rain had ceased, and he looked out on a hot, starless darkness, disturbed by no sound. He shivered again. closed the window and flung himself along the cushions in the niched seat.

Lying there where Jacobia had sat, he thought of her. She was more present to his mind than all the crowded incidents of the past day. There were her trembling, passionate emotions, her modest secrets that she guarded delicately. It was his intention to tear open this tabernacle, to wrench from her, her treasures, and scatter them among blood and ruin. He meant to bring her to utter destruction,

not her body perhaps, but her soul. And this, because she had interfered with the one being on earth he cared about, Thiris, not because he hated her for herself. How beautiful she is, he said aloud, almost tenderly. The last candle fluttered up and sank out, Dirk, lying luxuriously among the cushions, looked into the complete blackness with half-closed eyes.

How beautiful, he repeated. He felt he could have loved her himself. He thought of her now, lying in her white bed, her hair unbound. He wished himself kneeling beside her, caressing those yellow locks. A desire possessed him to touch her curls, her soft cheek, To have her hand in his and hear her laugh. Surely she was a sweet thing, made to be loved. Yet the power that had brought him here to-night had made plain, that if he did not take the chance of her destruction set in his way, she would win Thierry from him forever. He had made the first move. In the dark face of Sebastian, the steward, he had seen the beginning of the end. But thinking of her, he felt the tears come to his eyes.

Suddenly he fell into weary weeping, thinking of her, and sobbed sadly, face downwards on the cushion. Presently he laughed at himself for his tears, and drying them, fell asleep, and woke from blank dreamlessness to hear his name ringing in his ears. He sat up in the window-seat. His eyes were hot with his late tears. the misty blue light of dawn that he found about him heard them he shrank from this light that came in a clear shaft through the arched window and crouching away from it saw tiri standing close to him dirk we must go now i cannot stay any longer in this place dirk leaning his head against the cushions said nothing impressed anew with his friend's beauty how fine and fair a thing Tyri's face was in the colorless early light, in hue and lines splendid, in expression wild and

pained. I could not sleep much, continued Tyri. I do not want to see them. Her, again. Not like this. Get up, Dirk. Why did you not come to bed? I wanted your company. Things were haunting me. Mostly her face, breathed Dirk. "'Eh,' said Thiery Somberly, mostly her face. Dirk considered. He reflected that he had no desire to meet Sebastian again. He had said all he wished to. Let us go, he assented. His one regret was that he should not see again the delicate face crowned with the yellow hair. He rose from the seat and shook out his borrowed flame-colored mantle. Then he closed his tired eyes as he stood, for a very exquisite sensation

rushed over him. Nothing had come between him and his friend. Tierie, of his own choice, had roused him, wanting him. They were to go forth together alone. End of Section 9. Recording by Molly Craig. Section 10 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. Slibervaks according is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 10, The Saint. They were wandering through the forest in an endeavor to find the high road. The sun, nearly at its full strength, dazzled through the pines and traced figures of gold on the path they followed. Tiri was silent. They were hungry, without money or any hope of procuring any, fatigued with the rough walking through the heat, and also, it seemed, lost. These facts were ever present to his mind. Also, every step was taking him

farther away from Jacobia of Mardsburg, and he longed to see her again, to make her notice him, speak to him, yet, of his own desire he had left her castle ungraciously. These things held him bitterly silent. But Dirk, though he was pale and weary, kept a light, joyous heart. He had, had trust in the master he was serving. The forest grew up the base of the mountain chain, and after a while, walking steadily, they came out upon a gorge some landslip had torn, uprooting trees and hurling rocks aside over this bare space harshly cleared, water rippled and dripped, finding its way through fern-grown rocks and boulders until it fell into a little stream that ran across the open space of grass and was lost in the ship.

of the trees. By the side of it, on the pleasant stretch of grass, a small white horse was browsing, and a man sat near, on one of the uprooted pines. The two students paused and contemplated him. He was a monk in a blue-grey habit. His face was infinitely sweet, with his hands clasped in his lap, and his head a little raised as he gazed with large, peaceful eyes through the shifting fur bows to the blue sky beyond them. Of what use is he, said Thiery bitterly. Since the church had hurled him out, the devil was gaining such sure possession of his soul

that he loathed all things holy. Nay, said Dirk with a little smile, we will speak to him. The monk, hearing their voices, looked round and fixed on them a calm, smiling gaze. Dominus de ad nobos so am packum, he said. said. Durk replied instantly, Elt vitem, Eternam, amen.

The monk rose and stood in a courteous, humble position. Can you put us on the high road, my father? asked Dirk. Surely! The monk glanced at the weary face of his questioner. I am myself traveling from town to town, my son, and know this country well. Will you not rest a while? A. Dirk came down the slope and flung himself along the grass. Tiri, half sullen, followed. Ye are both weary and in lack of food,

said the monk gently. Praise be to the angels that I have wherewithal to aid ye. He opened one of the leather bags resting against the fallen tree, took out a loaf, a knife, and a cup, cut the bread and gave them a portion each. He then filled the cup from the clear dripping water. They disdained thanks for such miserable fare and ate in silence. Thiery, when he had finished, asked for the remainder of the loaf and devoured that. Dirk was satisfied with his allowance, but he drank greedily of the beautiful water. You have come from Baal? asked the monk. Dirk nodded, and we go to Frankfurt.

A long way, said the monk cheerfully, and on foot, but a pleasant journey, certé. "'Who are you, my father?' asked Thierry abruptly. "'I saw you in Corteur, surely.' "'I am Ambrose of Manthon,' answered the monk, "'and I have preached in Cotrég to the glory of God.' Both students knew the name of St. Ambrose. Thierry flushed uneasily. "'What do you hear, Father?' he asked.

"'I thought you were in Rome.' "'I have returned,' replied the saint humbly. It came to me that I could serve Christos. He crossed himself, better here. If God his angel will it, I desire to build a monastery up yonder above the snow. He pointed through the trees towards the mountains. His eyes that were blue-gray, the color of his habit, sparkled softly. A house to God his glory, he murmured, in the whiteness of the snows. That is my intent. How will you attain it, holy sir? questioned Thierry. St. Ambrose did not seem to notice the mocking tone.

I have, he said, already considerable monies. I beg in the great castles, and they are generous to God, his poor servant. We, my brethren, and I, have sold some land. I return to them now with much gold, deo gratius. As he spoke, there was such a pure sweetness in his fair face that Thierry turned away, abashed. But Dirk, lying on his side and pulling up the grass, answered, Are you not afraid of robbers, my father? The saint smiled. Nay, God, his money, is sacred even unto the evil-doer. Surely I fear nothing. There is much wickedness in the heart of man, said Dirk, and he also smiled. Judge with charity, answered Ambrose of Mentham. There is also much goodness. You speak, my son, with seeming bitterness, which showeth a soul not yet at peace.

The wages of the world are worthless, but God giveth immortality. He rose and began fastening the saddlebags on the pony. As his back was turned, Thierie and Dirk exchanged a quick look. The little procession started through the pine forest. Ambrose of Menthon, erect, spare, walking lightly with unethysts. untroubled face, and leading the white pony, burdened with the saddlebags containing the gold, Thierry, somber, silent, striding beside him, and Dirk, a little behind, in his flame-colored mantle, his eyes bright in a weary face. And so they came towards evening, onto the road, and saw in a valley beneath them a little town. All three halted. The Angelus was ringing. The sound

came sweetly up the valley. St. Ambrose sank on his knees and bowed his head. The other two fell back among the trees. Well, whispered Dirk, it has our chance, frowned Thiery, in the same tone. I have been thinking of it all day. I also, there is much money. We could get it without blood? Surely, but if need be, even that. Their eyes met. In the pleasant green shade they saw each other's excited faces. It is God his money, murmured Thiery. What matter for that if the devil be stronger? Hush, the Angelus ends. Now we join him. They sank on their knees, to rise as the saint got to his

feet and glanced about him. At the edge of the wood they joined him and looked down at the town below. Now we can find our way, said Dirk in a firm, suddenly changed voice. ambrose of menthon considered him over the little white pony will you not bear me company into the town he asked wistfully he did not notice that thiris had slipped behind him dirk's eyes flashed in a signal to his companion we will into the town he said but without thy company sir saint now tyri flung his mantle from behind and twisted it tightly over the monk's head and face causing him to stagger backwards Dirk rushed, seized his thin hands and strapped them together with the leather belt he had just loosened from his waist, and between them they dragged him into the trees. My ears are weary of thy tedious talk, said Thiery viciously, my eyes of thy sickly face. They took the straps from the pony and bound their victim to a tree.

It was an easy matter, for he made no resistance, and no sound came from under the mantle twisted over his face. having seen to it that he was securely fastened the two returned to the pony and examined their plunder in one bag there were parchments books and a knotted rope in the other numerous little linen sacks of varying sizes these they turned out upon the grass and swiftly unfastened the strings gold each one filled with gold fine shining coins with the head of the emperor glittering on them dirk retied the sacks and replaced them in the saddle-bags neither of them had seen so much gold together before because of it they were silent and a little trembling thiris he heard the good yellow money chink together felt his last qualms go for the first time since he had entered into league with the spirits of evil he had plain evidence it was a fine thing to have the devil on his side A stupefying pleasure and exaltation came over him. He did not doubt that Satan had sent this saintly man their way, and he was grateful. To find himself possessed of this amount of money was a greater delight than any he had known.

Even a more delightful thing than seeing Jacobia of Martzburg lean across the stream towards him. As they reloaded the pony, managing as best they might without the straps, Dirk fell to laughing. I will get my mantle, said Tyri. He went up to Ambrose of Menthon, telling himself he was not afraid of meeting the saint's eyes, and unwound the heavy mantle from his head. The saint sank together like the dead. Dirk still laughed, mounted on the white pony, flourishing a stick.

The fellow has swooned, said Tyree, bewildered. Well, answered Dirk over his shoulder, you can bring the straps, which we need, surely. Tyree unfastened the monk and laid his slack body on the grass. As he did so, he saw that the gray habit was stained with blood. There was wet blood, too, on the straps. Now what is this, he cried, and bent over the unconscious man to see where he was wounded. His searching hand came upon cold iron under the rough robe. Ambrose of Menthen wore a girdle lined with sharp points, that at every movement must have been torture, and that, at their brutal binding of him,

had entered his flesh with an agony unbearable. Be quick, urged Dirk. Tiri joined him. What shall we do with that man? He said awkwardly. His blood was burning, leaping. Tis a case for the angels, not for us, answered Dirk. But if ye feel tenderly, and certainly he was pleasant to us,

we can tell in the town that we found him, Theo gratius, he mocked the saintly, low, calm voice, but Thierry did not laugh. A splendid yellow sunset was shimmering in their eyes as they came slowly down into the valley and passed through the white street of the little town. They visited the hostel, fed the white pony there, and recounted how they had seen a monk in the wood they had just traversed,

whether unconscious in prayer or for want of breath they had not the leisure to examine then they went on their way eschewing by common consent this time the accommodation of the homely inn and taking with them a basket of the best food the town afforded clearing the scattered cottages they gained the heights again and paused on the grassy borders of a mighty wood that spread either side of the high road there they spread a banquet very different from the saints' poor repast. They had yellow wine, red wine, baked meats, cakes, jellies, a heron, and a basket of grapes, all bought with the gold Ambrose of Manthon, had to toil to collect to build God's house amid the snows. Arranging these things on the soft grass, they sat in the pleasant shade, luxuriously, and laughed at each other over their food. Their master had proved worth serving. They toasted him in the wine bought with God his money, and made Mary over it. They did not mention Ambrose of Menthon. A troop of white mountain goats driven by a shepherd boy

went past. They were the only living things they saw. Durk watched them going towards the town. Then he said, The Chattelaine, Jacobia of Mardsburg, he broke off. Do you remember the first night we met, what we say in the mirror? A woman, was it not? Her face. Have you forgotten it? Nay, answered Thierry suddenly, somber. Dirk turned to look at him closely. It was not Jacobia, was it. It was utterly different, said Thierry. No, she was not Jacobia. He propped a musing face on his hand and stared down at the grass. Dirk did not speak again. And, and he was not, and And after a while of silence, Thierry slept. With a start, he woke, but lay without moving, his eyes closed.

Someone was singing, and it was so beautiful, that he feared to move lest it should be in his dreams only that he heard it. A woman's voice, and she sang loudly and clearly, in a passion of joyous gaiety. Her notes mounted like birds flying up a mountain, then sank like snowflakes softly descended. After a while, the wordless song died away, and Thiery sat up, quivering in a maze of joy. Who is that? he called, his eager eyes searching the twilight. No one, nothing but the insignificant figure of Dirk, who sat at the edge of the wood gazing at the stars. I dreamt it, said Thiery bitterly, and cursed his waking. End of Section 10, recording by Molly Craig.

Section 11 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 11, The Witch. In a back street of the city of Frankfurt stood an old one-storied house, placed a little apart from the others, and surrounded by a beautiful garden. Here lived Natalie, a woman, more than suspected of being a witch but of such outward quiet and secretive ways that there never had been the slightest excuse for even those most convinced of her real character to interfere with her she was from the east syria egypt or persia no one could remember her first coming to frankfort nor how she had become possessed of the house where she dwelt her means of livelihood were

also a mystery. It was guessed that she made complexion washes and dyes supplied secretly to the great court ladies. It was believed that she sold love potions, perhaps worse. It was known that in some way she made money, for though generally clothed in rags she had been seen wearing very splendid garments and rich jewels. Also, it was rumoured by those living near that strange sounds of revelry had on occasion arisen from her high-walled garden, as if a great banquet were given, and dark-robed guests had been seen to enter her narrow door. That garden was empty now, and a great stillness lay over the witch's house. The hot midsummer sun glowed in the rose-bushes that surrounded it, red roses, of them, and large and beautiful. The windows of the great room at the back of the house had their

shutters closed so that only a few squares of light fell through the latticework, and the room was in shadow. It was a barely furnished chamber with an open-tiled hearth on which stood a number of bronze and copper bowls and drinking vessels. In the low window seats were cushions of rich eastern embroidery, hanging on the walls, hideous distorted masks made of wood, and painted fantastically, some short curved swords and a parchment calendar. Before this stood Dirk, marking with a red pencil a day in the row of dates. This done, he stepped back, stared at the calendar, and frowned, sucking the red pencil. He was attired in a grave suit of black and wearing a sober cap that almost concealed his hair. He held himself very erect, and the firm set of his mouth emphasized the

prominent jaw and chin. As he stood there, deep in thought, Thierry entered, nodded at him, and crossed to the window. He also was dressed in dull, straight garments, but they could not obscure the glowing brown beauty of his face. Dirk looked at him with eyes that sparkled affection. "'I am making a name in Frankfurt,' he said. "'A,' answered Thierry, not returning his glance, "'I have heard you spoken of by those who have attended your lectures. They said your doctrines touched infidelity. "'Nevertheless, they come,' smiled Dirk.

"'I do not play for a safe reputation. "'Otherwise, should I be here, living in a place of evil name?' "'I do not think,' replied Thierry, that any go so far as to guess the real nature of your studies, nor what it is you pursue. And he also smiled, but grimly. Every man in Frankfurt is not priest be ridden, said Dirk quickly. They would not meddle with me just because I do not preach the laws of the church. I teach my scholars rhetoric, logic, and philosophy.

They are well pleased. Today I disclosed to them Procopius, he continued, and propounded a hundred propositions out of Priscianus, should improve their Latin. There were some nobles from court. One submitted that my teaching was heretical, asked if I was a Gnostic or an Aryan, said I should be condemned by the Council of Saragossa as a villa was, and for as good reasons. Meanwhile, while, Dirk interrupted. Meanwhile, we know almost all the wise woman can teach us, and are on the eve of great power. Tiri pushed wider the shutters, so that the strong sunlight fell over the knee of his dark gown. You, perhaps, he said heavily, not I. The spirits will not listen to me. Only with great

difficulty can I compel them. Well, I wot that I am bound to evil, but I wot also that it doetheth little for me. At this complaint, a look of apprehension came into Dirk's eyes. My fortune is your fortune, he said. Nay, answered Thiery half fiercely, it is not. You have been successful, so have not I. Old Natalie loves you. She cares nothing for me. You have already a name in Frankfurt. I have none, nor money either. St. Ambrose's gold is gone and I live on your charity. No, no, spoke Durk in protest, but his distress was too deep and too genuine to allow of much speech. I am going away from here, said Thiery firmly.

Dirk gasped as if he had been wounded. From Frankfurt, he ejaculated. Nay, from this place. There was a little silence while the last traces of light and color seemed to be drained from Dirk's face. You do not mean that, he said at length. After we have been—oh, after all of it? You cannot mean. Tiri turned and faced the room. You need not fear that I shall break the bond that unites us, he cried. I have gone too far. Yay, and still I hope to attain by the devil's aid my desires. But I will not stay here.

"'Where will you go?' Thiery's hazel eyes again sought the crimson roses in the witch's garden. Today, as I wandered outside the walls, I met a hawking party. Jacobia of Martzburg was among them. They had been in Frankfurt many weeks, and so had she, yet this was the first time he had mentioned her name. "'She knew me,' continued Thierry, and spoke to me. She asked, out of her graciousness, if I had ought to do in Frankfurt, thinking, I wot,

I looked not like it. He blushed and smiled. Then she offered me a post at court. Her cousin is Chamberlain to the queen, nay, empress, I should say, and he will take me as his secretary. I shall accept. Are you not glad? asked Thiery, with a swell in his voice. I shall be near her. "'Is that a vast consideration?' said Dirk faintly, "'that you should be near her?' "'Did you think that I had forgotten her because I spoke not?' answered Tiri. "'Also, there are chances that by your arts I may strengthen.' "'I shall lose you,' he said.

"'Tirie was half startled by the note in his voice. "'Nay, shall I not come here, often? "'Are you not my comrade?' so you speak answered dirk his brow drawn his lips pale even for one of his pallor but you leave me you choose another path from mine it need not grieve you that i go answered thiris half sullen half wondering i wot i am pledged deeply enough to thy master his eyes flashed wildly is there not sin on my soul have i not awakened in the night to see st Ambrose smile at me? Am I not outside the church and in league with hell? Dirk braced himself. Do not go, he said. There is everything before us if we stay together. If you, his words choked him and he was silent. All your reasoning cannot stay me, answered

Tiri, his hand on the door. She smiled at me, and I saw her yellow head. and I am stifled here and useless. He opened the door and went out. Dirk sank on the brilliant gold cushions and twisted his fingers together, and after a while he heard Tierry sing as he moved about in an upper chamber. Dirk had not known him sing before, and now as the little wordless song fell on his ears, he winced and writhed. He sings because he is going away.

way. He sprang up and crossed to the calendar. A year ago today, he and Tyree had first met. He had marked the day with Red, and now. Presently, Tyree entered again. He was no longer singing, and he had his things in a bundle on his back. I will come tomorrow and take leave of Natalie, he said, or perhaps this evening, but I must see the Chamberlain now. For the second time Thierry passed out. Oh, oh, whispered Dirk, he is gone, gone, gone. Then he crept to the window and pushed the shutter wide. He leant from the window and flung out his arms with sudden passion.

Satan, Satan, he shrieked. Give him back to me. Everything else you have promised me for that. Do you hear me? Satan, Satan! His voice died away in a great sob. He sank back into the window-seat and heard someone speak his name. Lifting his sick gaze, he saw the witch standing in the center of the floor looking at him. Dirk gave a great sigh, hunched up his shoulders and smoothed his cuffs.

Then he said, very quietly, looking sideways at the witch, Tiree has gone. I knew he would go, she answered, in a small voice. With scant farewell, with little excuse, with small preparation, with no regret. He has gone, said Dirk, to the court at the bidding of a lady. You know her, for I have spoken of our meeting with her when we were driven forth from Bale. He closed his eyes as if he made a great effort at control. I think he is on the verge of loving her. He unclosed his eyes, full, blazing. This must be prevented. The witch shook her head. If you are wise, let him go. She fixed her glimmering glance on Dirk's smooth,

pale face. He is neither good nor evil. His heart saith one thing, his passions another. Let him go. His courage is not equal to his desires. He would be great by any means, yet he is afraid. Let him go. He thinks to serve the devil while it lurks still in his heart. At last I will repent. In time, I will repent. Let him go. All this I know, answered Dirk. His fingers clutching the gold cushions, but I want him back. He will come. He has gone too far to stay away. I want him to return forever, cried Dirk. He is my comrade.

He must be with me, always. He must have none in his thoughts save me. Natalie frowned. This is folly. The day you came here to me with the words of Master Lucas, I saw that you were to be everything, he nothing. I saw that the world would ring with your name. and that he would die unknown. She rose vehemently. I say, let him go. He will be but a clog,

a drag on your progress. He is jealous of you. He is not over-skillful. What can you say for him, save that he is pleasant to gaze upon? Dirk slipped from the cushions and walked slowly, up and down the room. What can I say for him? Tis said in three words, I love him. "'How little you know of me, Natalie. "'Though you have taught me all your wisdom, "'what do you know of me, save that I was Master Lucas's apprentice boy?' "'Ye came from mystery, as you should come,' smiled the witch. "'And now, Dirk seemed to smile through agony.

"'It is a mystery. "'Meethinks to tell it would be to be blasted as I stand. "'It seems so long ago, so strange, so horrible. Well, well, he put his hand to his forehead and took a turn about the room. As I sat in Master Lucas's empty house, painting, carving, reading forbidden books, I was not afraid. It seemed to me I had no soul, so why fear for that which was lost before I was born? The devil has put me here, said I, and I will serve him. He shall make me his archetype on earth.

and I waited for his signal to bid me forth. Men talk of Antichrist. What if I am he, so I thought. And so you shall be, breathed the witch. Dirk's great eyes glowed above his smiling lips. Could any but a demon have such thoughts? Then Thierie came, and I saw in his face that he did what I did, knew what I knew, and, and his voice faltered. I mind me how I went, and watched him as he slept,

and then I thought, after all, I was no demon, for I was aware that I loved him. I had terrible thoughts. If I love, I have a soul, and if I have a soul, it is damned. But he shall go with me. If I came from hell, I shall return to hell, and he shall go with me. If I am damned, he shall be damned, and go hand in hand with me into the pit. The smile faded from his face, and an intense, ardent expression took its place. He seemed almost in an ecstasy. She may make fight with me for his soul. If he love her, she might draw him to heaven.

with her yellow hair, did I not long for yellow locks when I saw my bridle? I have not forgotten what I spoke of. I would say that she does not love him. Yet she may, said the witch, for he is gay and beautiful. Dirk slowly turned his darkening eyes on Natalie. She must not. The witch fondled her fingers. We can control many things. Not love, not. nor hate. Dirk pressed a swelling bosom. Her heart is in the hand of another man, and that man is her steward, ambitious, poor, and married. He came up to the witch, and, slight as he was, beside the withered eastern woman, he appeared, marvellously fresh, glowing, and even splendid.

Do you understand me, he said. The witch blinked her shining eyes. I understand that there is little need of witchcraft or of black magic here. No, said Dirk. Her own love shall be her poison. She herself shall give him back to me. Dirk. Dirk. Why do you make such a point of this man's return? She said. Between reproach and yearning, she fondled the cold, passive and smiling youth with her tiny hands. You are going to be great. She mouthed the words greedily. I may never have done much, but you have the key to many things. You will have the world for your footstool yet.

Let him go. Dirk still smiled. No, he answered quietly. The witch shrugged her shoulders and turned away. After all, she said in a half-wine, I am only the servant now. You know the words that can come. compel me, and all my kind to obey you. So let it be. Bring your Thierry back.

There is another we'll seek to detain him at the court, said Dirk reflectively. His old-time friend, the Margrave's son, Balthasar of Cortreg, who shines about the emperor. I saw him not long ago. He also is my enemy. Well, the devil will play them all into thy hands, smiled the wind. Dirk turned an absent look on her, and she crept away. It grew to the hour of sunset. The red light of it trembled marvelously in the red roses, and filled the low, dark chamber with a somber crimson glow. Dirk stood by the window biting his forefinger,

revolving schemes in which Jacobia, her steward, Sibilla, and Thierry were to be entangled as flies in a web. Desperate devilry and despairing human love mingled grotesquely, giving rise to thoughts dark and hideous. The clear peal of a bell roused him, and he started with remembrances of when last this sound through an empty house had broken on his thoughts, of how he had gone and found Thiery without his door. Then he left the room and sought the witch. she had disappeared. He did not doubt that the summons was for her. Not infrequently did she have hasty and secret visitors. But as she came not, he crossed the dark passage and himself opened the door onto the slip of garden that divided the house from the cobbled street, opened it on a woman in a green hood and mantle,

who stood well within the shadow of the porch. Who would you see? He asked. He is. He is. He is. He is. He. He asked cautiously. The stranger answered in a low voice, you, are you not the young doctor who lectures publicly on many things? Constantine, they call you? Ye said, Dirk, I am he. I heard you today. I would speak to you. She wore a mask that as completely concealed her face as her cloak concealed her figure. Dirk's eyes could discover nothing of her person. He held the door wide and she stepped into the passage, breathing quickly. Follow after me, smiled Dirk. He decided that the lady was Jacobia of Martzburg.

End of Section 11, recording by Molly Craig. Section 12 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 12, Isabel. Dirk and the lady entered the room he had just quitted. He set a chair for her near the window and waited for her to speak, but kept his eyes the while on her shrouded figure. You are well disguised, said Dirk at last, as she made no sign of speaking. What is your business with me? He began to think that she could not be Jacobia, since she gave no indication of revealing herself. Also, he fancied

that she was too short. Is there anyone to overhear us or interrupt? The lady spoke at last. Her voice muffled a little by the mask. None answered Dirk impatiently. I beg that you tell me who you are. Sir Tays, that can wait. Her eyes sparkled through their holes in contrast with the ghastly painted wood that made her face immovable. But I will tell you who you are, sir. "'You know,' said Dirk coldly. "'The student named Dirk Renswode, "'who was driven forth from Bale University "'for practicing the black arts.

"'For the first time in his life, "'Dirk was taken aback, "'and hopelessly disconcerted. "'He had not believed it possible "'for any to discover the past life "'of the learned Dr. Constantine. "'He went red and white "'and could say nothing in either defense

or denial. It was only about three months ago, continued the lady, and both students, and many other in the town of Bal, would still know you, Sertes. A rush of anger against his unknown accuser, Nerved Dirk. By what means have you discovered this? he demanded. Bal is far enough from Frankfurt, I want, and how many know? And what is the price of your silence, dame? The lady lifted her head. I like you, she said quietly. You take it well. No one knows, save I. I have made cautious inquiries about you and pieced together your story with my own wit. My story, flashed Dirk. Sir Tays, ye know not of me beyond ball. No, she assented, but it is enough. Yoris of Thuringa died. "'Ah!' ejaculated Dirk. The lady sat very still, observing him.

"'So I hold your life, sir,' she said. "'Dirk goaded, turned on her impetuously. "'Ye are Jacobia of Martsburg.' "'No,' she started at the name, but I know her. "'She told you this tale?' "'Again the lady answered. "'No. She is from Ball,' cried Dirk. "'Believe me,' replied the stranger earnestly.

"'She knows nothing of you. "'I alone in Frankfurt hold your secret, "'and I can help you to keep it. "'It were easy to spread a report of Dirk Renswood's death.' "'Dirk bit his finger, his lip, "'glared out at the profusion of roses, "'at the darkening sky, "'then at the quiet figure in the hideous speckled mask.

"'If she chose to speak, would have, at the best of it, to fly Frankfurt, and that did not suit his schemes. Another youth lives here, said the lady. I think he also fled from Baal. Dirk's face grew pale and cunning. He was quick to see that she did not know Tiri was compromised. He was here, now he has gone to court. He was at Bal, but innocent. He came with me out of friendship. He is silly and fond. I have to do with you, answered the lady. Ye have a great and terrible skill.

Evil spirits league with you. Your spells killed a man. She stopped. Poor fool, said Dirk somberly. The stranger rose. Her calm and self-possession had suddenly given way too fierce, only half-repressed passion. She clasped her hands and trembled as she stood.

"'Well,' she cried thickly, "'you could do that again. "'A softer, more subtle way?' "'For you?' he whispered. "'For me,' she answered, "'and sank into the window-seat, "'pulling at her gloves mechanically. "'I cannot help you if you tell me nothing,'

"'said Dirk at length in a grim manner. "'I will tell you this,' answered she passionately. "'There is a man I hate, "'a man in my way. I do not talk wildly. That man must go, and if you will be the means, you will be in my power, as I am now in yours, thought Dirk completing the broken sentence. The lady looked out at the roses. I cannot convey to you what nights of horror and days of bitterness, what resolutions formed and resolutions broken, what hate and what love have gone to form the impulse that brought me here

today, nor does it concern ye. Sertes, enough, I am resolved, and if your spells can aid me, she turned her head sharply. I will pay you very well. You have told me nothing, repeated Dirk. And though I can discover what you are and who is your enemy, it were better, that you told me with your own lips. She seemed now in an ill-concealed agitation. Not today will I speak. I will come again. I know this place.

While Sertes, your secret is safe with me, think over what I have said. She rose as if to take a hasty departure, but Dirk was in her way. Nay, he said firmly, at least show your face. How shall I know you, again. And what confidence have you in me if you will not take off your mask? I say you shall.

She trembled between a sigh and a laugh. Perhaps my face is not worth gazing at, she answered on a breath. I what ye are a fair woman, replied Dirk, who heard the consciousness of it in her alluring voice. Still she hesitated. Know ye many about the court? She she asked. Nay, I have not concerned myself with the court. Well then, and since I must trust you, and like you, her voice rose and fell. Look at me and remember me. She loosened her cloak, flung back the hood, and quickly unfastened the mask, snatched it off. The disguise flung aside she was revealed to the shoulders, clearly in the warm twilight. Dirk's first impression was that this was beauty that swept from his mind

all other beauty he had ever beheld. His second, that it was the same face he and Tiri had seen in the mirror. You do not know me? she asked. No, answered Dirk. He could not tell her that he had seen her before in his devil's mirror. but you will recognize me again. Dirk laughed quietly. You were not made to be forgotten.

Strange, with such a face, ye should have need of witchcraft. The lady replaced the mottled mask and looked the more horrible after that glimpse of gleaming beauty, and drew her mantle over her shoulders. Dirk pro-offered no question, made no comment, but preceded her down the dark passage and opened the door. She passed out. Her footstep was light on the path. Durk watched her walk rapidly down the street, then closed the door and bolted it. After a pause of breathless confusion and heart heating excitement, he ran to the back of the house and out into the garden. It was just light enough for the huge dusky roses to be visible as they nodded on their trailing bushes. Dirk ran between them

until he reached a gaunt stone statue half concealed by laurels. In front of this were flags irregularly placed. In the center of one was an iron ring. Dirk, pulling at this, disclosed a trap-door that opened at his effort and revealed a flight of steps. He descended from the soft, pure evening air and the red roses into the witch's kitchen, closing the stone above him. The underground chamber was large and lit by lamps hanging from the roof, revealing smooth stone walls and damp floor. In one side a gaping blackness showed where a passage twisted to the outer air. On another was a huge alchemist's fireplace. Before this sat the witch.

About her a quantity of glass vessels, retorts, and pots of various shape. Either side of this fireplace hung a human body, black and withered, swinging from rusted ropes and crowned with wreaths of green and purple-blotched leaves. On a table set against the wall was a brass head that glimmered in the feeble light. Dirk crossed the floor with his youthful step and touched Natalie on the shoulder. One came to see me, he said breathlessly. a marvelous lady. I know, murmured the witch, and was it to play into thy hands?

She threatened me, he said, and for a moment I was afraid, for certase I do not wish to leave Frankfurt, but she wished me to serve her, which I will do for a price. Who is she? blinked the witch. That I am come to discover, frowned Dirk. And who is it she spoke of?

also somewhat of Jacobia of Martzburg. He coughed, for the foul atmosphere had entered his nostrils. Give me the globe! The witch handed him a ball of a dark, muddy color which he placed on the floor, flinging himself beside it. Natalie drew a pentagon round the globe and pronounced some words in a low tone. A slight tremor shook the ground, though it was solid earth they stood on, and the globe turned a pale, luminous blue tint. Dirk pushed back the damp hair from his eyes, and, resting his face in his hands, his elbows on the ground,

stared into the depths of the crystal, the color of which brightened until it glowed a ball of Asier fire. Show me something of the lady who came here today, commanded Dirk. They waited. Do you see anything? breathed the witch. Yay, very faintly. He gazed for a while in silence.

I see a man, he said at last. The spells are wrong. I see nothing of the lady. Watch, though, cried the witch. What is he like? I cannot see distinctly. He is on horseback. He wears armor.

Now I can see his face. He is young. Dark. He has black. hair. Do ye know him? Nay, I have never seen him before. Dirk did not lift his eyes from the globe. He is evidently a knight. He is magnificent, but cold. Ah! His exclamation was at the change in the ball. Slowly it faded into a faint blue, then became again dark and muddy. He flung it angrily out of the Pentagon. What has that told me? he cried. What is this man? Question Zerdush, said the witch,

pointing to the brass head. Maybe he will speak tonight. She flung a handful of spices onto the slow burning fire and a faint smoke rose filling the chamber. Dirk crossed to the brass head and surveyed it with eager hollow eyes. The dead man dance, smiled the the witch. Sertes, he will speak tonight. Dirk turned his wild gaze to where the corpses hung. Their shrivelled limbs twisted and jerked at the end of their chain, and the horrid, lurid color of their poisonous wreaths gleamed through the smoke and shook with the nodding of their faceless heads. Zerdush! Zerdush! murmured Dirk. In the name of Satan, his legions, speak to thy service. show or tell him something of the woman who came here today on an evil errand.

A heavy stillness fell with the ending of the words. The smoke became thick and dense, then suddenly cleared. At that instant the lamps were extinguished and the fire fell into ashes. Something comes, whispered the witch. Through the dark could be heard the dance of the dead men and the grind of their bones against the ropes. Dirk stood motionless, his straining eyes fixed before him. Presently, a pale light spread over the end of the chamber, and in it appeared the figure of a young knight. His black hair fell from under his helmet.

His face was composed and somewhat haughty, his dark eyes fearless and cold. "'Tis he I saw in the crystal!' cried Dirk, and as he spoke the light and the figure disappeared. Dirk beat his breast. Sir Dush, ye mock me. I asked ye of this woman, I know not the man. The brass head suddenly glowed out of the darkness,

as if a light shone behind it. The lids twitched, opened, and a glittering red eyeballs stared at Dirk, who shouted in triumph. He fell on his knees. A year ago, today, I saw a woman in the mirror. Today she came to me. Who is she? Sardoush, her name! The brass lips moved and spoke. Isabel. Who was the night ye have shown me? he cried. Her husband, answered the head.

Who is the man she seeks my aid to? To, who is it of whom she spoke to me? The flaming eyeballs rolled. Her husband. Who is she? The Empress of the West, said the brass head. A cry broke from Dirk and the witch. Dirk shrieked another question. She wishes to put another in the emperor's place.

Yay. The light was growing fainter. The eyelids flickered over the red eyes. Whom? cried Dirk. Faint yet distinct came the answer. The Lord of Ursulae of Rousselaerie, Balthasar of Corteg. The lids fell and the jaws clicked. The light sank into nothingness and the lamps sprang again into dismal flame

that disclosed the black bodies of the dead men, hanging slackly with their wreaths touching their chests, the witch crouching by the hearth. and in the center of the floor stood dirk smiling horribly. End of section 12, recording by Molly Craig. Section 13 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 13, The Snaring of Jacobia.

The Great Forest was so silent, so lonely, the aisles of a vast church could have been no more sanctified by holy stillness. Even the summer wind that trembled in the upper boughs of the huge trees had not penetrated their thick branches and intertwined leaves, so that the grass and flowers were standing erect, untroubled by a breath of air, and the sun that dazzled without on the town of Frankfurt did not touch the glowing, green gloom of the forest. Seated low on the grass by a wayside shrine that held a little figure of the Madonna, Natalie the witch, hunched together in a brown cloak, looked keenly into the depths of cool

shade between the tree trunks. She was watching the distant figure of a lady tremble into sight among the leaves of the undergrowth. A lady who walked hesitatingly and fearfully as she drew near, The witch could see that the long yellow dress she held up was torn and soiled, and that her hair hung, disarranged on her shoulders. Breathing in a quick, fatigued manner, she came towards the shrine. But seeing the witch, she stopped abruptly, and her gray eyes darkened with apprehension. What is amiss with Jacobia of Martsburg? asked the witch, in her expressionless way,

that she walks the forest disarrayed and alone. I am lost, answered Jacobia, shrinking. How do you know me? By your face, said Natalie. How is it you are lost? Will you tell me the way to Frankfurt? asked Jacobia wearily. I have walked since noon.

I was accompanying the Empress from the tournament, and my horse broke away with me. I slipped from the saddle. Now I have lost him. Natalie smiled faintly. Let me tell your fortune, said the witch, slowly rising. You have a curious fortune, and I will reveal it without gold or silver. No! Jacobia's voice was agitated.

I have no credence in those things. I will pay you to show me the way out of the forest. But the witch had crossed softly to her side, and to her manifest shrinking terror caught her. hold of her hand. What do you imagine you hold in your palm? She smiled. Jacobia endeavored to draw her hand away. The near presence of the woman quickened her unnamed terror. Lans and castles, said the witch, while her fingers tightened on the striving wrist, gold and loneliness. You know me, answered Jacobia in anger. There is no magic in this. Let me go. The witch dropped the lady's hand and smoothed

her own together. I do not need the lines in your palm to tell me your fortune, she said sharply. I know more of you than you would care to hear, Jacobia of Martzburg. The lady turned away and stepped quickly but aimlessly down the shaded glade. Natalie, dragging her brown cloak, came lightly after. cannot escape, she said. You may walk in and out of the trees until you die of weariness, yet never find your way to Frankfurt. Who are you? cried the lady, with a touch of desperation in her faint voice, and what do you want with me? The witch licked her pale lips. Come with me, and I will show you. To what end should I go with you? exclaimed Dukobia. I know you not, and God help me. I'm a

trust you. The witch shot a scornful glance over the lady's tall figure, supple with the strength of youth. What evil could I do you? she asked. Jacobia considered her intently. Indeed, she was small, seemed frail also. Jacobia's white fingers could have crushed the life out of her lean throat. Still, she was reluctant. To what end, she repeated. Natalie did not answer, but turned into a grass-grown path that twisted through the trees, and Jacobia, afraid of the loneliness, followed her slowly. As they went through the forest, the green, still forest, with no flower to vary the clinging creepers and great blossomless plants, with no sound of bird or insect to mingle with their light tread and the sweep of their

garments on the ground. Jacobio was aware that her senses were being dulled and drugged with the silence and the strangeness. She felt no longer afraid or curious. After a while they came upon a pool lying in a hollow and grown about with thick, dark ferns. The sunless waters were black and dull. On the surface of them floated some dead leaves and the vivid, unwholesome green of a tangled weed. A young man in plain dark dress was seated on the opposite bank. On his knees was an open book, and his long straight hair hung either side of his face and brushed the yellow page. Behind him stood the shattered trunk of a blasted tree, grown with fan-shaped fungi of brilliant scarlet and blotched purple and orange, that glowed gorgeously in the universal cold, soft green.

Oh, me, murmured Jacobia. The young man lifted his eyes from the book and looked at her across the black water. Jacobia would have fled, would have flung herself into the forest with no thought but that of escape from those eyes, gazing at her over the pages of that ancient volume. But the witches loathsome little hands closed on hers with a marvelous strength, and drew her, shuddering round the edge of the pond. The youth shut the book, stretched his slender limbs, and half turning on his side lay and watched. Jacobia's noble and lovely figure clothed in a thick, soft velvet of a luminous yellow hue, her blonde hair straying on her shoulders and mingling with the glowing tint of her gown. Her grave and sweet face, lit and guarded by grail,

gray eyes, soft and frightened, made a fair picture against the somber background of the dark wood. A picture marred only by the insignificant and drab-colored figure of the little witch who held her hand and dragged her through the dank grass. Do you remember me? asked the youth. Jacobia turned her head away. Let go of her, Natalie, continued the youth impatiently. He rested his. his elbow on the closed book and propped his chin on his hand. His eyes rested eagerly and admiringly

on the lady's shuddering fairness. She will run, said Natalie, but she loosened her hold. Jacobia did not stir. She shook the hand that Natalie had held and caressed it with the other. The young man put back his heavy hair. Do you know me? She slowly turned her face, pearl pale above the glowing color of her dress. Yes, you came to my castle for shelter ones. Dirk did not lower his intense, ardent gaze. Well, how did I reward your courtesy? I told you something. She would not answer. I told you something, repeated Dirk, and you have not forgotten it. Let me go, she said. I do not know who you are. nor what you mean. Let me go. She turned as if to move away, but sank instead onto one of the moss-covered

boulders that edged the pond, and clasped her fingers over the shining locks straying across her bosom. You have never been the same since that time you sheltered me, said Dirk. She stiffened with dread and pride. Ye are some evil thing, she said. Her glance was fierce for the passive wit. Why was I brought here? Because it was my wish, answered Dirk gravely. Your horse does not often carry you away, Jacobia of Martzburg, and leave you in a trackless forest. The lady started at his knowledge. That also was my will, said Dirk.

Your will, she echoed. Dirk smiled, with an ugly show of his teeth. Be like the horse was bewitched. Have ye not heard? such a thing? Santa Maria, she cried. You have given a youth I know a post at court, he said. Why? Jacobia shivered and could not move. She looked drearily at the black water and the damp masses of fern, then with a slow horror at the figure of the young man seated under the blasted tree. I do not know, she answered weakly. I never disliked him. I never disliked him.

"'As ye did me,' added Dirk. "'Maybe I had no cause to love you,' she returned, goaded. "'Why did you ever come to my castle? "'Why did I ever see you?' "'She put her cold hand over her eyes. "'No matter for that,' mocked Dirk. "'So ye liked my comrade Tyree.' "'She answered, as if forced against her will,

"'well enough I liked him. "'Was he not pleasured to encounter? counter me again, and since he was doing not, I, but why do you question me? Can it be that you are jealous? The young man pulled his heavy brows together. Am I a silly maid to be jealous? Metal not with things ye cannot measure. It had been better for you had you never seen my comrades fair face. A, and for me also, and he frowned. Surely, He is free to do as he may list, returned Jacobia. If he choose to come to court, if ye choose to tempt him, answered Dirk.

But enough of that. He rose and leant against the tree. Above his slender shoulder rose the jagged tongue of gray wood and the smooth color of the clustering fungi. And beyond that the forest sank into immense depths of still gloom. Jacobia strove desperately. with her dull dread and terror, but it seemed to her as if a sickly vapor was rising from the black pool that chilled her to horror. She could not escape Dirk's steady eyes that were like bright stones in his smooth face. Come here, he said. Jacobia made no movement to obey, until the witch

clutched her arm. Then she shook off the clinging fingers and approached the spot where Dirk waited. I think you have bewitched me, she said drearily. Not I. Another has done that, he answered. Sertes, ye are slow in mating, Jacobia of Martsburg. A little shuddering breath stirred her parted lips. She looked to right and left, saw nothing but the enclosing forest, and turned her frightened eyes on Dirk. I know some little magic, he continued. Shall I show you the man you wish to make Lord of Mardsburg? There is no one, she said feebly. You lie, he answered, as I could prove.

As you cannot prove, she returned, clasping her hands together. Why did your steward come with ye to Frankfurt? answered Dirk, and his wife stay as Chattelaine of Martzburg. It had been more fitting had he remained. What reward will he receive for his service as your henchmen at court? What reward do you imagine I should offer? she answered very slowly. I cannot tell, said Dirk, with a hot force behind every word, for I do not know if you are a fool or no, but this I know.

The man waits a word from you. "'Stop,' said Jacobia. But Dirk continued ruthlessly. "'He waits, I tell you.' "'Oh, God, for what?' she cried. "'For you to say. "'You think me fair, Sebastian. "'You know me rich, and all my life shall prove me loving,

"'and only a red-browed woman in Martburg Castle "'prevents you coming from my footstool to my side. "'Said you that he would take horse tomorrow for Martzburg, and return a free man. The handkerchief fell from Jacobia's fingers and fluttered on the dark ferns. You are a fiend, she said in a sick voice. You cannot be human to so touch my heart, and you are wrong. I dare tell you in the name of God that you are wrong. Those evil thoughts have never come to me. In the name of the devil, I am right, smiled Dirk. The devil, you are one of a few. You are one of his agents, she cried in a trembling defiance. Or how could you guess what I scarcely knew

until ye came that baleful night? What he never knew till then. Ah, I swear it, he never dreamt that I never dreamt what my favour meant, but now, his eyes, I cannot mistake them. He is a dutiful servant, said Dirk. He waits for his mistress to speak. Jacobia sank to her knees on the grass. I entreat you to forbear, she whispered. Whoever you are, whatever your object, I ask your mercy. I am very unhappy. Do not goad me. Drive me further. Dirk stepped forward and caught her drooping shoulders in his firm hands.

Pious, fool, he cried. How long do you think you can endure this? "'How long do you think he will remain the servant "'when he knows he might be the master?' "'She averted her agonized face. "'Then it was from you he learnt it. "'You!' "'Dirk interrupted hotly.

"'He knows, remember that. "'He knows, and he waits. "'Already he hates the woman who keeps him dumb. "'It were very easily done. "'One look, some few words. "'You would not. find him slow of understanding. He loosened his grasp on her, and Jacobia fell forward and clasped his feet. I implore you, take back this wickedness. I am weak. Since my first sight of you, I have been

striving against your influence that is killing me. Man or demon, I beseech you, let me be. She raised her face, the slow, bitter tears forced out of her sweet, worn eyes. Her hair fell like golden embroidery over the yellow gown, and her fingers fluttered on her unhappy bosom. Dirk considered her, curiously, and coldly. I am neither man nor demon, he said, but this I tell you, as surely as he is more to you than your own soul, So surely you are lost.

Lost, lost, she repeated, and half raised herself. Sir Tays, therefore, get the price of your soul, he mocked. What is the woman to you? A cold-hearted jade? As good dead now as fifty years hence? What is one sin the more? I tell you, while you set that man's image up in your heart, before that of God, ye are lost already.

He stepped back and clapped his hands. I promised you a sight of your lover, he said. Now let him speak for himself. Jacobia turned her head sharply. A few feet away from her stood Sebastian, holding back the heavy bows and looking at her. She gave a shriek and rose swiftly. Dirk and the witch had disappeared. If they had slipped into the undergrowth and were yet near,

they gave no answer when she wildly called to them. The vast forest seemed utterly empty, save for the silent figure of Sebastian. Not doubting now that Dirk was some evil being whom her own wicked thoughts had evoked, believing that the appearance of her steward was some phantom sent for her undoing, she, unfortunate, distracted with misery and terror, turned with a shuddering relief to the oblivion of the still pool. Hastening with trembling feet through the clinging weeds and ferns, she climbed down the damp bank and would have cast herself into the dull water when she heard his voice calling her, a human voice. She paused, lending a fearful ear to to the sound while the water rippled from her foot.

It is I, he called. My lady, it is I. This was Sebastian himself. No delusion, nor ghost, but her living steward, as she had seen him this morning in his brown riding habit, wearing her gold and blue colors round his hat. She mastered her terror and confusion. Indeed, you frightened me.

A lie rose to save her. I thought it's some robber. I did not know you. I have been searching for you, said Sebastian. We came upon your horse on the high road, and then upon your gloves in the grass. So, as no rider could come among these trees on foot, I sought for you. I am glad that you are safe. This calm and carefully ordered speech gave her time to gather courage. She found, fumbled at her bosom, drew forth a crucifix, and clutched it to her lips with a murmur of passionate prayers. He could not but notice this. He must perceive her soiled torn dress, her wild face, her white exhaustion, but he gave no sign of it. It was a fortunate chance that sent me here, he said gravely. The wood is so vast. A, so vast, she answered.

Know you the way out, Sebastian. Have you met no one? he asked. She hesitated. If he had encountered neither the woman nor the young man, then they were indeed wizards or of some unearthly race. She could not bring herself to speak of them. No, she answered at length. She gathered up her long skirt and shook off the withered leaves that clung to it.

Will you lead the way? she said. he turned and moved ahead of her down the narrow path by which he had come as she followed him she heard his foot fall soft on the thick grass and the swishing sound of the straying boughs as he held them back for her to pass till she found the silence so unendurable that she nerved herself to break it but several times she gathered her strength in vain for the effort and when at last some fool foolish words had come to her lips, he suddenly looked back over his shoulder and checked her speech. "'Tis strange that your horse should have gone mad in such a manner,' he said. "'But he found him?' she faltered. "'A, a man found him, exhausted and trembling like a thing bewitched.' Her heart gave a great leap. Had he used that word by chance?

"'You were not hurt, my lady, when you were thrown,' said the steward. "'No,' said Jacobia, no.' Silence again. No bird nor butterfly disturbed the somber stillness of the wood. No breeze stirred the thick leaves that surrounded them. Gradually, the path widened until it brought them into a great space grown with ferns and overarched with trees. Then Sebastian paused.

Ye must rest, certase, it is folly to persist, he added with some authority. She seated herself, lifting the hand that held the crucifix to her bosom. Gazing down into the clusters of ferns at his feet, he spoke. I think I must return to Martzburg, he said. She braced herself. making a gesture with her hand as if she would ward off his words. You know that you are free to do what you will, Sebastian. Is it not better that I should go? He challenged her with a full sideways glance. I do not know, she said desperately, why you put this to me here and now. I do not often see you

alone. She opened her hand to stare down at the crucifix in her palm. You can leave Frankfurt when you wish. Why not? she said. He faced her quickly, but I may come back. It seemed to Jacobia that he echoed Dirk's words. The crucifix slipped through her trembling fingers on to the grass. What do you mean? Oh, Sebastian, what do you mean? The words were forced from her, but uttered under her breath, she added instantly in a more courageous voice. "'Go and come as you list. Are you not free?' He saw the crucifix at her feet and picked it up, but she drew back as he came near and held out her hand.

He put the crucifix into it, frowning, his eyes dark and bright with excitement. Do you recall the two students who were housed that night in Martzburg? he asked. "'Yes,' she said. "'Is not one now at court?' I would mean the other, the boy, answered Sebastian. She averted her face and drooped until the ends of her hair touched her knees. I met him again today, continued the steward, with a curious lift in his voice. Here, in this forest, while searching for you, he spoke to me.

Certainly the devil was enmeshing her. Surely he had brought her to this pass, sent Sebastian of all men to find her in her weariness and loneliness. And Sebastian knew, knew also that she knew. Outspoken words between them could be hardly more intolerable shame than this. He is cunning beyond most, said the steward. Jacobia lifted her head. He is an enchanter, a wizard. Do not listen to him. Do not speak to him. As you value your soul, Sebastian, do not not think of him. As I value some other things, he answered grimly, I must both listen to him and consider what he says. She rose. We will go our way. I cannot talk with you now, Sebastian. But he stood in her path. Let me journey to Martzburg, he said thickly. One word, I shall understand you.

She glanced and saw him extraordinarily keen and moved. He was Lord of Martzburg. Could he but get her to pledge herself? In his eagerness, however, he forgot advice. Tell her, said Dirk, you have adored her for years in secret. This escaped his keenness, for though his wife was nothing to him compared with his ambition, he had no tenderness for Jacobia. Had he remembered to feign it, he might have triumphed and now, but though her gentle heart believed he held her dear, that he did not say so, made firmness possible for her.

You shall stay in Frankfurt, she said, with sudden strength. Sibylla asks my return, he said, gazing at her passionately. Do we not understand each other without words? "'The fiend has bewitched you also,' she answered fearfully. "'You know too much. You guess too much. "'And yet I tell you nothing, and I—' "'I also am bewitched, for I cannot reply to you as I should.'

"'I have been silent long,' he said. "'But I have dared to think, had I been free as I can be free?' The crucifix was forgotten in her hand. We do evil to talk like this, she said, half-fainting. You will bid me go to Martzburg, he insisted, and took her long, cold fingers. She raised her eyes to the boughs above her. No, no! Then, God, have compassion on me, she said.

The thick foliage stirred. Jacobia felt as if the bars of a cage were being broken about her. She turned her head, and a little color flushed. her cheek. Through the silvery stems of the larches came some knights and a page boy. Members of the party left to search for her. She moved towards them. She hailed them almost gaily. None, save Sebastian, saw her as they turned towards Frankfurt, raised the crucifix, and press her lips to it. End of Section 13. Recording by Molly Craig. Section 14 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain.

Part 1. Chapter 14. The Snaring of Tierie Dirk and the Witch kept company until they reached the gates of Frankfurt. There, the young man took his own way through the busy town, and Natalie slipped aside into the more retired streets. Many of the passers-by saluted Dirk. Some halted to speak with him, the brilliant young doctor of rhetoric, with a reputation made fascinating by an air of mystery, was a desired acquaintance among the people of Frankfurt. He returned their greetings pleasantly, yet absently. He was thinking of Jacobia of Martzburg, whom he had left behind in the great forest, and considering what chances there might be, either for Thierry or Sibilla, the steward's wife.

He passed the tall red front of the college, where the quiet trees tapped their leaves against the arched windows, turned over the narrow curved bridge that spanned the steadily flowing water of the main, and came to the thick walls surrounding the Emperor's castle. There, for a moment, he paused, and looked thoughtfully up at the imperial flag that fluttered softly against the evening sky. When he passed on, it was with a cheerful step and a whistling little tune under his breath. A few moments brought him to the long street where the witch lived. A few more to her gate.

And then his face lit and changed wonderfully, for ahead of him was Thierry. Flushed and panting he ran to his friend's side and touched him on the arm. Tyree turned. His hand on the latch. His greeting was hurried, half shamefaced. My master and most of the court were at the tourney today, he said. I thought it's safe to come. Dirk withdrew his hand and his eyes narrowed. Ah, ye are beginning to be circumspect how ye visit here. You worded unkindly, answered Thiery hastily. Let us enter the house where we can talk at ease. They passed into the witch's dwelling and to the room at the back that looked into the garden of red roses. The windows were set wide, and the scented softness of the evening filled the half-darkened chamber.

Dirk lit a little lamp that had a green glass, and by the faint flame of it gazed long and lingeringly at Thierry. He found his friend richly dressed in black and crimson, wearing an enameled chain round his bonnet. it, and a laced shirt showing at his bosom. He found the glowing, bright charm of his face, disturbed by some embarrassment or confusion. The beautiful mouth uneasily set, the level brows, slightly frowning. Oh, Thierry, he cried in a half-mornful yearning. Come back to me, come back. I am very well at court, was the quick answer. My master is gentle, and my task's easy. Very clearly can I see ye are well, and very well at court.

Seldom do you leave it? I find it difficult to get here often, said Tyree. You find it difficult, said Dirk, because your desires chain you to the court. I think ye are a faithless friend. That am not I. Ye know more of me than any man. I care more for ye than for any man. Or woman?

added Dirk dryly. An impatient color came into Tierry's cheeks. He looked resolutely at the red roses. That is unworthy in you, Dirk. Is it disloyal to you to know a lady? To admire a lady? To strive to serve and please a lady? He turned his charming face,

and in his effort to conciliate, his voice was gentle and winning. Truly, she is the sweetest of her kind, Dirk, if you knew her. Evil is abashed before her. Then it is as well I do not know her, Dirk retorted grimly. Strangely, ye talk. You and I know we are not saints, but be like you would reform. Be like a second time ye have repented. Tiri seemed in some agitation. No, no, have I gone too far. Do I not still hope to gain something? Perhaps everything? He paused, then added in a low voice, but I wish I had never laid hands on the monk. I wish I had not

touched God his money, and when I see her I cannot prevent my heart from smarting at the thought of what I am. "'How often do you see her?' asked Dirk quietly. "'But seldom,' answered Tilly sadly. "'And it is better. What could I ever be to her?' Dirk smiled somberly. "'That is true. Yet you would waste your life dallying round the places where you may sometimes see her face.'

Thierie bit his lip. "'Oh, you think me a fool. To falter, to regret. But what have my sins ever done for me? There are many honest men better placed than I, and without the prospect of hell to blast their souls. Dirk looked at him with lowering eyes. You had been content had you not met this lady. Enough of her, answered Tiree wearily. You make too much of it. I do not think I love her, but one who has fallen must view such sweetness, such a-suchy-werely. gentle purity with sorrow, yay, with yearning. Maybe she is neither so pure nor so gentle as you think.

Sertes, she is as but other women as one day ye may see. Tyree turned from the window half in protest, half in excuse. Cannot you understand how one may hold a fair thing dear? How one might worship, even love? "'Yes,' answered Dirk, and his great eyes were bright and misty. "'But if I loved,' he spoke the word beautifully, and rose as he uttered it, "'I would so grapple his, her soul to mine, that we should be together to all eternity. "'Nor devil, nor angel, should divide us.

"'But—but there is no need to talk of that. "'There are other matters to deal with. Would I had never seen the evil books, or never seen her face, said Thierry restlessly. So at least I had been undivided in my thoughts. He came to the table and looked at Dirk across the sickly, struggling flame of the lamp. In his hazel eyes was an expression of appeal, the call of the weak to the strong, and the other held out his hands impulsively. "'Ah, I am a fool to trouble with ye, my friend,' he said, and his voice broke with tenderness. "'For ye are headstrong and unstable, and care not for me one jot. I warrant me, yet.

Yet you may do what you will with the silly heart of mine.' There was a grace, a wistful affection in his face, in his words, in his gesture of outstretched hands, that instantly moved Thierry, ever quick to respond. He took the young doctor's slender fingers in a warm clasp. They were very quickly withdrawn. Dirk had a notable dislike to a touch, but his deep eyes smiled. I have somewhat to tell you, he said, at which your impatience will be pleased. He went lightly to a press in the wall and brought forth a mighty candlestick of red copper.

branched and engraved. Three half-burnt candles remained in the sockets. He lit these, and the room was filled with a brighter and pleasanter light. Setting the candlestick on the table where it glowed over Thiery's splendid presents, he returned to the cupboard and took out a tall bottle of yellow wine, and two glasses with milk-white lines round the rims. Tiri seated himself at the tisied himself at the table, pulled off his gloves, and smoothed his hair back from his face. Have you seen the empress? asked Dirk pouring out the wine. Yay, answered Tiree without interest. She is very beautiful? Sertes, but of a cloying sweetness. There is no touch of nobility in her. Dirk held the wine out across the table and seated himself. I have heard she is ambitious, he said.

A. She gives the Emperor no rest, forever urging him to Rome, to be crowned by the Pope as Emperor of the West. But he better loves the North and has no spirit to rule in Italy. The nobles chafe at his inaction? asked Dirk. Tis not idle questioning. Mostly, I think. Do we not all have golden dreams of Rome? Balthasar. You mind him. He mind him. He is Margrave of East Flanders now, since his father was killed at the boar hunt, and powerful. He is mad to cross the Alps. He has great influence with the Emperor. Indeed, I think he loves him.

Dirk set down the untasted wine. Balthasar loves the Emperor, he cried. Certees? Yes, why not? The Margrave was always affectionate, and the Emperor is lovable. A second time Dirk raised the glass, and now drained it. Here is good matter for plots, he said, elegantly wiping his lips. Here is occasion for you and me to make our profit. Said ye the devil was a bad master, listen to this.

Thiery moved the candlestick, the gold light dazzled in his eyes. What can emperor or empress be to us, he asked, A half-bewildered fear darkening his brows. She has been here, said Dirk. The lady Isabel. Tirey stared intently. A quick breath stirred his parted lips. His cheeks glowed with excited color.

She knows, continued Dirk, that I, Dr. Constantine of Frankfurt College, and you, meek, secretary to her Chamberlain, are the two students chased from, Ball University. Thierry gave a little sound of pain and drew back in the huge carved chair. So, said Dirk slowly, she has it in her power to ruin us, at least in Frankfurt. How can I hold up my head at court again? exclaimed Thierry bitterly. There is more in it than that, he answered quietly. Did she choose he might have us burnt in the market?

marketplace. Yoris of Thuringa died of his illness that night. Oh, cried Tiri, blenching. But she will not choose, said Dirk calmly. She needs me. Us. That threat is but her means of forcing obedience. She came secretly to my lectures. She had heard somewhat. She discovered more. Tyree filled his glass. She needs us? He repeated falteringly. Cannot ye guess in what way? Tyri drank.

Set down the half-emptied glass and looked at the floor with troubled eyes that evaded the other's bright eyes. How can I tell? he asked, as if reluctant to speak at all. Dirk repressed a movement of impatience. "'Come, you know. Shall I speak plainly?' "'Certes, yes,' answered Thirri, still with averted face. "'There is a man in her way.' Tiri looked up now. His eyes showed pale in his flushed face. "'Who must die as Yoros of Thuringa died?' he asked.

"'Yes.' "'Tirie moistened his lips. "'Am I to help you?' "'Are we not? one, inseparable? The reward will be magnificent. Tiree put his hand to a damp brow. Who is the man? Hush, whispered Dirk, peering through the halo of the candle flame. It is the emperor. Her husband? I will not do it, Dirk. I do not think ye have a choice, was the cold answer. Ye gave yourself unto the devil.

and unto me, and you shall serve us both. I will not do it, repeated Thierry in a shuddering voice. Dirk's eyes glimmered wrathfully. Take care how you say that. There are two already. What of the monk? I do not think you can turn back. Tierry showed a desperate face.

Why have ye drawn me into this? "'Ye are deeper in devil's arts than I.' "'That is a strange thing to say,' answered Dirk, very pale, "'his lips quivering. "'You swore comradeship with me. "'Together we were to pursue success, fame, power. "'You knew the means. "'A, you knew by whose aid we were to rise.

"'You shared with me the labors, "'the disgrace that fell on both of us. together we worked the spells that slew Joris of Thuringa. Together we stole God his gold from the monk. Now A, and now when I tell you our chance has come, this is your manner of thanking me. A chance, to help a woman in a secret murder. Tiri spoke sullenly.

Ye never thought our way would be the way of saintship. You were not so nice that time ye bound amber. rose of menthol to the tree. How often must you remind me of that? cried Thierry fiercely. I had not done it but for you. Well, say the same of this. If you be weak, I am strong enough for two. Tyri pulled at the crimson tassels on his slashed sleeves. It is not that I am afraid, he said flushing.

Sertes, you are afraid, mocked Dirk. afraid of God, of justice, maybe of man, but I tell you that these things are not to us. He paused, lifted his eyes and lowered them again. Our destiny is not of our shaping. We take the weapons laid to our hands and use them as we are bid. Life and death shall both serve us to our appointed end. Tiri came to the us. other side of the table and gazed fearfully across at him. Who are you? He questioned softly.

Dirk did not answer. An expression of dread and despair withered all the life in his features. The extraordinary look in his suddenly dimmed eyes sent a chill to Tire's heart. Ah, he cried, stepping back with manifest loathing. Dirk put his hand over his eyes and moaned. Do you hate me, Tilly? Do you hate me? I do not know. He could not explain his own sudden revulsion as he saw the change in Dirk's face.

He paced to and fro in a tumult. Dark had closed in upon them, and now blackness lay beyond the window and the half-opened door. shadows obscured the corners of the long chamber all the light the red gleam of the candles the green glow of the lamp shone over the table and the slight figure of dirk as tirri stopped to gaze at him anew dirk suddenly lowered his white hand and his eyes blinking above his long fingers held thiris in a keen glance this will make us more powerful than the empress or the emperor, he said. Leave your thoughts of me and ponder on that. He withdrew his hand and revealed lips as pale as his cheeks. What does that mean? cried Tyree. I am distracted. We shall go to Rome, replied Dirk. There was a lulling quality of temptation in his tone, and you shall have your desires. My desires, echoed Tyree wildly. I have trod an unholy path, pursuing the phantom of my desires.

Do you still promise me I shall one day grasp it? Surely, money, and power, and pleasure, these things wait you in Rome when Isabel shall have placed the imperial diadem on Balthasar's brow. These things, and—it seemed as if Dirk's voice broke. Even Jacobia of Martsburg, he added slowly. Can one win a saint by means of devilry? cried Tierry. She is only a woman, said Dirk wearily. But since you hesitate and falter, I will absolve you from this league with me. Go your way, serve your saint.

renounce your sins and see what God will give you. No, I cannot. I will not forego even the hope of what you offer me. His great eyes glittered with excitement. The hot blood darkened his cheek, and I pledged myself to you and your master. Do not think me cowardly because I paused. Who is the emperor? He spoke hoarsely, nothing to you or to me. As you say, Yoris of Thuringa died. Now you speak like my comrade at Baal, cried Dirk joyfully. Now I see again the spirit that roused me to swear friendship with you the night we first met. Now I... Ah, Tyree, we will be very faithful to one another, will we not?

I have no choice. "'Swear it,' cried Dirk. "'I swear it,' said Tiery. "'Dirk clasped and unclasped his hands on the table, murmuring. "'I have won him back. Won him back!' "'Tiery spoke without turning his head. "'What do you mean to do next?' "'I shall see the Empress again,' answered Dirk.

"'At present, be very secret. That is all. "'There is no need to speak of it.' "'Your absence may be noticed at the palace,' he said softly. "'You must return. "'How you can help me, I will let you know.' "'Where have you been to-day?' asked Thierry. "'Did you see the court returning from the tourney?' "'The candle-flames, flaring with the movement,

"'cast a rich glow over Dirk's pallid face. "'No, why do you ask?' he said. "'I know not.' Thiery's crimson doublet sparkled in its silk threads as his breast rose with the irregular breaths. He walked heavily to the door, gathering up his black mantle over his arm. When may I come again, he asked. When you will, answered Dirk. He entered the passage and held up the heavy candlestick,

so that a great circle of light was cast on the darkness. "'Ye are pledged to me whether ye come or no. Are ye not?' "'Sir Tais, I do think so,' said Tierry. He hesitated. Tierry went down the passage. He found the door and unlatched it. A soft but powerful breath of air fluttered the candle flames almost onto Dirk's face. He turned back into the room and shut himself in, leaving darkness behind him. stepped into the street and drew the latch. A few stars were out, but the night was cloudy. He leant against the side of the house. He felt excited, confused, impatient. Dirk's abrupt dismissal

rankled. He was half ashamed of the power exercised over him by his frail comrade, half bewildered by the allurement of the reward that promised to be so near now. Rome, splendor, power, Jacobia of Martzburg, and only one stranger between him and this consummation. He wondered why he had ever hesitated, ever been horrified. His anticipations became so brilliant that they mounted like winged spirits to the clouds, catching him up with them.

He could scarcely breathe in the close atmosphere of excitement. A thousand questions to which he might have demanded answer of Dirk occurred to him, and stung with impatience his elated heart. On a quick impulse he turned to the door and tried the handle. To his surprise, he found it bolted from within. He wondered, both at Dirk's caution and his softness of tread, for he had heard. no sound. It was not yet late, but he did not desire to attract attention by knocking.

Full of his resolution to speak further with Dirk, he passed round the house and entered the garden with the object of gaining admittance by the low windows of the room where they had been conversing. But the light had gone from the chamber, and the windows were closed. With an exclamation of impatience, Thierry stepped back among the rose bushes and looked up. Dirk's bedchamber was also in darkness. Black and silent the witch's dwelling showed against the still but stormy sky. Thierry felt a chill run to his heart. Where had the youth gone so instantly, so silently? Hu had noiselessly bolted door and windows. Then suddenly a light flashed across his vision. It appeared in the window of a room built out from the house at the side. A room that Thierry

had always imagined was used as a store place for Natalie's drugs and herbs. He did not remember that he had ever entered it or ever seen a light there before. His curiosity was stirred. Dirk had spoken of weariness. Perhaps this was the witch herself. He waited for the light to disappear, but it continued to glow, like a steady star across the darkness of the Rose Garden. The heavy scent of the half-seen blooms filled the gusty wind that began to arise. Great fragments of clouds sped above the dark roof-line of the house. Tiri crept nearer the light. It had crossed his mind many times that Dirk and Natalie held secrets they kept from him, and the doubt had often and set him raging inwardly, as well he knew the witch despised him as a useless novice in the black arts.

Old suspicions returned to him, as, advancing warily, he drew near the light and crouched against the wall of the house. A light curtain was pulled across the window, but carelessly, and drawn slightly awry to avoid the light set in the window-seat. Tilly, holding his breath, looked in. He saw an oval room hung with Syrian tapestries of scarlet and yellow, and paved with black and white marble. The air was thick with the blue vapor of some perfume burning in a copper brazier, and lit by lamps suspended from the wall,

their light glowing from behind screens of a pure pink silk. The end of the apartment was hidden by a violet velvet curtain, embroidered with grapes and swans. Near this, a low couch covered with scarlet draperies and purple cushions was placed. And close to this, a table set with a white cloth bearing moons and stars worked in blue. Tiri almost betrayed himself by a cry of surprise. A long, slender woman's hand and arm slipped between the folds of the velvet. A delicate foot and a little foot and a appeared. The curtain trembled. The aperture widened and the figure of a girl was revealed in dusky shadow. She was tall and wore a long robe of yellow sandal that she held up over her bosom with her left hand.

She might have just come forth from the bath, for her shoulders, arms and feet were bare, and the lines of her limbs noticeable through the thin silk. Her head and face, were wrapped in a silver gauze. She stood quite still, half withdrawn behind the curtain. Only the finely shaped white arm that held it back fully revealed. Her appearance impressed Tiri with unnameable dread and terror. He remained rigid at the window, gazing at her, not able, if he would, to fly. Through the veil that concealed her face, he could see restless, dark eyes and the line of dark hair. He thought that she must see him, that she looked at him even as he looked at her, but he could not stir. Slowly she came forward into the room. Her feet were

noiseless on the stone floor, but as she moved, Thiris heard a curious dragging sound he could not explain. She was drawing nearer the window. As she approached, she half turned. and Thiris saw flat, green and dull wings of wrinkled skin folded on her back. The tips of them touched the floor. These had made the dragging sound he had heard. With a tortured cry rung from him, he flung up his hands to shut out the dreadful thing. She heard him, stopped and gave a shriek of dread and anguish. The lights were instantly extinguished.

The room was in absolute darkness. Tiri turned and rushed across the garden. He thought the rose bushes catching on his garments were hands seeking to detain him. He thought that he heard a window open and a flapping of wings in the air above him. He cried out to the God on whom he had turned his back. Christus have mercy! And so he stumbled to the gate and out into the quiet street of Frankfurt. End of Section 14, recording by Molly Craig. Section 15 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain.

Part 1, Chapter 15, Malchre of Brabant. The last chant of the monks died away. The Sabbath service was ended, and the court rose from its place in the Emperor's Chapel. but Jacobia remained on her knees and tried to pray. The empress, very fair and childishly sweet, drooping under the weight of her jeweled garments even with three pages to lift her train, raised her brows to see her lady remaining, and gave her little smile as she passed. The emperor, dark, reserved, devout, and plainly habited, followed with his eyes,

on his brevery. He was leaning on the arm of Balthasar of Cortague. The sun, falling slantwise through the high-colored windows, made the fair locks and golden clothes of the Margrave one, glitter in a dazzling brightness. Jacobia could not bring her thoughts to dwell on holy things. Her hands were clasped on her pre-du. Her open book was before her, but her eyes wandered from the altar to the crowd passing. down the aisle. Among the faces that went by, she could not but mark the beautiful countenance of Thiery, the secretary to the Queen's Chamberlain. She noticed him, as she always did, for his obvious calm handsomeness. Today, she noticed further that he looked grieved,

distraught and pale. Wondering at this, she observed him so intently that his long hazel eyes glanced aside and met hers in an intense gaze, grave and sad. She thought there was a question or an appeal, some meaning in his look, and she turned her slender neck and stared after him, so that two ladies following smiled at each other. Tiree kept his eyes fixed on her until he left the chapel, and a slow color crept into his cheek. When the last cochine, had glittered away out of the low-arched door, Jacobia bent her head and rested her cheek against the top of the high Pryde.

Could her prayers have been shaped into words they would have been such as these? O Mary, Empress of Heaven, O saints and angels, defend me from the devil and my own wicked heart, shelter me in my weakness, and arm me to victory. incense still lingered in the air. It stole pleasantly to her nostrils. She raised her eyes timidly to the red light on the altar, then rose from her knees clasping her brevery to her bosom, and turning, she saw Thierry standing inside the door watching her.

She knew that he was waiting to speak to her, and she knew not why it gave her a sense of comfort and pleasure. Slowly she came down the aisle towards him, and as she approached, smiled. He took a step into the church. There was no answering smile on his face. Teach me to pray, I beseech you, he said ardently. Let me kneel beside you. I? Alas, she answered. You do not know me. I know that if anyone could lead a soul upwards, it would be you. "'Scarcely can I pray for myself,' she answered.

"'I am weak, unhappy, and alone. "'Sir, whatever your trouble, you must not come to me for aid.' His dark eyes flashed softly. "'You, unhappy? "'I have ever thought of you as gay and careless as the roses.' She gazed on him wistfully. "'Once I was, that you, that you, day I saw you first. Do you remember, sir? I often recall it, because it seemed that after that I changed.

She shuddered, and her gray eyes grew wet and mournful. It was your friend. Therese's face hardened. My friend! The young scholar, she said quickly and fearfully. He is in Frankfurt now. You have seen him? She bowed her head. What does he want with me? He will not let me be in peace. He pursues me with horrible thoughts. He hates me.

He will undo my soul. When did you meet him? asked Thiery in a low, fearful voice. Jacobia told him of the encounter in the forest. He marked that it was the day of the great tourney, the day when he had last seen Dirk. he remembered certain matters he had uttered concerning jacobia if he has been tampering with you he cried wrathfully if he dares then you know somewhat of him she interrupted in a half horror a to my shame i do he answered i know him for what he is if you value your peace your soul do not heed him she drew away

but you you are you in league with him terri groaned and set his teeth he holds me in a mesh of temptation he lures me into great wickedness jacobia moved still further back shrinking from him into the gloom of the chapel oh she said who who is he tierie lowered his eyes and frowned you must not ask me he fingered the base of the pilaster against the door but he troubles me she answered intensely the thought of him is like some one clinging to my garments to drag me down thirie lifted his head sharply to gaze at her tall slender figure but lifted his eyes no higher than her clasped hands that lay over the brevery below her heart how can he or such as he disturb you what temptation can you be beguiled with and as he saw the delicate fingers tremble on the ivory cover his soul was hot and sore against dirk i will not speak of what might begal me said jacobia in a low voice i dare not speak of it let it go it is a great sin there is sin for me also murmured turey but the prize seems almost worth it worth it you say she whispered worth it her tone made him wince he could fancy dirk at her shoulder prompting her and he lifted his head and answered strongly you cannot care to know and i dare not tell what has put me in the power of this young scholar nor what are the temptations with which he enmeshes me but this you must hear his hand was outspread on his bosom pressing on his heart his hazel eyes were dilated and intense this i should be his utterly holy

his, one with him in evil, if it were not for you and the thought of you. You are the Chattelaine of Martzburg, continued Thiery, in a less steady voice, and you do not know me. It is not fit that you should, but twice you have been gentle with me, and if, and if you could so care for your sake I would shake the clinging devils off, I would live good and humble and scorn the tempting youth. What must I do to help you? answered Jacobia. Be what you are. That is all. Be noble, pure. Ah, sweet. That, seeing you, I can still believe in heaven and strive for it.

She looked at him earnestly. Why, you are the only one to care that I should be noble and sweet. and it would make a difference to you? Her questioning voice fell wistfully. Ah, sir, were you to hear a wicked thing of me and know it true? Did I become a vile, a hideous creature? Would it make a difference? It would, for me, make the difference between hell and paradise. She flushed and trembled.

Sir Taze, you have heartened me. nay you must not set me in a shrine but but oh sir honor me and i will be worthy of it she raised an appealing face on my knees answered terry earnestly i will do you worship i am no knight to wear your colors boldly but you shall win a fairer triumph than ever graced the jousts for i will come back to god through your colors boldly but you shall win a fairer triumph than ever graced the jousts for i will come back to god through your you and live my days a repentant man because of you. Nay, each through the other, said Jacobia, I think I too had, ah, Hesu, fallen, if someone had not cared. He paled with pain. What did he, that youth, tempt you with? No matter, she said faintly, it is over now,

I will be equal to your thoughts of me, sir. I have no night, nor have wished for one, but I will often think of you who have encouraged me in this my loneliness. Please God, he said, we both are free of devilry. Will you make that a pact with me, that I may think of you as far above it all as is the moon above the mire? Will you give me leave to think you always as innocent as I would have my saint? Your worship, sir, shall make me so, she answered gravely. Think no ill of me, and I will do no ill. He went on his knee and kissed the hem of her soft gown.

You have saved me, he whispered, from everlasting doom. As he rose, Jacobia held out her hand and touched him gently on the sleeve. God be thanked, she said. He bent his head and left her. She drew from her bosom the crucifix that had been her companion in the forest and kissed it reverently, her heart more at ease than since the day when she first met Dirk Renswold. Returning to the great hall of the palace with quick resolve to return to Martsburg, or to send for Sibylla forming in her mind, she encountered the Empress walking up and down the long chamber discontentedly. Isabel, who affected a fondness for Jacobia, smiled on her indolently. But Jacobia, always a little overawed by her great loveliness and, in her soul, disliking her,

would have passed on. The Empress raised her hand. nay, stay and talk to your poor deserted lady, she said in her babyish voice. The emperor is in his chamber writing Latin prayers on a day like this. She kissed her hand to the sunshine and the flowers seen through the window. My dames are all abroad with their gallants and I... Hazard what I have been doing! She held her left hand behind her and, laughed in Jacobius' face. Seen thus in her over-gorgeous clothes, her childlike appearance and beauty,

giving her an air of fresh innocence, she was not unlike the little image of the virgin often set above her altars. "'Guess!' she cried again. Then without waiting for an answer, "'Catching butterflies in the garden!' She showed her hand now, and held delicately before Jacobius' eyes, a white net drawn tightly together full of very colored butterflies. What is the use of them, poor souls? asked Jacobia. The empress looked at her prisoners. Their wings are very lovely, she said greedily. If I pulled them off, would they last? Sown on silk, how they would shimmer. Nay, they would fade, answered Jacobia hastily. "'You have tried it?' demanded the empress.

"'Nay, I could not be so cruel. I love such little gay creatures.' Reflection darkened Isobo's gorgeous eyes. "'Well, I will take the wings off and see if they lose their brightness.' She surveyed the fluttering victims. Some are purple. A rare shade!' Jacobia's smooth brow gathered in a frown of distress. They are alive, she said, and it is agreeable to them to live. Will you not let them free? Isabel laughed, not at all babyish now. You need not watch me, Dame. Your grace does not consider how gentle and helpless they are. Indeed, Jacobia flushed in her eagerness. They have faces and

little velvet jackets on their bodies. Isabel frowned and turned away. Isabel frowned and turned away. It amuses you to thwart my pleasures, she answered. She suddenly flung the net at Jacobia. Take them and be gone. The Chattelaine of Mardsburg, knowing something of the Empress, was surprised at this sudden yielding. Looking round, however, she learned the cause of it. The Margrave of East Flanders had entered the hall.

She caught up the rescued butterflies and left the chamber, while the empress sank into the window seat among the crimson cushions patterned with sprawling lions, pulled a white rose out of her belt and set her teeth in the stem of it. Where is Malquare? asked the margrave, coming towards her. His immense size augmented by his full, rich clothes, gave him the air of a golden giant. Writing Latin prayers, she mocked, Were you, Emperor of the West, Lord Baltasar? Would you do that? He frowned.

I am not such a holy man as Malquhar. Isabel laughed. Were you my husband? Would you do that? His fresh, fair face flushed rose color. This is among the things I may not even fancy. She looked out of the window. Her dress was low and loosened about the shoulders.

by cause of the heat, she said, but she loved to make a pageant of her beauty. Purposely she was silent, hoping Balthasar would speak, but he stood, without a word, leaning against the tapestry. Oh, God, she said at last, without turning her head.

I loathe, Frankfurt. His eyes glittered, but he made no answer. Were I a man, I would not be so tame. Now he spoke. Princess, you know that I am sick for Rome, but what may we do when the emperor makes delays? Malquhar should be a monk, his wife returned bitterly,

since a German township serves him when he might rule half the world. Now she gave Baltasar her lovely face and fixed on him her violet eyes. We of the east do not understand this diffidence. my father was an agian groom who took the throne by strangling the life out of his master he ruled strongly in ravenna i was born in the purple nursed in the gold i do not fathom your northern tardiness the emperor will go to rome said the margrave in a troubled voice he will cross the alps this year i think her white lids drooped you love malquhar therefore you bear with him he lifted his head you too must bear with him since he is your lord princess he answered how stern you are margrave if i but turn a breath against malquhar and sometimes you wrong me, forgetting that I also am your friend. Her eyes were quick to flash over him, to mark how stiffly and awkwardly he stood and could not look at her. My duty to the emperor,

she said softly, and my love cannot blind me to his weakness now. Come, Lord Baltasar, to you also it is weakness. Even your loyalty must admit, we lose the time. The Pope says, come. The king of the Lombards will acknowledge my lord his sooth reign, and here we stay in Frankfurt, waiting for the winter to cut off the Alps. Sir Tays, he is wrong, frowned the margrave. Wrong. If I were he, I would be emperor in good sooth, and all the world should know that I ruled in Rome. She drew up. She drew a a long breath. Strange, that we, his friend, and his wife, cannot persuade him. The nobles are on our side also. Save Hugh of Rousselaeré, who is ever at his ear, answered Balthasar. He brings him to

stay in Germany. The Lord of Rousselaeré, echoed the Empress. His daughter was your wife? I never saw her, he interrupted quickly, and she died. Her father seems, therefore, to hate me. And me also, I think, though why I do not know, she smiled. His daughter's dead. Dead! Oh, we are very sure that she is dead. Sertes, she was as good as another, the Margrave spoke gloomily. Now I must wet again. the empress stared at him i did not think you considered that i must i am the margrave now isabel turned her head and fixed her eyes on the palace garden there is no lady worthy of your rank and at the same time free she said you have an heiress in your train princess jacobia of martzburg i have thought of her can you think of her she is near as tall as you margrave and not fair oh a gentle fool enough but-but she looked over her shoulder am i not your lady

ay and ever will be he answered lifting his bright blue eyes i wear your favour i do battle for you in the joust you are my queen of love i make my prayers in your prayers in your name and am your servant, princess. Well, you need not a wife, she bit her lips to keep them still. Sertes, answered Balthasar wonderingly, a knight must have a wife besides a lady, since his lady is oft-times the spouse of another, and his highest thought is to touch her gown, but a wife is to keep his castle and do his service. The empress twisted her fingers in and out her girdle. I had rather, she cried passionately, be wife than lady. Ye are both, he answered flushing, the emperor's wife and my lady. She gave him a curious glance. Sometimes I think you are a fool, yet maybe it is only that I am not used to the north.

How you would show in Byzantium my cold margrave? And she leant across the gold and red cushions towards him. Sir Tays, you shall have your long straight maiden. I think her heart is as chill as yours. He moved away from her. He shall not mock me, princess, he said fiercely. My heart is hot enough. Let me be.

She laughed at him. Are you afraid of me? Why do you move away? Come back and I will recount you the praises of Jacobia of Mardsburg. He gave her a sullen look. No more of her. And yet your heart is hot enough? Not with the thought of her.

God knows. But the empress pressed her hands together and slowly rose, looking past Balthasar at the door. Malquhar, we speak of you, she said. The Margrave turned. The emperor, Velvet Shod, was softly entering. He glanced gravely at his wife and smilingly at Baltasar. We speak of you, repeated Isabel, dark-eyed and flushed, of you, and Rome. Melchre of Brabant, third of his name, austere, reserved, proud, and cold, looked more like a knight of the church than king of Germany and emperor of the west. It was plainly habited, his dark hair cut close,

his handsome, slightly haughty face composed and stern. Too earnest was he to be showily attractive, yet many men adored him, among them, Balthasar of Corté, for in himself the emperor was both brave and lovable. Cannot you have done with Rome, he asked sadly, while his large, intelligent eyes rested affectionately on the margrave? Is Frankfurt grown so distasteful? Sertes, no, Lord Melquire, it is the chance, the chance! The Emperor sank in a weary manner on to a seat. Hugh of Rousselaeré and I have spoken together, and we have agreed Balthasar not to go to Rome.

The Empress stiffened and dropped her lids. The Margrave turned swiftly to face his master, and all the colour was dashed out of his fresh face. Malcour smiled gently. My friend, ye are an adventurer. and think of the glory to be gained. But I must think of my people who need me here. The land is not fit to leave. It will need many men to hold Rome. We must drain the land of knights, ring money from the poor, tax the churches, leave Germany defenseless, a prey to the Franks, and this for the empty

title of Emperor. Balthasar's breast heaved. Is this? Is this? your decision? The Emperor answered gravely, I do not think it God, his wish, that I should go to Rome. The Margrave bent his head and was silent, but Isabel flung her clear voice into the pause. In Constantinople, a man such as you would not long fill a throne. Ere now you had been a blinded monk and I free to choose another husband. emperor rose from his seat. The woman raves, he said to the pale margrave. Be gone, Baltasar. The German left them. When his heavy footfall had died into silence, Melchor looked at his

wife, and his eyes flashed. "'God forgive my father,' he said bitterly, for tying me to this eastern sheikad. "'I was meant for a man's mate,' she cried fiercely, for a Caesar's wife. i would they had flung me to a foot-boy sooner than given me to thee thou trembling woman's soul thou hast repaid the injury answered the emperor sternly by the great unhappiness i have in thee my life is not sweet with thee nor easy i would thou hast less beauty and more gentleness i am gentle enough when i choose she mocked baltasar and the court think me a loving wife It is most true, none save I know you for the thing you are, heartless, cruel, fierce and hard. She came swiftly across the floor to him. Have you any courage, any blood in you? Will you go to Rome?

To please your wanton ambition, I will do nothing, nor will I for any reason go to Rome. Isobo quivered like an infuriated animal. I will talk no more of it, said Melquhar, coldly and wearily. Too often do we waste ourselves in such words as these. I am ashamed to call you Lord, she said hoarsely, humbled before every woman in the kingdom who sees her husband brave at least, while I know you coward. Hark to me, my wife, I am your master and the master of this land. I will not be insulted, nay. nor flouted by your stinging tongue. Hold me in what contempt ye will. You shall not voice it, by St. George, no.

Not if I have to take the whip to hold you dumb. Oh, a Christian knight, she jeered. I loath your church, as I loath you. I am not Isabeau, but still Marosia porphyrogenita. Do not remind me thy father was a stableman and a murderer, said Malcolm. nor that I caused thee to change and name the woman of thy line had made a cursed. Would I could send thee back to Ravenna, for thou hast brought me not but bitterness. Be careful, breathed Isabel. Be careful. Stand out of my way, he commanded. For answer,

she loosened the heavy girdle round her waist. He saw her purpose and caught her hands. you shall not strike me the links of gold hung from her helpless fingers while she gazed at him with brilliant eyes would you have struck me yea across your mouth she answered now were you a man you would kill me He took the belt from her arm, releasing her. That you should trouble me, he said wearily. At this she stood aside to let him pass. He turned to the door, and as he lifted the tapestry flung down her belt, the empress crept along the floor, snatched it up and stood still panting. Before the passion had left her face, the hangings were stirred again.

one of her chamberlains. Princess, there is a young doctor below, desires to see you. Constantine, his name, of Frankfurt College. Oh, said Isabel, a guilty color touched her whitened cheek. I know nothing of him, she added quickly. Pardon, Princess. He says, tis to decipher an old writing you have sent to him. His words are, when you see you see,

him, you will remember. The blood burnt more brightly still under the exquisite skin. Bring him here, she said. But even as the Chamberlain moved aside, the slender figure of Dirk appeared in the doorway. He looked at her, smiling calmly, his scholar's cap in his hand. Do you remember me? he asked. The Empress moved her head in assent. End of Section 15, recording by Molly Craig. Section 16 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 16, The Quarle.

Dirk Ranswode laid down the pen and pushed aside the parchment and lifted heavy eyes with a sigh of weariness. It was midday and very hot. The witches' red roses were beginning. to shed their petals and disclose their yellow hearts, and the leaves of the great trees that shaded the house were curling and yellowing in the fierce sun. From his place at the table,

Dirk could mark these signs of autumn without. Yet, by the look in his eyes, it seemed that he saw neither trees nor flowers, but only some image evoked by his thoughts. Presently, he picked up the quill. bit the end of it, frowned, and laid it down. Then he started and looked round with some eagerness, for a light sound broke the sleepy stillness.

The door opened, and before his expectant gaze, Thierry appeared. Dirk flushed and smiled. Well met, he said, I have much to say to you. And I am come because I also have much to say. speak then he returned to his seat took his face between his two delicate hands and rested his elbows on the table i was writing my lecture for to-night surtees i shall be glad of a diversion there is no need to make an adieu tirri began obviously with an effort i am not going on with you you are not going on repeated dirk well your reasons "'May God forgive me what I have done,' cried Thiery in great agitation, "'but I will sin no more. I have resolved it, and ye cannot tempt me.'

"'And all you swore to me?' demanded Dirk. His eyes narrowed, but he remained composed. "'No man is bound to bargains with the devil. I have been weak and wicked, but I mingle no more in your fiendish counsels. This is for Jacobia of Mardsburg's sake. It is for her sake, because of her that I am here now to tell you I have done with it, done with you. Dirk dropped his hands on to the table. Therri! Tierry! he cried wildly and sorrowfully.

I have measured, the temptation, said Tiree. I have thought of the gain. the loss, I have put it aside, with God's help, and hers. I will not aid you in the way you asked me, nor will I see it done. And ye call that virtue, cried Dirk. Poor fool, all it amounts to is that you, alas, love the Chattelaine. Nay, he answered hotly, it is that, having seen her, I would not be vile. you meditate a dastard thing the emperor is a noble knight ambrose of manfom was a holy monk retorted dirk who choked the pious words in his throat yoris of thurringa was an innocent youth who sent him to a hideous death i cried thiris fiercely but always with you to goad me on before the devil sent you across my way i had never touched sin

save in dim thoughts. But you, with talk of friendship, lured me from an honest man's company, to poison me with forbidden knowledge, to tempt me into hideous blasphemies, and I will have no more of it. Yet you vowed comradeship with me, said Dirk. Is your loyalty of such quality? Thiery sprang violently from his chair and paced heavily up and down the room. You blinded me, I knew not what I did, but now I know. When I heard her speak, and heard that you had dared to try to trap her to destruction, Dirk interrupted with a low laugh, So she told you that!

But I warranted that she was dumb about the nature of her temptation. That is no matter, answered Thierry. Now she is free of you, as I shall be. As you vowed to her, you will. would be, added Dirk. Well, go your way. I thought you loved me a little. But the first woman's face. Thiris stood still to front him.

I cannot love that which I fear. Dirk went swiftly, very pale. Do you fear me, Thierie? he asked wistfully. A, you know too much of Satan's lore. More than you ever taught me. He shuddered uncontrollably. There are things in this very house. What do you mean?

What do you mean? Dirk rose in his place. Who is the woman? whispered Tiri fearfully. There is a woman here. In this house there are none save Natalie and me, answered Dirk on the defensive. His eyes dark and glowing.

There you lie to me. The last time I was here, I turned back swiftly on leaving, but found the door bolted. the lights out, all save one, in the little chamber next to this. I watched at the window and saw a gorgeous room and a woman, a winged woman. You dream, answered Dirk in a low voice. Do you think I have enough power to raise such shapes?

I think twas some love of yours from hell whence you came. My love is not in hell, but on the earth. earth, answered Durk quietly. Yet shall we go together into the pit? As for the woman, it was a dream. There is no gorgeous chamber there. He crossed the room and flung open a little door in the wall. See, old Natalie's closet full of herbs and charms. Tiri peered into an ill-lit apartment, filled with shelves containing jars and bottles. The enchantment that could bring the woman could change the room, he muttered, unconvinced. Dirk gave a slow, strange look.

Was she beautiful? A, but... More beautiful than Jacobia of Martsburg? Tilly laughed. I cannot compare Satan's handmaiden with a lily from paradise. Dirk closed the closet door. Tilly, he said falteringly. Do not leave the...

me. You are the only thing in all the universe can move me to joy or pain. I love you utterly. Out on such affection that would steal my soul. You do not know how dear I hold you, insisted Dirk in a trembling voice. Come back to me and I will let your lady be. She can scorn ye, defy ye as I do now. Will she? "'Sir Tays, I wonder, will she?' he cried. "'You will have none of me, you say. "'You reject me. "'But for how long?'

"'For ever,' answered Thiery hoarsely. "'Or until Jacobia of Martesburg falls?' "'Tiris swung round. "'That leaves it still forever.' "'Maybe.' "'However, only for a few poor weeks "'your lily is very. very fragile, Therie, so look to see it broken in the mud.

If you harm her, cried Tyri fiercely, if you blast her with your hellish spells. Nay, I will not. Of herself she shall come to ruin. When that is, I will return to you. So, farewell forever. Wait, Dirk called to him. What of this that you know of me? Tiri paused. So much I owe you that I should be silent. Since if you speak you bring to light your own history, smiled Dirk. But about the emperor? God helping me, I will prevent that. How will you prevent it? Dirk asked quietly. Would you betray me as a first offering to your outraged God? Tiri pressed his hand to his brow. Tilly pressed his hand to his brow. in a bewildered troubled manner.

No. No, not that, but I will take occasion to warn him, to warn someone of the Empress. Dirk hunched his shoulders scornfully. Ah, be gone. You are a foolish creature. Go and put them on their guard.

Tyree flushed. A, I will, he answered hotly. I know one honest man about the court. hugh of russelaerry a quick change came over dirk's face the lord of russelari he said i should remember him certais his daughter was baltasar's wife ursala warn whom you will say what you will save if ye can melchre of brabant begone see i seek not to detain you one day you shall come back to me when yon you shall come back to me when yon on soft saint fails, and I shall be waiting for you. Till then, farewell. Their eyes met. Therese were the first to falter. He muttered something like a malediction on himself, lifted the latch, and strode away. Dirk had not been long alone when the door was pushed open,

and Natalie crept in. The witch came to the table, took up the youth's passive hand and fond over it. Let him go, she said in an insinuating voice. He is a fool. Why, I have put no strain on him to stay, Dirk smiled faintly, but he will return. Nay, pleaded Natalie, forget him. Forget him, repeated Dirk mournfully, but I love him. Natalie stroked the still, slim fingers anxiously. This affection will be your ruin, she moaned. Dirk gazed past her at the autumn sky and the overblown red roses. Well, if it be so, he said pantingly, it will be his ruin also. He must go with me when I leave the world.

The world! After all, Natalie, he turned his strange gaze on the witch. It does not matter if she hold him here so long as he is mine through eternity. His lips flushed and quivered. The long lashes drooped over his eyes, then suddenly he smiled. Natalie, he has good intentions. He hopes to save the Emperor. The witch blinked up at him. But is it too late? Sir Tays, I conveyed the potion to Isabel this morning, and Dirk's smile deepened. End of Section 16, recording by Molly Craig. Section 17 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 17, The Murder Balthasar, said the emperor in pity of his friend's sullen face. I will send ye to Rome to make treaty with the Pope, since it goes so heavily with you to stay in Frankfurt? The Margrave bit the ends of his yellow hair and made no answer. The Empress half lay along the seat against the wall. On low stools near her sat her maidens sewing,

three of them, embroidering between them, a strip of scarlet silk. It was the dining hall. The table laid already with rudely magnificent covers. "'Nay, be pleasant with me,' smiled the emperor. He laid his arm affectionately round the Margrave's huge shoulders. "'Sir Tays, since I took this resolution not to go to Rome, I have not but sour looks from all save Hugh.'

Balthasar's good-humoured face cleared, "'Ye are wrong, my prince, but God what? I am not angered. We can manage without Rome.' He heroically stifled his sigh. And who knows that ye may not change yet, he added cheerfully. Isabel looked at them as they paced up and down, their arms about each other. Her husband seemed not to know of her presence, but the Margrave was hotly conscious of her eyes upon him.

And though he would not turn his upon her, nevertheless she marked it, and in a half-smiling way came and lent on the table that divided them surely we are late to-night said the emperor yea answered baltasar i do not love to wait he stopped to pour himself a tankard of amber wine and drank it at a draught isob watched him will not my lord also drink she asked the fingers of her right hand were hidden in a cluster of red roses. With her left hand, she raised a chaste flagon in which the sunlight burnt and sparkled. As you please, Princess, answered Malquhar, and gazed towards the light indifferently. You might have poured for me, murmured the margrave in a half voice. Her hand came from the roses and touched a horn glass bound with silver. It lingered there a moment,

then rose to her bosom. Balthasar, absorbing her face, did not notice the gesture. Another time, she answered, I will serve you, Balthasar of Cotrég. She filled the glass until wine bubbled at the brim. Give it to my lord, she said. Balthasar laughed uneasily. Their fingers touched upon the glass, and a few drops were spilt. Take care, cried the empress. Malquhar turned and took the goblet. Why did you say, take care? he asked. Between us, we upset the wine, said Isabel. Melchard drank.

It has an ugly taste, he said. She laughed. Is it the cup-bearer, perchance? The emperor drank again, then set it down. I say it is strange. Taste it, Baltasar. In an instant the empress, intervened. Nay, she caught up the glass with a movement swifter than the margraves,

since I poured the fault, if fault there be, is mine. Give it to me, cried Balthasar, but she made a quick motion aside. The glass slipped from her fingers and the wine was lost on the floor. As Balthasar stooped to pick up the goblet, the emperor smiled. I warn you of that flagon, Margrave. The pages and varlets entered with the meats and set them on the table. They who sat at the emperor's board came to take their places. Tir followed his master and fixed quick eyes on the emperor.

He knew that Malquhar had been abroad all day at the hunt and could not have long returned. Hardly could their designs upon him be put in practice tonight. After the supper, he meant to speak to Hugh of Rousseau. this as an earnest of his final severance with dirk as a beautiful shining crowd settled to their seats the young secretary whose place was behind his master's chair took occasion to note carefully the lord who was to receive his warning thirie marked the empress sitting languorously and stripping a red rose of its petals malquhar austere composed as always baltasar gay and noisy then he turned his gaze on hue of that noble sat close to the emperor thiris had not so far studied his personal appearance though acquainted with his reputation there was something in the turn of his features the prominent chin dark clear eyes pale complexion and resolute set of the mouth that gradually teased trehi as he gazed the whole expression reminded him of another face seen under different circumstances whose he could not determine suddenly the lord of russelaerie becoming aware of this scrutiny

turned his singularly intent eyes in the direction of the young scholar at once thirie had it he placed the likeness in this manner had dirk ranswold often looked at him him. The resemblance was unmistakable, if elusive. This man's face was, of necessity, sterner, darker, older, and more set. He was of larger make, moreover, than dirt could ever be. His nose was heavier, his jaw more square, yet the likeness once noticed could not be again overlooked. It strangely discomposed Tyree. he felt he could not take his warning to one who had dirk's trick of the intense gaze an inscrutable set of the lips he considered if there were not some one else let him go straight away he thought to the emperor himself his reflections were interrupted by a little movement near the table a pause in the converse all eyes were turned to melchre of he leant back in his seat and stared before him as if he saw a sight of horror at the other end of the table he was quite pale his mouth open his lips strained and purplish the empress sprang up from beside him and caught his arm

Melquhar, she shrieked. Hesu, he does not hear me. The emperor moved faintly, like one struggling hopelessly underwater. Melchre! The Margrave pushed back his chair and seized his friend's cold hand. Do you not hear us? Will you not speak? Balthasar!

The emperor's voice came as if from depths of distance. I am bewitched. Isobo shrieked. and beat her hands together. Malcour sank forward, while his face glistened with drops of agony. He gave a low, crying sound, and fell across the table. With an instantaneous movement of fright and horror,

the company rose from their seats and pressed towards the emperor. But the Margrave shouted at them, Stand back! Would you stifle him? He is not dead, nor, God be thanked, Dying! He lifted up the unconscious man and gazed eagerly into his face. As he did so, his own blanched, despite his brave words. Malquhar's eyes and cheeks had fallen hollow. A ghastly hue overspread his features. His jaw dropped and his lips were cracked as if his breath burnt the blood. We must take him hence, said Hugh of Rousselaerie, with authority.

help me margrave he forced his way to baltasar's side the empress had fallen to her husband's feet a gleam of white and silver against the dark trappings of the throne what shall i do she moaned what shall i do the lord of russelaerie glanced at her fiercely ceased to whine and bring hither a physician and a priest he commanded isabel crouched away from him and her purple eyes blazed. The Margrave and Hugh lifted the emperor between them. There was a swaying confusion as chair and seats were pulled out. Lights swung higher and a passage forced through the bewildering crowd for the two nobles and their burden. Some flung open the door of the winding stairway that ascended to the emperor's bedchamber, and slowly, with difficulty, Melchoir of Brabant was born up the narrow steps. Isabel rose to her feet and watched it. She considered a moment, then ran across the room and followed swiftly after the cumbrous procession. It was now a quarter of an hour since the emperor had fainted,

and the hall was left, empty. Only Thierry remained, staring about him with six, eyes. He crossed to the emperor's seat where the gorgeous cushions were thrown to right and left. In Isobo's place lay a single red rose, half stripped of its leaves, a great cluster of red roses on the floor beside it. This was confirmation. He did not think there was any other place in Frankfurt where grew such blooms. So he was too late. Dirk might well defy him, knowing that he would be too late his resolution was very quickly taken he would be utterly silent not by a word or a look would he betray what he knew since it would be useless what could save the emperor now it was one thing to give warning of evil projected another to reveal evil performed besides he told himself the empress and her faction would be at once in power.

Dirk, a high favorite. He backed fearfully from the red roses, glowing somberly by the empty throne, and reflected eagerly on how this affected him and Jacobia of Martzburg. To the man, dying miserably above, he gave no thought at all. The woman who waited impatiently

for her husband's death to put his friend in his place, he did not consider, nor did the fate of the kingship trouble him. He pictured Dirk as triumphant, potent, the close ally of the wicked empress, and he shivered for his own treasured soul that he had just snatched from perdition. He knew he could not fight nor face Dirk triumphant, armed with success, and his outlook narrowed to the one idea. Let me get away. But where? Martsburg?

Would the chattelaine let him follow her? It was too near Bal. He clasped his hands over his hot brow, calling on Jacobia. As he dallied and trembled with his fears and terrors, one entered the hall from the little door leading to the emperor's chamber. Hugh of Rousselaerie.

holding a lamp. A feverish feeling of guilt made Thierry draw back. The Lord of Rousselaeré held up the lamp, glanced down and along the empty seats, then noticed the crimson flowers by Isabel's chair, and picked them up. As he raised his head, his grey eyes caught Tyree's glance. Ah, the Queen's Chamberlain's scrivener, he said. Do you chance to know how these roses came here? nay answered tierie hastily i could not know they do not grow in the palace garden remarked hugh he laid them on the throne and walked the length of the table scrutinizing the dishes and goblets in the flare of flambeau and candles there was no need for his lamp but he continued to hold it aloft as if he hoped it held some special power suddenly he stopped and called to tiari in his quix in his quix and called to tiari in his quix in his quix and he stopped and called to tiari in his quix in his quix and he continued to hold it quiet, commanding way. The young man obeyed unwillingly. Look at that, said Hugh of Rousselaeré grimly. He pointed to two small marks in the table,

black holes in the wood. Burns, said Thiery with pale lips, from the candles lord. Candles do not burn in such a fashion. As he spoke, Hugh came round the table and cast the lamplight over the shadowed floor. What is that? He bent down before the window. Thirri saw that he motioned to a great scar in the board, as if fire had been flung

and had bitten into the wood before extinguished. The lord of Rousselaeré lifted a grim face. I tell you the flames that made that mark are now burning the heart and blood out of Melquhar of Brabant. Do not say that.

Do not speak. speak so loud, cried Thierry desperately. It cannot be true. Hugh set his lamp upon the table. I am not afraid of the Eastern Witch, he said sternly. The man was my friend, and she has bewitched and poisoned him. Now, God hear me, and you, Scrivener, mark my vow, if I do not publish this before the land. A new hope rose in Tyree's heart. If this Lord would denounce the Empress, power was hers, if her guilt could be brought home before all men, yet through no means of his own, why she and Dirk might be defeated yet. Well, he said hoarsely, make haste lord, for when the breath is out of the emperor it is too late. She will have means to silence you, and even now, be careful,

she has many champions. Hugh of Rousselaerie smiled slowly. You speak wisely, Scrivener, and know, I think, something. Hereafter, I shall question you. Thiery made a gesture for silence. A heavy step sounded on the stair, and Balthasar, pallid,

but still magnificent, swept into the room. A great war-sword clattered after him. him. He wore a gorgiate and carried his helmet. His blue eyes were wild in his colorless face. He gave Hugh a look of some defiance. Malquhar is dying, he said, his tone rough with emotion, and I must go look after the soldiery or some adventurer will seize the town. Dying, repeated Hugh, who is with him? The Empress, they have sent for the bishop, until he come, none is to enter the chamber. By whose command? By the order of the empress. Yet, I will go. The soldier paused at the doorway. Well, ye were his friend, be like she will let you in.

He swung away with a chink of steel. Be like she will not, said Hugh, but I can make the endeavor. With no further glance at the shuddering young man who held himself rigid against the wall, Hugh of Rousselaerry ascended to the Emperor's chamber. He found the ante-room crowded with courtiers and monks. The Emperor's door was closed, and before it stood two black mutes brought by the Empress from Greece. Hugh touched a black-robed brother on the arm. By what authority are we excluded from the Emperor's deathbed? Several answered him. The Queen. She claims to know as much of medicine as any.

of the physicians. She is in possession. Hugh shouldered his way through them. Certes, I must see him, and her. But not one stepped forward to aid or encourage. Melchre was beyond protecting his adherence. He was no longer emperor, but a man who might be reckoned with the dead. The Empress and Baltasar of Corteg had already seized the governance, and who dared interfere. The great nobles even held themselves in reserve and were silent. But Hugh of Rousselaerie's blood was up. He had always held Isabel vile, nor had he any love for the margrave whose masterful hand he saw in this. Since none of you will stand by me, he cried, speaking aloud to the throng, I will by myself enter and by myself take the consequences.

He advanced to the door with his sword drawn and ready, and the crowd drew back, neither supporting nor preventing. The slaves closed together, and made a gesture warning him to retire. He seized one by his guilt collar and swung him violently against the wall. Then, while the other crouched in fear, he opened the door and strode into the emperor's bedchamber. It was a low room, hung with cross. gold and brown tapestry. The windows were shut and the air faint. The bed stood against the wall and the heavy dark curtains looped back, revealed Melchre of Brabant, lying in his clothes on the coverlet, with his throat bare and his eyes staring across the room. A silver lamp stood on a table by the

window and its faint radiance was the only light. On the steps of the bed stood Isabel. her white dress she had flung a long scarlet cloak and her pale bright hair had fallen on to her shoulders at the sight of hugh she caught hold of the bed-hangings and gazed at him fiercely he sheathed his sword as he came across the room "'Princess, I must see the Emperor,' he said sternly. "'He will see no man. "'He knows none, nor can he speak,' she answered, "'her bearing prouder, and more assured than he had ever known it. "'Get you gone, sir. "'I know not how ye forced an entry.'

"'You have no power to keep the nobles from their lord,' he replied, "'nor will I take your bidding. "'I will have you put without, the doors if you so disturbed the dying. But Hugh of Rousselaerri advanced to the bed. Let me see him, he demanded. He speaks to me. The Empress drew the curtain, further concealing the dying man. He speaks to none. Be gone. As she spoke, Hugh sprang lightly and suddenly onto the steps, pushed aside the slight figure of the Empress and caught back the curtains. Melchre, he cried, and snatched up the emperor by the shoulders.

He is dead, breathed the empress. With a slow step, she went to the table and seated herself beside the silver lamp, while she uttered sigh on sigh and clasped her hands over her eyes. Then the hot stillness began to quiver with the distant sound of numerous bells. They were holding service for the dying in every church, in Frankfurt. The emperor stirred in Hugh's arms. Without opening his eyes, he spoke. Pray for me, Baltazar. They did not slay me honorably. He raised his hands to his heart, to his lips, moaned and sank from Hugh's arm to the pillow. Kia, Apudominum

misericordia, and copiaa sa apudium, he murmured. redemptio flushed hugh amen moaned melchre of brabant and so died for a moment the chamber was silent save for the insistent bells then hugh turned his white face from the dead and isobo shivered to her feet call in the others murmured the empress since he is dead A, I will call in the others, thou Eastern witch, and show them the man thou hast murdered. She stared at him a moment, her face like a mask of ivory set in the glittering hair. Murdered, she said at last. Murdered. He fingered his sword fiercely, and it shall be my duty to see you brought to the stake for this night's work. She gave a shriek and ran towards the door. Before she reached it, it was flung open, and Balthasar of Cortreg sprang into the room.

You called? He panted, his eyes blazing on Hugh of Rousselaerri. Yes, he is dead, Melchre is dead, and this lord says I slew him. Balthasar, answer for me! Sir Tays, cried Hugh, a fitting one to speak for you, your accomplice. With a short sound of rage, the margrave dragged out his sword and struck the speaker a blow across the breast with the flat of it. So ho, he shouted, it pleases you to lie? He yelled to his men without, and the death chamber was filled with a clatter of arms that drowned

the mournful peals of the bells. Take away this lord on my authority. Hugh drew his sword, to have it wrenched away. The soldiers closed round him and swept their prisoner from the chamber, while Baltasar, flushed and furious, watched him dragged off. I always hated him, he said. Isabel fell on her knees and kissed his mailed feet. Malquhar is dead, and I have no champion save you. The Margrave stooped and raised her, his face burning with blushes till it was. like a great rose. Isabel, Isabel, he stammered. She struggled out of his arms. Nay, not now, she whispered in a stifled voice. Not now can I speak to you, but afterwards, my lord, my lord. She went to the bed and flung herself across the steps, her face hidden in her hands.

Balthasar took off his helmet, crossed himself, and humbly bent his grower. great head. Melquhar the fourth lay stiffly on the lily sewn coverlet, and without the great bells told and the monks chant rose, di profundes. End of section 17, recording by Molly Craig. Section 18 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 18, The Pursuit of Jacobia The Chattelaine of Mardsburg sat in the best guest chamber of a wayside hostel that lay a few hours journeying from her home. So swiftly had she fled from Frankfurt that its last scenes were still before her eyes, like a gorgeous and disjointed pageant. The emperor stricken down at the feast. The brief

flashing turmoil, Isabel's peerless face that her own horrid thoughts colored with a sinister expression. Balthasar of Cortegg bringing the city to his feet. Hugh of Rousselaeret snatched away to a dungeon, and over it all the leaping red light of a hundred flambeau. Presently, she passed into the little bedchamber and took up a mirror into which she gazed long and earnestly. Is it a wicked face? She answered herself. No, no. Is it a weak face? Alas! The wind rose higher, fluttered the lamp flame, and stirred the arras on the wall. And laying the mirror down, she returned to the outer chamber. Up and down walked Jacobia of of Martzburg, clasping and unclasping her soft young hands, her grey eyes turning from right to left.

She wished she had asked for a fire, and that she had kept one of the women to sleep with her. It was so lonely. She wanted to go to the door and call someone, but a curious heaviness in her limbs began to make movement irksome. She could no longer drag her steps, and with a sigh she sank into the frayed velvet chair by the fireplace. She tried to tell herself that she was free, that she was on her way to escape, but could not form the words on her lips. Hardly the thought. Her head throbbed, and a cold sensation gripped her heart. She moved in the chair, only to feel as if held down in it. She struggled in vain to rise. Barbara, she whispered, and thought she was calling aloud. Her brain whirled with memories, with anticipations and vague expectations, tinged with fear like the

sensations of a dream. She felt that she was sinking into soft, infolding darkness. The lamp flame changed into a five-pointed star that rested on a knight's helm. The sound of wind and rain became faint human cries. She whispered as the dying emperor had done, I am bewitched. Then the night, with the star glittering above his brow, came towards her and offered her a goblet. Sebastian, she cried, and sat up with a face of horror. The chamber was sped. spinning about her. She saw the knight's long painted shield and his bare hand holding out the wine. His visor was down. She shrieked and laughed together and put the goblet aside. Someone spoke out of the mystery. The empress found happiness. Why not you? May not a woman die as easily as a man?

She tried to remember her prayers, to find her crucifix. But the cold edge of the gold touched her lips, and she drank. The hot wine scorched her throat and filled her with strength. As she sprang up, the night star quivered back into the lamp flame. The vapors cleared from the room. She found herself staring at Dirk Renswode, who stood in the center of the room and smiled at her. Oh, she cried in a bewildered way, and put her hands to her forehead. said Dirk. He held a rich gold goblet, empty, and his was the voice she had already heard. Why did you leave Frankfurt? Jakobia shuddered. I do not know. Her eyes were blank and dull. I think I was afraid. Lest you might do as Isabel did? asked Dirk.

What has happened to me was all her answer. What of your steward? whispered. Dirk. I have no steward. I am going alone to Martzburg. Dirk set the goblet beside the lamp. The while he watched her intently with frowning eyes. What if Sebastian, he repeated, ye fled from him. But have ye ceased to think of him? No, said the Shattelaine of Bartzburg. No, day and night, what is God that he lets a man's face to come between me and him? The Emperor is dead, said Dirk. Is dead, she repeated.

Isabel knows how. Ah, she whispered. I think I knew it. Shall the Empress be happy and you starve your heart to death? Jacobia sighed. Sebastian. Sebastian! She had the look of one walking in sleep.

What is Sibylla to you? His wife, answered Jacobia, in the same tone, his wife. The dead do not bind the living. Jacobia laughed. No, no, how cold it is here. Do you not feel the wind across the floor? Her fingers wandered aimlessly over her bosom. Sibylla is dead, you say. Nay, Sibylla might die so easily. Jacobya laughed again. Isobo did it. She is young and fair. she said, and she could do it, why not I? But I cannot bear to look on death. Her expressionless eyes turned on Dirk still in sightless fashion. A word, said Dirk, that is all your part. Send him ahead to

Martsburg. Jacobya nodded aimlessly. Why not? Why not? Sibylla would be in bed, lying awake, listening to the wind as I have done so often, and he would come up the steep, dark stairs. Oh, and she would raise her head, Dirk put in. Has the Chattelaine spoken? She would say, and he would make an end of it. Perhaps she would be glad to die, said Jacobia dreamily. I have thought that I should be glad to die. And Sebastian, said Dirk. Her strangely altered face lit and changed. Does he care for me? She asked piteously.

Enough to make life and death of little moment, answered Dirk. Has he not followed you from Frankfurt? Followed me, murmured Jacobia. I thought he had forsaken me. Sebastian, said Dirk softly. He waved his little hand, and the steward appeared in the dark doorway of the inner room. He looked from one,

to the other swiftly, and his face was flushed and dangerous. Sebastian, said Jacobia, there was no change in voice nor countenance. He came across the room to her, speaking as he came, but a sudden fresh gust of wind without, scattered his words. Have you followed me? she asked. Yay, he answered hoarsely, staring at her. He had not dreamed a living face could look so. white as hers. No, nor dead face either. He dropped to one knee before her and took her limp hand.

She bent forward, and with her other hand touched his tumbling hair. Lord of Mardsburg, and my lord, she said and smiled sweetly. Do you know how much I love you, Sebastian? Why, you must ask the image of the Virgin I have told her so often, and know, no, one else. Nay, no one else. Sebastian sprang to his feet. Oh, God, he cried. I am ashamed. Ye have bewitched her. She knows not what she says. Dirk turned on him fiercely. Did ye not curse me when ye thought she had escaped? Did I not swear to recover her for you? Is she not yours? St. Gabriel cannot save her now. If she had not said that, muttered Sebastian. He turned, distracted eyes upon her standing with no change in her expression,

the tips of her fingers resting on the table, her wide grey eyes gazing before her. Fool, answered Dirk. And she did not love you? What chance had you? I left my fortunes to help you to this prize, and I will not see you palter now. Lady, speak to him. A, speak to me. cried Sebastian earnestly. Tell me if it be your wish that I, at all costs, should become your husband. Tell me if it is your will that the woman in our way should go. A slow passion stirred the calm of her face. Her eyes glittered. Yes, she said, yes. Jacobia! He took her arm and drew her close to him. Look me in the face and repeat that to you. me. Think if it is worth hell to you and me. She gazed up at him, then hid her face on his sleeve.

A, hell, she answered heavily. Go to Martsburg tonight. She cannot claim you when she is dead. How I have striven not to hate her, my lord, my husband. He put her from him into the worn old chair. I will come back to you, tomorrow. The wind rushed between them and made the lamp flame leap wildly. Make haste, cried Dirk. Away! The horses below! Sebastian opened the door onto the dark stairway and went softly out. Now it is done, murmured Dirk, in a swelling whisper, and she is lost. He snatched up the lamp, and holding it aloft, looked down and, looked down, at the drooping figure in the chair. Jacobia's head sank back against the tarnished velvet.

There was a smile on her white lips, and her hand rested in her lap. Even with Dirk's intent face bending over her and the full light pouring down on her, she did not look up. Gold hair and grey eyes and her little feet, murmured Dirk, one of God's own flowers. What are you now?

jacobia moved in her seat is he gone she asked fearfully surte's he has gone smiled dirk would you have him dally on such an errand jacobia rose swiftly and stood a moment listening to the unhappy wind i thought he was here she said under her breath i thought that he had come at last he came said dirk the chatelaine looked swiftly round at his head him. There was a dawning knowledge in her eyes. Who are you? she demanded, and her voice had lost its calm. What has happened? Do you not remember me? smiled Durk. Jacobia staggered back. Why, she stammered. He was here, down at my feet, and we spoke about Sibylla. And now, said Dirk, he is gone to free you of Sibylla as you bid him. As I bid him? At this moment he rides to Martzburg on this service of yours, and I must be gone to Frankfurt where my fortunes wait. For you, these words, should you meet again

one Tyree, a pretty scholar, do not pray to him of God and judgment, nor try to act the saint. Let him alone. He is no matter of yours, and maybe some woman cares for him. him as ye care for Sebastian, A, and will hold him, though she have not yellow hair. You are the devil, she shrieked, I have delivered myself unto the devil! She beat her hands together and fell towards his feet. Dirk stepped close and peered curiously into her unconscious face. Why she is not so fair, he murmured, and grief will spoil her bloom, and twas only her face he loved. He extinguished the lamp and smiled into the darkness.

He drew the curtain away from the deep-set window, and the moon, riding the storm clouds like a silver-armoured Amazon, cast a ghastly light over the huddled figure of Jacobia of Mardsburg, and through her shadow dark and trailing across the cold floor. Dirk left the chamber and the hostel unseen and unheard. The wind made too great a clamor for stray sounds to tell. Out in the wild, wet night, he paused a moment to get his bearings, then turned towards the shed where he and Sebastian had left the horses.

There were the Chattelaine's horses asleep in their stalls. Here was his own, but the place beside it where Sebastian's steed had waited was empty. Dirk, shivering a little in the tempest, unfastened his horse, and was prepared to depart when a near sound arrested him. Someone was moving in the straw at the back of the shed. Dirk listened, his hand on the bridle, till a moonbeam striking across his shoulder, revealed a cloaked figure rising from the ground.

The stranger got to his feet. I have but taken shelter here, sir, he said, deeming it too late to rouse the hostel. "'Tierry!' cried Dirk, and laughed excitedly. "'Now this is strange!' The figure came forward. "'Tierry, yes, have you followed me?' He exclaimed wildly, and his face showed drawn and wan in the silver light.

"'I left Frankfurt to escape you. "'What fiend's trick has brought you here?' "'Are you afraid of me? Tirie,' Dirk asked mournfully. "'Sir Tais, there is no need.' But Thiery cried out at him with the fierceness of one at bay. Be gone! I want none of you, nor of your kind. I know how the emperor died, and I fled from a city where such as you came to power. A, even as Jacobia of Martzburg did, I am come after her. And where think you to find her? asked Dirk. By now she is at Baal.

Are ye not afraid to go to Baal? "'Tierry trembled and stepped back into the shadows of the shed. "'I want to save my soul. "'No, I am not afraid. "'If need be, I will confess.' "'Dirk laughed. "'At the shrine of Jacobia of Martsburg? "'Look to it, she be not trampled in the mire by then.

"'You lie! "'You malign her!' cried the other in strong agitation. "'But Dirk turned on him with imperious sternness. I did not leave Frankfurt on a fool's errand. I was triumphant, at the high tide of my fortunes, my foot on Isobo's neck. I had good reason to have left this alone. Come with me to Mardsburg and see my work, and know the saint you worship. Is the Chattelaine there? If not yet she will be soon. Take one of these horses, he added. I know not your meaning, answered Thiery fearfully, but my road was to Martzburg.

I mean to pray Jacobia, who left without a word to me, to give me some small place in her service. Be like she will, mocked Dirk. Impatiently and feverishly, Thiery unfastened and prepared himself a mount. If ye have evil designs on her, he cried, be very sure ye will be defeated. for her strength is as the strength of angels. Dirk delicately guided his steed out of the shed. The moon had at last conquered the cloud battalions, and a clear cold light revealed the square, dark shape of the hostel,

the flapping sign, the bare pine trees, and the long glimmer of the road. Dirk's eyes turned to the blank window of the room where Jacobia lay, and he smiled wickedly. The night has cleared, he said, as Thierry, leading one of the Chattelaine's horses, came out of the stable, and we should reach Martzburg before the dawn. End of Section 18, recording by Molly Craig. Section 19 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Librevox recording is in the public domain.

Part 1, Chapter 19. Sibylla Sebastian paused on the steep dark stairs and listened. Castle Mardsburg was utterly silent. He knew that there were one or two servants only within the walls, and that they slept at a distance. He knew that his cautious entry by the dongendar door had made no sound, yet on every other step or so he stood still and listened. He had procured a light. It fluttered in danger of extinction in the drafty stairway, and he had to shield it with his hand. Once, when he stopped, he took from his belt the keys

that had gained him admission and slipped them into the bosom of his doublet. Hanging at his waist, they made a little jingling sound as he moved. When he gained the great hall, he opened the door, as softly and slowly as if he did not know, emptiness alone, awaited him the other side. He entered, and his little light only served to show the expanses of gloom. It was very cold. He could hear the rain falling in a thin stream from the lips of the gargoyles without. He remembered that same sound

on the night the two students took shelter. The night when the deed he was about to do had by a devil, in a whisper, being first put into his head. He crossed to the hearth and set the lamp in the knee. niche by the chimney piece. He wished there was a fire. Certainly it was cold. The dim rays of the lamp showed the ashes on the hearth, the cushions in the window seat, and something that even in that

dullness shone with fiery hue. Sebastian looked at it in a half-horror. It was Sabilla's red lily, finished and glowing from a samite cushion. By the side of it slept Jacobia's little gray cat. The steward, gazing in curiously intent fashion, recalled the fact that he had never conversed with his wife and never liked her. He could not tell of one sharp word between them, yet had she said she hated him, he would have felt no surprise. He wondered, in case he had ever loved her, would he have been here tonight on this errand? Lord of Martzburg, Lord of as fine a domain as any in the empire, with the chance of the imperial crown itself. Nay, had he loved his wife, it would have made no difference. What sorry fool even would let a woman interfere with a great destiny, Lord of Martzburg. With little reflection on the

inevitable for his wife, he fell to considering Jacobia. Until tonight she had been a cipher to him, that she favored him a mere voucher for his crime, for the procuring of this or that for him. A fact to be accepted and used, but that she should pray about him, speak as she had, that was another matter, and for the first time in his cold life he was both moved and ashamed. His thin dark face flushed. He looked askance at the red-lid. He looked askance at the red-lid. lily, and took the light from its niche. The shadows seemed to gather and throng out of the silence, bearing down on him and urging him forward. He found the little door by the fireplace open, and ascended the steep stone stairs to his wife's room. Here there was not even the drip of the rain,

or the wail of the wind to disturb the stillness. He had taken off his boots, and his silk-clad feet made no sound, but he could not hush the catch of his breath and the steady thump of his heart. When he reached her room, he paused again, and again listened. Nothing. How could there be? Had he not come so softly even the little cat had slept on undisturbed? He opened the door and stepped in. It was a small, low chamber. The windows were unshrouded and fitful moonlight played upon the floor. Sebastian looked at once towards the bed that stood to his left. It was hung with dark arras, now drawn back from the pillows. Seabilla was asleep. Her thick, heavy hair lay outspread under her cheek. Her flesh and the bedclothes were turned to one dazzling whiteness by the moon.

Worked into the coverlet that had slipped half to the polished floor were great wreaths of purple roses, showing dim yet gorgeous. Her shoes stood on the bed steps. Her clothes were flung over a chair. Nearby, a crucifix hung against the wall, with her brevery on a shelf beneath. The passing storm clouds cast luminous shadows across the chamber, but they were becoming fainter. The tempest was dying away. Sebastian put the lamp on a low coffer inside the door and advanced to the bed. A large dust, mirror hung beside the window, and in it he could see his wife again, reflected dimly in her ivory whiteness with the dark lines of her hair and brows. He came to the bedside so that his shadow was flung across her sleeping face. Sabilla, he said. Her regular breathing did not change.

Sibilla! Now she stirred. He heard her fetch a sigh as one who wakens reluctantly from soft dreams. you not hear me speak, Sabilla! From the bewildering glooms of the bed, he heard her silk, bedclothes, rustle, and slip. The moon came forth again, and revealed her sitting up, wide awake now, and staring at him. So you have come home, Sebastian, she said. Why did you rouse me? He looked at her in silence. She shook back her hair from her eyes. What is it? she asked softly. The emperor died, said Sebastian. I know. What is that to me? Bring the light, Sebastian.

I cannot see your face. There is no need. The emperor had not time to pray, and I would not deal so with you. Therefore, I woke you. Sebastian! By my mistress's commands, you must die tonight,

and by my desire I shall be Lord of Martzburg, and there is no other way. She put her hand to her long throat, I wondered if you would ever say this to me. I did not think so, for it did not enter my mind that she could give commands. Then you knew? Sibylla smiled. Before ever you did, Sebastian.

And I have so thought of it, in these long days when I have been alone. It seemed that I must sew it even into my embroidering. Jacobia loves Sebastian. He gripped the bedpost. I am not here to talk of that, answered Sebastian. nor have we long the dawn is not far off. Sabilla rose, letting her long feet on the bedstep. So I must die, she said, must die. Sir Taze, I have not lived so ill that I should fear to die, nor so pleasantly that I should yearn to live. It will be a poor thing in you to kill me,

but no shame to me to be slain, my lord. As she stood now against the shadowed curtains, her hair caught the lamplight and flashed into red gold about her colorless face. Sebastian looked at her with hatred and some terror, but she smiled strangely at him. You never knew me, Sebastian, but I am very well acquainted with you, and I do scorn you so utterly that I am sorry for the Chattelaine. She and I will manage that, answered Sebastian fiercely, and if you seek to divert or delay me by this talk it is useless, for I am resolved, nor will I be moved. She moved from the bed in the long linen garment that she wore, slim and childish to see. She took a wrap of gold-colored silk from a chair

and put it about her. The man gazed at her the while with sullen eyes. She glanced at the crucifix. I have nothing to say. God knows it all. I am ready. I do not want your soul, he cried. Sabilla smiled. I made confession yesterday. How cold it is for this time of year. I do not shiver for fear, my lord. Make haste, breathed Sebastian. His wife raised her face. How long have we been wed? she asked. Let that be. He paled and bit his lip. Three years, nay, not three years. When I am dead, give my embroideries to Jacobia. They are in these coffers. "'I have finished the red lily. "'I was sewing it when the two scholars came.

"'That night she first knew, "'and you first knew, but I had known a long while.' "'Sebastian caught up the lamp. "'Be silent, or speak to God,' he said. "'She came gently across the floor, "'holding the yellow silk at her breast. "'What are you going to do with me?' she whispered. "'Stangle me?'

"'Nay. "'They would see that afterwards.' Sebastian went to a little door that opened beside the bed and pulled aside the arras. That leads to the battlements, she said. He pointed to the dark steps. Go up, Sibylla. He held the lamp above his haggard face and the light of it fell over the narrow, winding stone steps. She looked at them and ascended. Sebastian followed, closing the door after him. In a few moments they were out on the donjon roof. The vast stretch of sky was clear now and paling for the dawn. Faint, pale clouds clustered round the dying moon, and the scattered stars pulsed wearily. Below them lay the dark masses of the other portions of the castle, and beside them rose the straining pole and wind-tattered banner of Jacobia of Martzburg. Sabilla leant against the battlements. her hair fluttering over her face.

How cold it is, she said in a trembling voice. Make haste, my lord. He was shuddering too in the keen, insistent wind. Will you not pray? he asked again. No, she answered and looked at him vacantly. If I shriek, would anyone hear me? Will it be more horrible than I thought? Make haste. Make haste.

Make haste, make haste, or I shall be a friend. She crouched against the stone shivering violently. Sebastian put the lamp upon the ground. Take care it does not go out, she said, and laughed. You would not like to find your way back in the dark. The little cat will be sorry for me. She broke off to watch what he was doing. A portion of the tower projected. Here the wall was of a man's height and pierced with arblast holes. Through there, Sibilla had often looked and seen the country below framed in the stone like a picture in a letter of an aura. So small it seemed, and yet clear and brightly colored. Beneath the wall was a paving stone, raised at will by an iron ring.

When lifted, it revealed a sheer open drop the entire height of the donjon, through which stones and fire could be hurled in time of siege upon the assailants in the courtyard below. But Jacobia had always shuddered at it, nor had there been occasion to open it for many years. Sibylla saw her husband strain at the ring, and bend over the hole and step forward. Must it be that way? Oh, hey, Sue, hey Sue, shall I not be afraid? She clasped her hands and fixed her eyes on the figure of Sebastian, as he raised the slab and revealed the black aperture. her. Quickly, he stepped back as stone rang on stone.

So, he said, I shall not touch you, and it will be swiftly over. Walk across Zabilla. She closed her eyes and drew a long breath. Have you not the courage? he cried violently. Then I must hurl you from the battlements. It shall not look like murder. She turned her face to the beautiful, brightening sky. My soul is not afraid, but how my body shrinks, I do not think I can do it. He made a movement towards her. At that, she gathered herself. No, you shall not touch me.

Across the d'ang-roof she walked with a firm step. Farewell, Sebastian. May God assail me and thee. She put her hands to her face and moaned as her foot touched the edge of the hole. No shriek, nor cry, disturbed the serenity of the night. night. She made no last effort to save herself, but disappeared silently to the blackness of her death. Sebastian listened to the strange, indefinite sound of it, and drops of terror gathered on his brow. Then all was silent again, save for the monotonous flap of the banner.

Lord of Martzburg, he muttered to steady himself. Lord of Martzburg. He dropped the stone into place, picked up. the lantern and returned down the clothes cold stairs her room on the pillow the mark where her head had lain her clothes over the coffer well he hated her no less than he had ever done to the last she had shamed him why had he been so long too long soon someone would be stirring and he must be far from martzburg before they found sabilla he crept from the chamber with the same unnecessary stealth he had observed in entering, and in a cautious manner descended the stairs to the great hall. The pale glow of a dreary dawn filled the great hall as he entered it. The grey cat was still asleep, and the shining silks of the red lilies shone like the hair of the strange woman who had worked it patiently into the Samite. He tiptoed across the hall, descended the wider stairs, and made his way to the first chamber

of the donjon. Carefully, he returned the lamp to the niche where he had found it, wondering as he extinguished it, if any would note that it had been burnt that night. Carefully, he drew on his great muddy boots and crept out by the little posturn door into the court. So sheltered was the castle, and situated in so peaceful a place, that when the chattelaine was not within the walls, the huge outer gates that required many men to close them stood open onto the hillside. Beyond them, Sebastian saw his patient horse, fastened to the ring of the bell chain, and beyond him the clear grey blue hills and trees. His road lay open, yet he closed the door slowly behind him and hesitated.

He strove with a desire to go and look at her. He knew just how she had fallen. When he had first come to Martzburg, the hideous hole in the battlements, exercised a great fascination over him. He had often flung down stones, clods of grass, and even once a book, that he might hear the hollow whistling sound and imagine a furious enemy below. Afterwards he had noticed these things, and how they struck the bottom of the shaft, lying where she would be now.

He desired to see her, yet loathed the thought of it. There was his horse, there the open road, and Jacobia waiting a few miles away, yet he must linger while the accusing daylight gathered about him. While the rising sun discovered him, he must dally with the precious moments, bite the ends of his black hair, frown and stare at the round tower of the donjon the other side of which she lay. At last he crossed the rough cobbles, skirted the keep, and stood still, looking at her. Yes, he had pictured her, yet he saw her more distinctly than he had imagined he would in this grey light. Her hair and her cloak seemed to be wrapped close about her. One hand still clung to her face.

Her feet showed bare and beautiful. Sebastian crept nearer. He wanted to see her face. and if her eyes were open, to be certain. Also, if that dark red that lay spread on the ground was all her scattered locks, the light was treacherous. He was stooping to touch her when the quick sound of an approaching horseman made him draw back and glance round. But before he could even tell himself it were well to fly, they were upon him. Two horsemen, finally mounted. The foremost Dirk Renswood bareheaded, a rich color in his cheek and a sparkle in his eye,

he reined up the slim brown horse. So it is done, he cried, leaning from the saddle towards Sebastian. The steward stepped back. Whom have you with you? he asked in a shaking voice. A friend of mine and a suitor to the Chattelaine, of which folly you and I shall cure him. Tyree pressed forward, the hooves of his striving horse making musical clatter on the cobbles. The steward, he cried, and his voice sank. He turned burning eyes on Dirk. The steward's wife that was, smiled the youth. But, Sir Tays, you must do him worship now.

He will be Lord of Martsburg. Sebastian was staring at Sibylla. You tell too much, he muttered. Nay, my friend is one with me, and I can answer for his silence. Dirk patted the horse's neck and laughed again, laughter with a high, triumphant note in it. Tiri swung round on him in a desperate bitter fierceness. Why have you brought me here? Where is the chattelaine? By God, his saints, that woman has been murdered!

Dirk turned in the saddle and faced him. A. And by Jacobia of Martzburg's commands. Thirie laughed aloud. The lie is dead as you give it being, he answered. Nor can all your devilry make it live. Sebastian, said Dirk. Has not this woman come to her death by the Chattelaine's commands? He pointed to Sibilla. You know it, since in your presence she bade me hither, answered Sebastian heavily. Dirk's voice rose, clear and musical.

You see, your peace of uprightness thought highly of her steward, and that she might endow him with her hand, his wife must die. Peace, peace, cried Sebastian fiercely, and Thiery rose in his saddle. It is a lie, he repeated wildly. If tis not a lie, God has turned his face from me, and I am lost indeed. "'If tis no lie,' cried Dirk exultingly, "'you are mine. Did you not swear it?' "'And she be this thing you name her?' answered Tiri passionately.

"'Then the devil is cunning indeed, and I his servant. "'But if you speak false, I will kill you at her feet.' "'And by that will I abide,' smiled Dirk. "'Sebastian, you shall return with us to give this news to your mistress.' "'Is she not here?' cried Thierry. Dirk pointed to the silver-plated harness. You ride her horse. See her arms upon his breast, sweet fool.

We left her behind in the hostel, waiting the steward's return. "'Al ways ye trap and deceive me!' exclaimed Thierry hotly. "'Let us be gone,' said Sebastian. He looked at Dirk as if at his master. Is it not time for us to be gone?' It was full daylight now, though the sun had not yet risen above the hills. The lofty walls and high towers of the huge grey castle blocked up the sky and threw into the gloom the three in their shadow. Hark, said Dirk, and lifted his finger delicately.

A white horse appeared against the cold, misty background of the grey country. A woman was in the saddle. Jacobia of Martzburg. She paused, peered up at the high little windows in the donjon, then turned her gaze on the silent three. Now can the chattelaine speak for herself? breathed Dirk. Tyree gave a great sigh. His eyes fixed with a painful intensity on the approaching lady, but she did not seem to see either of them. Sebastian, she cried and drew rein gazing at him.

Where is your wife? Her words rang. on the cold, clear air like strokes of a bell. Sibylla died last night, answered the steward, but I did not. And you should not have come. Jacobia shaded her brows with her gloved hand and stared past the speaker. What is that on the ground? she cried. Sibilla! He has slain Sibylla! But, sirs, she looked round her distractedly.

He must not blame him. He saw my wish. "'From your own lips!' cried Tyree. "'Who are you who speak?' she demanded haughtily. "'I sent him to slay Sibylla.' She interrupted herself with a hideous shriek. "'Sebastian, you're stepping in her blood!' And letting go of the reins she sank from the saddle.

The steward caught her, and as she slipped from his hold to her knees, her unconscious head came near to the stiff white feet of the dead. Her yellow hair, cried Dirk, let us leave her to her steward. You and I have another way. May God curse her as he has me, said Tyree in an agony, for she has slain my hope of heaven. You will not leave me? called Sebastian. What shall I say? What shall I do?

Lie, and lie again, answered Dirk, a wild air. Whed the dame and damn her people. Let fly your authority and break her heart as quickly as you may. Amen to that, added Tierry. And now to Frankfurt, cried Dirk, exultant. They set their horses to a furious pace and galloped out of Castle Mardsburg. End of Section 19, recording by Molly Craig. Section 20 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Slibervox according is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 20, Hugh of Rousselaherie. Dirk took off his riding coat and listened with a smile to the quick step of Thierie

overhead. He was again in the long low chamber looking out on the witch's garden, and nothing was changed, save that the roses bloomed no longer on the bare thorny bushes. So you have brought him back, said Natalie. caressing the youth's soft sleeve, pulled his saint out of her shrine and given her over to the demons? Dirk turned his head. A beautiful look was in his eyes. Yay, I have brought him back, he said musingly. You have done a foolish thing, grumbled the witch. He will ruin you yet. Beware, for even now you hold him against his will. I marked his face as he went into the chamber. Dirk, seated himself with a sigh. In this matter I am not to be moved, and now some food, for I am so weary

that I can scarcely think. Natalie, the toll it has been, the rough roads, the delays, the long hours in the saddle, but it was worth it. The witch set the table with a rich service of ivory and silver. Worth leaving your fortunes of the crisis, he left Frankfurt the day after the emperor died and have been away two months. Isabel thinks you dead. Dirk frowned, no matter, tomorrow she shall know me living. Martsburg is far away, and the weather delayed us, but it had to be. Now I am free to work my own advancement. He drank eagerly of the wine put before him and began to eat.

He have heard, asked Natalie, that Baltasar of Cortreg has been elected emperor? "'Ye,' smiled Dirk, "'and is to marry Isabel within the year. "'We knew it, did we not? "'Next spring. "'They will go to Rome to receive the imperial crown. "'I shall be with them,' said Dirk. "'Well, it is good to rest.

"'What a thick fool, Baltasar is,' he smiled, "'and his eyes sparkled. "'The Empress is a clever woman,' answered the witch. "'She came here once to know whether you had gone. I told her, for the jest, that you were dead. At that she must think her secret dead with you, yet she gave no sign of joy nor relief, nor any hint of what her business was. She is never betrayed by her puppet's face. An iron-hearted fiend, the Empress. They say, though, that she is a fool for Baltasar, a dog at his heels. Until she change. Be like.

you will be her next fancy, said Natalie. The crystals always foretell a throne for you. Dirk laughed. I do not mean to share my honors with any woman, he answered. Pile up the fire, Natalie. Sir Taze, it is cold. He pushed back his chair with a half sigh on his lips and turned contented eyes on the glowing hearth Natalie replenished.

And none has thought evil of Melchor's death, he asked Curious. A. There was Hugh of Rousselaerie. Dirk sat up. The Lord of Rousselaerie? Sir Taze, the night Malquhar died, he flung murderous in the Empress's face. Dirk showed a grave, alert face. I never heard of that. Nay, answered the witch, with some malice. Ye were too well engaged in parting that boy from his love. It is a pretty jest. Certainly she is a clever woman. She enlists Beltasar as her champion. He becomes enraged, furious, and Hugh is cast into the dungeons for his pains.

The witch laughed softly. He would not retract. His case swayed to and fro, but Beltasar and the Empress always hated him. He had never a chance. Dirk rose and pressed his clasped hands to his temple. What do you say? Never a chance? He is to die tonight at sunset. He must not die, he on the scaffold? I, as you say, was following that boy and his love, while this was happening? The witch fell back against the wall, while overhead the restless tread of Thierry sounded. Dirk dashed from the room

and out into the quiet street. For a second he paused. It was late afternoon. He had perhaps an hour or an hour and a half. Clenching his hands, he drew a deep breath and turned in the direction of the palace at a steady run. By reason of the snow clouds and bitter cold, there were few abroad to notice the slim figure running swiftly and lightly. Those who were about made their way in the direction of the market, place, where the Lord of Rousselaeré was presently to meet his death. Dirk arrived at the palace, one hand over his heart, stinging him with the pain of his great speed. He demanded the Empress. None among the guards knew either him or his name, but at his imperious insistence they sent word by a page to Isabel that the young Dr. Constantine

had a desire to see her. The boy returned, and Dirk, was admitted instantly, smiling gloomily to think with what feelings Isabel would look on him. So far all had been swiftly accomplished. He was conducted to her private chamber and brought face to face with her while he still panted from his running. Until the page had gone, neither spoke. Then Dirk said quickly, I returned to Frankfurt today. Isabel was agitated to fear by his sudden appearance. Where have you been? she asked. I thought you dead. I have no time for speech with you now. You owe me something, do you not? Well, I am here to ask part payment. The Empress winced. Well, what? I had no wish to be ungrateful. Twas you avoided me. She crossed to the hearth and fixed her superb

eyes intently on the youth. Hugh of Roussela Rie is to die this evening, he said. Yay, answered Isabel, and her childish loveliness darkened. For a while, Dirk was silent. He showed suddenly frail and ill. On his face was an expression of emotion, mastered, and held back. He must not die, he said at last, and lifted his eyes, shadowed with fatigue. That's a little. That, he was a little bit of fatigue. That is what I demand of you, his pardon, now, and at once, we have but little time. Isobo surveyed him curiously and fearfully. You ask too much, she replied in a low tone. Do you know why this man is to die? For speaking the truth, he said with a sudden sneer, the empress flushed and clutched the embroidery on her bodice. You, of all

"'All men should know why he must be silenced,' she retorted bitterly. "'What is your reason for asking his life?' "'Dirk's mouth took on an ugly curl. "'My reason is no matter. It is my will.' "'Have I made you so much my master?' she muttered. The young man answered impatiently, "'you will give me his pardon and make haste, "'for I must ride with it to the marketplace.'

"'I think I will not. I am not so afraid of you, and I hate this man. My secret is your secret, after all.' Dirk gave a wan smile. "'I can blast you as I blasted Melchoir of Brabant, Isabel, and do you think I have any fear of what you can say?' But he leaned towards her. Suppose I go with what I know to Balthasar.' The name humbled the Empress like a whip held over her. So, I am helpless, she muttered, loathing him. The pardon, insisted Dirk, sound the bell and write me a pardon. Still, she hesitated. It was a hard thing to lose her vengeance against a dangerous enemy.

Choose another reward, she pleaded. Of what value can this man's life be to you? You seek to put me off until it be too late, cried Dirk hoarsely. He stepped forward and seized the handbell on the table. Now, and you show yourself obstinate, I go straight from here to Balthasar, and tell him of the poisoning of Malkyar. Instinct and desire rose in Isabel to defy him with everything in her possession, from her guards to her nails.

She shuddered with suppressed wrath and pressed her little clenched hands against the wall. Her chamberlain entered. Write out a pardon for the Lord of Rousselaeré, commanded Dirk, and haste as you love your place. When the man had gone, Isabel turned with an ill-conceived savagery. What will they think? What will Baltisar think? That must be your business, said Dirk wearily. and Hugh himself, flashed the Empress. The youth colored painfully.

Let him be sent to his castle in Flanders, he said, with averted face. He must not remain here. So much you give in, cried Isabel, I do not understand you. He responded with a wild look. No one will ever understand me, Isabel. The Chamberlain returned, and in a shaking hand, the empress took the parchment and the reed pen, while Dirk waved the man's dismissal. Sign, he cried to her. Isabel set the parchment on the table and looked out at the gathering clouds. The lord of Rousselaerie must have already left the prison. She dallied with the pen, then took a little dagger from her hair and sharpened it. Dirk read her purpose in her lovely evil eyes and snatched the lingering right hand into his own long fingers.

The Empress drew together and looked up at him bitterly and darkly, but Dirk's breath stirred the ringlets that touched her cheek. His cool grip guided her reluctant pen. She shivered with fear and defiance. She wrote her name. Dirk flung her hand aside with a great sigh of relief. Do not try to foil me again, Marosia, poor favorogenitis, he cried and caught up the parchment, his hat and cloak. She watched him leave the room, heard the heavy door closed behind him, and she writhes with rage, thrusting with an uncontrollable gesture of passion, the dagger,

into the table. It quivered in the wood and then broke under her hand. With an ugly cry she ran to the window, flung it open, and cast the handle out. When it rattled on the cobbled yard, Dirk was already there. He marked it fall, knew the gold and red flash and smiled. Showing the parchment signed by the Empress, he had commanded the swiftest horse in the stables. The marketplace lay at the other end of the town, and the hour for the execution was close at hand, but the white horse he rode was fresh and strong. The thick gray clouds had obscured the sunset and covered the sky. A few trembling flakes of snow fell. A bitter wind blew between the high, narrow houses. Here and there, a light sparkling in a window emphasized the

colorless cold without. Dirk urged the steed till he rocked in the saddle. He passed the high walls of the college, galloped over the bridge that crossed the sullen waters of the main, swept by the open doors of St. Wolfram then had to draw rain, for the narrow street began to be choked with people. He pulled his hat over his eyes and flung his cloak across the lower half of his face. With one hand he dragged on the bridle, with the other waved the parchment. "'A pardon!' he cried. A pardon! Make way!' They drew aside before the plunging steed. Some answered him, "'It is no pardon. He wears not the Empress's livery.'

One seized his bridle. Dirk leant from the saddle and dashed the parchment into the fellow's face. The horse snorted and plunging cleared away and gained the marketplace. Here the press was enormous. Men, women, and children were gathered close round the mounted soldiers who guarded the scaffold. The armor, yellow and blue uniforms and bright feathers of the horsemen showed vividly against the grey houses and greyer sky. On the scaffold were two dark, graceful figures, a man kneeling with his long throat bare, and a man standing with a double-edged sword in his hands. A pardon, shrieked Dirk, in the name of the emperor. He was wedged in the crowd who made bewildered movements but could not give place to him. The soldiers did not or would not hear.

Dirk rose desperately in his stirrups. As he did so, the hat and cloak fell back, and his head and shoulders were revealed clearly above the swaying mass. Hugh of Rousselaerie heard the cry, looked across the crowd, and his eyes met the eyes of Dirk Renswode. A pardon, cried Dirk hoarsely. He saw the condemned man's lips move. The sword fell. A woman screamed, said the mom. on the scaffold and proclaimed a pardon and he pointed to the commotion gathered about dirk while the executioner displayed to the crowd the serene head of hugh of russelaerhry nay it was not a woman one of the soldiers answered the monk twas this youth dirk forced to the foot of the scaffold let me through he said in a terrible voice the guard parted and seeing the parchment in his hand let him mount the steps. You bring a pardon, whispered the monk. I am too late, said Dirk. He stood among the hurrying

blood that stained the platform, and his face was hard. Dogs! And this an end for a lord of Roussela Rie, he cried, and clasped his hand on a straining breast. Could you not have waited a little, but a few moments more? The snow was falling fast. It lay, on Dirk's shoulders and on his smooth hair. The monk drew the parchment from his passive hand and read it in a whisper to the officer. They both looked askance at the young man. Give me his head, said Dirk. The executioner had placed it at a corner of the scaffold. He left off wiping his sword and brought it forward. Dirk watched without fear or repulsion and took Hugh's head in his slim. fair hands.

How heavy it is, he whispered. The quick distortion of death had left the proud features. Dirk held the face close to his own, with no heed to the blood that trickled down his doublet. Priest and captain standing apart noticed a horrible likeness between the dead and the living, but would not speak of it. Churl, said Dirk, gazing into the half-closed, gray-eyed. that resembled so his own. He spoke as he saw me. What did he say? The headsman polished the mighty blade.

Not to do with you or with any, he answered. The words had no meaning, certes. What were they? whispered the youth. Have you come for me, Ursula? Then, he said again, Ursula. A quiver ran through Dirk's frame. She shall repent. this, the Eastern witch, he said wildly. May the devil snatch you all to bitter judgment. He turned to the captain with the head held against his breast. What are you going to do with this? His wife has asked for his head and his body

that he may be buried befitting his estate. His wife, echoed Dirk. Then slowly. A, he had a wife. And a son, sir? The child is dead. Dirk set the head down gently by the body, and his lands, he asked. They go, sir, by favour of the empress, to Baldassarre of Cortreg, who married, as you may know,

this lord's heiress, Ursula, dead now many years. The snow had scattered the crowd. The soldiers were impatient to be gone. Sir, said the officer, will you return with me to the palace? us, and we will tell the empress how this mischance arose and how you came too late? Nay, replied Dirk fiercely, take that good news alone. He turned and descended the scaffold steps in a proud, gloomy manner. One of the soldiers held his horse. He mounted in silence and rode away. They who watched saw the thick snowflakes blot out the solitary figure and shuddered with no cause

they understood. End of Section 20, recording by Molly Craig. Section 21 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 21, betrayed. Natalie stood at the door with a lantern in her hand. Dirk was returning, the witch held up the light to catch a glimpse of his face, then, whispering, and crying under her breath, followed into the house. There was blood on your shoes and on your breast, she whispered, when they reached the long chamber at the back. Dirk flung himself on a chair and moaned. The snow lay still on his hair and on his shoulders. He buried his face in the bend of his arm. Sir Dushed and his master have forsaken us,

whimpered the witch. I could work no spells tonight, and the mirror was blank. dirk spoke in a muffled voice without raising his head of what use is magic to me i should have stayed in frankfort natalie drew his wet cloak from his shoulders have i not warned you has not the brass head warned you that the young scholar will be your ruin bringing you to woe and misery and shame "'Look at his blood on me,' cried Dirk. "'His blood! "'Beltasar and Isabel make merry with his lands, "'but my hate shall mean something to them yet. "'I should not have left Frankfurt. "'Alas, who was this man?'

"'I did all I could,' whispered Dirk. "'The Empress shall burn in hell.' "'The sickly creeping flames illuminated his pallid face and his small hand hanging clenched by his side. This is an evil day for us, moaned the witch. The spirits will not answer. The flames will not burn. Some horrible misfortune threatens.

Dirk turned his gaze into the half-dark room. Where is Thierry? Soon after you left, he crept from his chamber, and his face was evil. He went into the street. Dirk paced up and down with uneven steps. He will come back. He must come back. Oh, my heart! You say Zerdushed will not speak to-night? The witch moaned and trembled over the fire. Nay, nor will the spirits come. Dirk shook his clenched fist in the air. They shall answer me.

He went to the window, opened it, and looked out into the blackness. Bring the lamp. Natalie obeyed. The faint light showed the hastening snowflakes no more. Maybe they will listen to me. Nay, as I say, they shall. The witch followed with the swinging lamp in her hand, while they made their way in silence through the darkness and the snow, in between the bare rose bushes, over the wet, cold earth until they reached the trap door at the end of the garden that led to the witch's kitchen. Here, she paused while Dirk raised the stone. Surely the earth shook then, he said. I felt it trembled beneath my feet. Hush, there is a light below. The witch peered over his shoulder and saw a faint glow rising from the open trap,

while at that moment her own lamp went suddenly out. They stood in outer darkness. Will you dare descend? muttered Natalie. What should I feel? Here came the low, wild answer, and Dirk put his foot on the ladder. The witch followed. They found themselves in the chamber, and saw that it was lit by an immense fire, seated before which was an enormous man with his back towards them. He was dressed in black, and at his feet

lay stretched a huge black hound. Good even, said Dirk in a low voice. The stranger turned a face, as black as his garments. Round his neck he wore a collar of most brilliant red and purple stones. A cold night, he said, and again it seemed as if the earth rumbled and shook. You find our fire welcome, answered Dirk, but the witch crouched against the wall muttering to herself. A good heat, a good heat, said the Blackamore. Dirk crossed the room, his arms folded on his breast, his head erect. What are you doing here? he asked. Warming myself, warming myself.

What have you to say to me? The Blackamore drew closer to the fire. Ugh, how cold it is, he said, and stuck out his legs and thrust them deep into the seething flames. Dirk drew still nearer. If you be what I think you, You have some reason in coming here. I have been to the palace. I have been to the palace.

I sat under the empress's chair, while she talked to a pretty youth, whose name is Thiri. Aha! It was cold in the palace. There was snow on the youth's garments, as there is blood on yours, and the emperor was there.

Tierie has betrayed me, said the youth. The Blackamore took his legs from the fire, unscorked and untouched, and the hellhound rose and howled. He has betrayed you, and Isabel accuses you to save herself, but the devils are on your side, since there is other work for you to do. Flee from Frankfurt, and I will see that you fulfill your destiny, and now he glanced over his shoulder. The witch comes home tonight.

Tonight the work here is done. Take the road through Frankfurt. He stood up and his head touched the roof. The gems on his throat gave out long rays of light. The fire grew dim. The blackamore changed into a thick column of smoke that spread. Hell will not forsake you, Ursula Roussela Rie. Dirk fell back against the wall, thick vapors encompassing him. He put his hands over his face. When he looked up again, the room was clear and lit by the peasant. beams of the dying fire. He gazed round for the witch, but Natalie had gone. With a thick sob in his

throat, he sprang up the ladder into the outer air and rushed towards the desolate house. Desolate indeed, empty, dark and cold it stood, the snow drifting in through the open windows. The fires extinguished on the hearths, a dead place never more to be inhabited. Dirk leant against the door breathing hard. Here was a crisis of his fate, betrayed by one whom he loved, deserted too, it seemed, since Natalie had disappeared. The Blackamore. He remembered him as a vision, a delusion perhaps. Oh, how cold it was! Would his accusers come for him to-night? He crept to the gate that gave onto the street and listened. Out of the further darkness came, a distant hurry and confusion of sound. Horses, shouting, eager feet, a populace roused,

on the heels of the dealer in black magic, armed with fire and sword for the witches. Dirk opened the gate, for the last time, stepped from the witch's garden. He wondered if Thiery was with the oncoming crowd, yet he did not think so. Probably he was in the palace, probably he had repented already of what he had done but the empress had found her chance her accusation falling first who would take his word against her he listened to the noises of the approaching people till through these another sound nearer and stranger made him turn his head it came from the witch's house natalie called dirk in a half-hope but the blackness into fire. Swift flames sprang up, a column of gold and scarlet enveloped house and garden in a curling embrace. Dirk ran out into the road where the glare of the fire lit the swirling snow for a trembling circle, and shading his eyes he stared at the flames that consumed all his books, his magic herbs

and potions, the strange things, rich and beautiful that Natalie had gathered in her long evil life. turned and ran down the street as the crowd surged in at the other end to fall back upon one another aghast before the mighty flames that gave them mocking welcome their dismayed and angry shouts came to dirk's ears as he ran through the snow he fled the faster towards the eastern gate it was not yet shut light of foot and swift he darted through before they could challenge him perhaps even before the careless guard saw him. He was a fine runner, not easily fatigued, but he had already strained his endurance to the utmost, and, after he had well cleared the city gates, his limbs failed him and he fell to a walk. After a while he saw glimmering ahead of him a light. It was neither in a

house nor carried in the hand, for it shone low on the ground. Lower, it seemed to Dirk than his own feet. He paused, listened, and proceeded cautiously for fear of the river. That must lie, he thought, very close to his left. As he neared the light, he saw it to be a lantern that cast long rays across the clearing snowstorm. A glittering, trembling reflection beneath it told him it belonged to a boat roped to the bank. Dirk crept towards it, went on his knees in the snow and mud, and beheld a small, empty craft, the lantern hanging at the prow. He paused. The waters rushing by steadily and angrily must be flowing towards the Rhine and the town of Cologne. He stepped into the boat that rocked while the water splashed beneath him, but with cold hands he undid the knotted rope.

The boat trembled a moment, then sped on with the current as if glad to be freed. An ore lay in the bottom, with which, for a while, Dirk helped himself along, fearful lest the owners of the boat should pursue. Then he let himself float downstream as he might. The water lapped about him and the snow fell on his unprotected and already soaked figure. He stretched himself along the bottom of the boat and hid his face in the cushioned seats. His anguished tears, the cruel cold, the steady sound of the unseen water, exhausted and numbed him till he fell into a sleep that was half a swoon, while the boat drifted towards the town. When he awoke he was still in the open country. The snow had ceased, but lay on the ground thick and untouched to the horizon. Dirk found it ill to move,

for his limbs were frozen. His clothes were frozen. His clothes. wet and clinging to his wincing flesh, while his eyes smarted with his late weeping, and his head was racked with giddy pains. For a while he sat, remembering yesterday, till his face hardened and darkened, and he set his pale lips and crawled painfully out of the boat, which had been caught in a clump of stiff withered reeds by the flat riverbank. Before him was a sweep of snow leading to the forest, and as he gazed at this with dimmed hopeless eyes a figure in a white monk's habit emerged from the trees he carried a rude wooden spade in his hand and walked with a slow step he was coming towards the river and dirk waited as the stranger neared he lifted his eyes that had hitherto been cast on the ground and dirk recognized st ambrose of manfon nevertheless

Durk did not despair. Before the saint had recognized him, his part was resolved upon. Ambrose of M'Enfant gazed with pity and horror at the forlorn little figure shivering by the reeds. It was not strange that he did not at once know him. Dirk's face was of a ghastly hue. His eyes shadowed underneath, red and swollen, his lank hair clinging close to his small head, His clothes muddy, wet, and soiled. His figure bent. Sir, he said, and his voice was weak and sweet. Have pity on an evil thing. He fell on his knees and clasped his hands on his breast. Rise up, answered the saint. What God has given me is yours.

Poor soul! Ye are very miserable. More miserable than ye wot of, said Dirk through chattering. teeth still on his knees. Do you not know me? Ambrils of M'Enthons looked at him closely. Alas, he murmured slowly. I know you. Dirk beat his breast. Me a copa, he moaned. Me a copa. Rise. Come with me, said the saint. I will attend your wants. The youth did not move. Will you solace my soul, sir? he cried. God must have sent you, here to save my soul, for long days I have sought you. St. Ambrose's face glowed. Have ye then, repented? Remorse and sorrow fill my heart, murmured Dirk. I have cast off my evil comrades,

renounced my vile gains, and journeyed into the loneliness to find God his pardon, and it seemed he would not hear me. He hears all who come in grief and penitence, said the saint joyously, and he has heard you, for has he not sent me to find you, even in this most desolate place? You feed me with hope, answered Dirk in a quivering voice, and revive me with glad tidings. May I dare, I, poor lost wretch, to be uplifted and exalted? Poor youth was the tender murmur. Come with me. He led the way across the thick snow, dirk following with downcast eyes and white cheeks. They skirted the forest and came upon a little hut, set back and sheltered among the scattered trees. St. Ambrose opened the rude door.

I am alone now, he said softly as he entered. I had with me a frail, holy youth who was traveling to Paris. Last night he died. I have just laid his body in the earth. His soul rests. on the bosom of the Lord. Dirk stepped into the hut and stood meekly on the threshold, and St. Ambrose glanced at him wistfully. Maybe God has sent me this soul to tend and succor in place of that he has called home.

Dirk whimpered humbly. If I might think so. The saint opened an inner door. Your garments are wet and soiled. A sudden color stained Dirk's face. I have no others. ambrose of menthon pointed to the inner chamber there bleigh died yester eve there are his clothes enter and put them on it will be the habit of a novice asked dirk softly Dirk bent and kissed the saint's fingers with ice-cold lips.

I have dared, he whispered, to hope that I might die wearing the garb of God his servants, and now I dare even to hope that he shall grant my prayer. He stepped into the inner chamber and closed the door. End of Section 21. Recording by Molly Craig. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 1, Chapter 22, Blay. Ambrose of Mathen and his meek and humble follower rested at Chalons on their way to Paris. For many weeks they had begged from door to door, sleeping in some hermit's cell, or by the roadside when the severity of the bitter nights permitted, occasionally finding shelter in a wayside

convent. So patient, so courageous before hardship, so truly sad and remorseful, so grateful for the distant chance of ultimate pardon was Dirk, that the saint grew to love the penitent vagabond. No one eager to look for it could have found any fault with his behavior. He was gentle as a girl, obedient as a servant, rigid in his prayers, and he had a strangely complete knowledge of the offices and penances of the church, silent and sorrowful often, taking no pleasure in anything save the saint's talk of paradise and holy things. Particularly, he loved to hear of the dead youth, Blay, of his saintly life, of his desire to join the stern brotherhood of the sacred heart in Paris, of his fame as one beloved of God, of the convent's wish to receive him, of his

great learning of his beautiful death in the snowy evening. To all this, Dirk listened with still attention, and from St. Ambrose's rapt and loving recital, he gathered little earthly details of the subject of their speech, such as that he was from Flanders, of a noble family, that his immediate relatives were dead, that his years were no more than twenty, and that he was dark and pale. For himself, Dirk had little to say. He described simply his shame and remorse after he had stolen the holy gold, his gradual sickening of his companions, the long torture of his awakening soul, his attempts to find the saint, and how, finally, after he had resolved to flee his evil life and enter a convent, he had run out of Frankfurt, found a boat waiting, and so drifted to St. Ambrose's feet.

the saint rejoicing in his penitence suggested that he should enter the convent whither they journeyed with the tidings of the holy youth's death and dirk consented with humble gratitude and so they passed through chalons and rested in a deserted hut overlooking the waters of the marm having finished their scanty meal they were seated together under the rough shelter the luxury of a fire was denied their austerity a cold wind blew in and out of the ill-built doors and a colorless light filled the mean bare place dirk sat on a wooden stool reading aloud the writings of st jerome he wore a coarse brown robe very different from his usual attire fastened round the waist with a rope into which was twisted a wooden rosary his feet were encased in rude leather boots his hands reddened with the cold his hand reddened with the cold his face hollow and of a bluish pallor in which his eyes shone feverishly large and dark. His smooth hair hung on to his shoulders. He stooped, in contrast with his usual erect carriage. Pausing on his low and gentle reading, he looked across at the saint. Ambrose of Mathant sat on a rough-hewn bench against the rougher wall. Weiriness, exposure, and sheer weakness of body

had done their work at last. Dirk knew that for three nights he had not slept. He was asleep now, or had swooned. His fair head fell forward on his breast, his hands hung by his side. As Dirk became assured that his companion was unconscious, he slowly rose and set down the holy volume. He was himself half-starved, cold to the heart and shuddering.

He looked round, the plaster walls, and the meek expression of his face changed to one of scorn, derision, and wicked disdain. He darted a bitter glance at the waned man, and crept towards the door. Opening it softly, he gazed out. The scene was fair and lonely. The distant Turrell of Chalon rose clear and pointed against the winter clouds. Nearby the gray river flowed between its high banks, where the bare willows grew and the snow wreaths lay. Dirk took shivering steps into the open and turned towards the marn. The keen wind penetrated his poor garments and lifted the heavy hair from his thin cheeks.

He beat his breast, chaffed his hands, and walked rapidly. Reaching the bank, he looked up and down the river. There was no one in sight, neither boat nor animal nor house to break the monotony of land, sky, and water. Only those distant towers of the town. Dirk walked among the twisted willows, then came to a pause. A little ahead of him were a black man and a black dog, both seated on the bank and gazing towards chalons. The youth came a little nearer. Good even, he said. It is very cold. The Blackamore looked round. Are you pleased with the way you travel? He asked, not a little.

his head, and your companion? Dirk's face lowered. How much longer am I to endure it? You must have patience, said the black man, and endurance. I have both, answered Dirk. Look at my hands. They are no longer soft, but red and hard. My feet are galled and wounded in rough boots.

I must walk till I am sick, then pray instead of sleeping. I see no fire, and I see no fire. and scarcely do I touch food. You will be rewarded, and revenged, too. Oh, ho! Oh! It is very cold, as you say, very cold. What must I do? asked Dirk. The black man rubbed his hands together.

You know, you know. Dirk's pinched, wan face grew intent and eager. Am I to use this? He touched the breast of his rough habit. "'Ye. Then shall I be left defenseless?' "'Dirk's voice shook a little. If anything should happen, I would not. I could not. Oh, Satanus, I could not be revealed.' The Blackamore rose from among the willows.

"'Do you trust yourself and me?' he asked. Dirk put his thin hand over his eyes. "'Yea, master!' "'Then you know what to do. You will not see me for many years.' years. When you have triumphed, I shall come. He turned swiftly and ran down the bank, the hound at his heels. One after another they leapt into the waters of the marn and disappeared with an inner sound. Dirk straightened himself and set his lips. He re-entered the hut to find Ambrose of Mepin still against the wall, now indeed wearily asleep. Dirk came softly forward,

slowly and cautiously he put his hand into his bosom and drew out a small green-colored vial. With his eyes keenly on the saint he broke the seal, then crept close. By St. Ambrose's side hung his rosary. Every bead smooth with the constant pressure of his lips. Dirk raised the heavy crucifix attached and poured onto it the precious drop contained in the vial. St. Ambrose did not wake nor move. Dirk drew away and crouched against the wall, cursing the bitter wind with fierce eyes. When the saint awoke,

Dirk was on the broken stool, reading aloud the writings of St. Jerome. Is it still light? asked Ambrose of Methan, amazedly. It is the dawn, answered Dirk. And I have slept the night through. The saint dragged his stiff limbs from the seat and fell on his knees in a misery of prayer.

Dirk closed the book and watched him, watched his long fingers twining in the beads of his rosary, watched him kiss the crucifix again and again. Then he too knelt, his face hidden in his hands. He was the first to rise. Master, shall we press on to Paris? he asked humbly. The saint lifted dazed eyes from his devotions. "'Ye,' he said, "'Ye' "'Dirk began putting together in a bundle

"'their few books "'and the wooden platter "'in which they collected their broken food, "'this being their all. "'I dreamt last night of paradise,' "'said St. Ambrose faintly. "'The floor was so thick strewn "'with close little flowers,

"'red, white, and purple, "'and it was warm as Italy in May.' "'Dirk swung the bundle "'on to his shoulder and opened the door, of the hut. They passed out into the dreary landscape and took their slow way along the banks of the marn. Until midday they did not pause, scarcely spoke. Then they passed through a little village, and the charitable gave them food. That night they slept in the open, under shelter of a hedge, and Ambrose of Mathon complained of weakness. Dirk, waking in the dark, heard him praying,

heard too the rattle of the wooden rosary. When the light came and they once more recommenced their journey, the saint was so feeble he was feigned to lean on Dirk's shoulder. I think I am dying, he said. His face was flushed, his eyes burning. He smiled continuously. Let me reach Paris, he added, that I may tell the brethren of Blay. The youth supporting him wept bitterly.

Towards noon they met a woodsman's cart that helped them on their way. That night they spent in the stable of an inn. The next day they descended into the valley of the sign, and by the evening reached the gates of Paris. As the bells all over the beautiful city were ringing to Vespers, they arrived at their destination, an old and magnificent convent, surrounded with great gardens set near the riverbank.

The monks were singing the magnanim. their thin voices came clearly on the frosty air. Fesit potentium in braccio suh. Dispersed subos, mente cordisu. Ambrose of Mathon took his feeble hand from Dirk's arm and sank on his knees. Deposuit potentes des cede, and e'esed. And But Dirk's pale lips curled, and he gazed at the sun flaming beyond the convent walls. There was a hearty challenge in his brooding eyes. Es surientes, simplevit bonnes,

and divitesimisit in ines. The Seppit Israel Purum sum Recodatus miscircodye Sué The saint murmured the chanted words And clasped his hands on his breast While the sun brightened vividly

Above the wild waters of the sign sikud locutus ead patre notros ebraham et semini eus en seculaeufus encecula the chant faded away on the still evening but the saint remained kneeling master whispered dirk shall we not go in to them ambrose of maffon raised his fair face I am dying, he smiled. A keen flame licks up my blood and burns my heart to ashes. Sustinuit anime me enverbo uyus. His voice failed. He sank forward and his head fell against the grey beds of rue and fennel.

Alas! Alas! cried Dirk. He made no attempt to bring assistance nor called aloud, but stood still gazing with intent eyes at the unconscious man. when the monks came out of the chapel and turned two by two towards the convent, Dirk pulled off his worn cap. Dvinim, axilum, manchat, Sampur, nobiscum. Amen, said Dirk. Then he ran lightly forward and flung himself before the procession.

My father, he cried with a sob in his voice. The priests stopped, the amen's still trembling on their lips. Ambrose of Menthal lies within the. your gates, a dying man, said Dirk meekly and sadly. With little exclamations of awe and grief, the grey-clad figures followed him to where the saint lay. He has done with his body, said an old monk, holding up the dying man. The flushed sky faded behind them. The saint stirred, and half opened his eyes. Blay, he whispered. Blay! He tried to point to Dirk, who now at his feet. He will tell you. His eyes closed again. He strove to pray. The de profundus trembled on his

lips. He made a sudden upward gesture with his hands, smiled and died. For a while, there was silence among them, broken only by a short sob from Dirk. Then the monks turned to the ragged, emaciated youth who crouched at the dead feet. Dirk roused himself as if from a silent prayer, made the sign of the cross and rose. Who art thou? they asked reverently. The youth blay, my fathers, he answered humbly. End of section 22, recording by Molly Craig. Section 23 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen.

This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part two, the Pope. Chapter 1, Cardinal Luigi Capriot. The evening service in the basilica of St. Peter was over. Pilgrims, peasants, and monks had departed. The last chant of the officiating cardinal's train still trembled on the incense-filled air when a man, richly and fantastically dressed, entered the bronze door, and advanced a little way down the center aisle. He bent his head to the altar, then paused and looked about him with the air of a stranger. He was well used to magnificence, but this first sight of the chapel of the

Vatican caused him to catch his breath. To one side of the high altar stood a purple chair and a purple footstool, the seat of the cardinal, sometimes of the pontiff. This splendid and holy beauty abashed, yet inspired the stranger. He leant against one of the smooth columns and gazed at the altar. The novices were putting out the candles and preparing to close the church. Their swift feet made no sound. Silently the little stars about the high altar disappeared, and deeper shadows fell over the aisles. The stranger watched the white figures moving to and fro until no light remained, save the purple and scarlet lamps that cast rich rays over the gold and stained the pure lilies into color. Then he left his place and went slowly towards the door.

Already the bronze gates had been closed. Only the entrance to the Vatican and one leading into a side street remained open. Several monks issued from the chapels and left by this last. The stranger still lingered. Down from the altar came the two novices, prostrated themselves, then proceeded along the body of the church. They extinguished the candles in the candelabra, set down the aisles, and a bejeweled darkness fell on the basilica. The stranger stood under a malachite and platinum shrine that blinded with the glimmer and sparkle of golden mosaic. Before it burnt graduated tapers. One of the novices came towards it, and the man waiting there moved towards him. Sir, he said in a low voice, may I speak to you? He spoke in Latin with the accent of a scholar, and his tone was deep and pleasant. The novice paused

and looked at him, gazed intently, and beheld a very splendid person, a man in the prime of life, tall above the ordinary, and above the ordinary, gorgeous to the eyes. His face was sunburnt to a hue, nearly as dark as his light bronze hair, and his western eyes showed cold. clearly bright and pale in contrast. In his ears hung long pearl and gold ornaments that touched his shoulders. His dress was half eastern, of fine violet silk and embroidered leather. He carried in his belt a curved scimitar inset with turkis. By his side a short gold sword, and against his hip he held a purple cap ornamented with a plume of peacock's feathers, and wore long gloves fretted in the palm with the use of rain and sword. But more than these details did the stranger's face strike

the novice, a face almost as perfect as the marks of the gods found in the temples. The rounded and curved features were overfull for a man, and the expression was too indifferent, troubled, almost weak, to be attractive, but taken in itself the face was notably beautiful. Noting the novice's intent gaze a flush crept into the man's dark cheek. I am a stranger, he said. I want to ask you of Cardinal Capriola. He officiated here today? Yay, answered the novice.

What can I tell you of him? He is the greatest man in Rome. Now his holiness is dying, he added. Why, I have heard of him, even in Constantinople. I think I saw him, many years ago. go, before I went to the east. It may be, sir, he said. His eminence was a poor youth, as I might be.

He came from Flanders. It was in Courtaic, I thought I saw him. I know not if he was ever there. He became a disciple of St. Ambrose of Menthau, when very young, and after the saint's death he joined the convent of the Sacred Heart in Paris. You have heard of that, sir? I have heard nothing. I have been away, many years. This man, Cardinal Capriola. He is a saint, also? Is he not? Tell me more of him. Born of Dendermonde, he was, sir, Lewis, his name. In our tongue, Luigi. Blay, the name he took in the

convent. He came to Rome, seven, nay, it must be eight years ago. His holiness, created him bishop of ostia then of capriola which last name he retains now he is cardinal he is the greatest man in rome repeated the novice and a saint asked the other with a wistful eagerness certes when he was a youth he was famous for his holy austere life now he lives in magnificence as befits a prince of the church he is very holy there was a great service here to-day the stranger asked yea very many pilgrims were here i grieve that i was too late think you cardinal capriola would see one unknown to him if the errand warranted it sir i seek peace if it be anywhere it is in the hands of this servant of god my soul is sick will he help me heal it "'Ye, I do think so. The youth turned as he spoke, towards the little side door. "'I must close the basilica, sir,' he added. "'The stranger seemed to rouse himself from depths of unhappy thoughts, and followed through the quivering gloom.

"'Where should I find the cardinal?' he asked. "'His palace lies in the Via de San Giovanni in La Tirano. "'Any will tell you the way, sir.' The novice opened the door. God be with you. And with you. The stranger stepped into the open, and the church door was locked behind him.

The purple afterglow still lingered over Rome. It was May and sweetly warm. As the stranger crossed the piazza of St. Peter, the breeze was like the touch of silk on his face. He walked slowly and presently hesitated, looked round the ruined temples, broken palace and walls. There were people about, not many, mostly monks. He turned toward the arch of Titus. The ladies laughed and stared as he passed. One took a flower from her hair and

threw it after him, at which he frowned, blushed, and hastened on. He had never been equal to the admiration he roused in women, though he disliked neither them nor their admiration. He carried still on his wrist the mark of a knife left there by a Byzantine princess who had found his face fair and his wooing cold. Passing the fountain of Meta-Sudans and the remains of the Flavian amphitheater, he gained the Via de San Giovanni in Letharano, leading to the Calamontana gate. Here he drew a little apart from the crowd and looked about him. In the distance, the Vatican and the Castel San Angelo, showed faintly against the remote apiennes. He could distinguish the banner of the emperor hanging slackly in the warm air, the little lights in St. Peter's. A few moments brought him to the magnificent gates of the Villa Capriola. They stood open upon a garden of flowers, just gleamingly

visible in the dusk. The stranger hesitated in the entrance, fixing his gaze on the luminous white walls of the palace that showed between the boughs of Citron and Cyprus. This cardinal, this prince, who was the greatest man in Rome, which was to say in Christendom, had strangely captured his imagination. He liked to think of him as an obscure and saintly youth devoting his life to the service of God, rising by no arts or intrigues, but by the pure will of his master, solely until he dominated the great empire of the West. The stranger, now at his beautiful gates, had been searching for peace for many years, in many lands, and always in vain. In Constantinople he had heard of the holy Frankish priest, who was already a greater power than the old and slowly dying pope, and it had comforted his tired heart to think that

that there was one man in a high place set there by God alone. One, two, of a pure life and noble soul. If any could give him promise of salvation, if any could help him to redeem his wasted, weak life, it would be he, this cardinal, who could not know evil save as a name. With this object he came to Rome, He wished to lay his sins and penitence at the feet of him who had been a meek and poor novice, and now by his virtues was Luigi Capriola, as mighty as the emperor, and as innocent as the angels. Shame and awe for a while held him irresolute. How could he dare relate his miserable and horrible story to this saint? But God had bidden him, and the holy were always merciful.

he walked slowly between the dim flowers and bushes to the stately columned portico with a thickly beating heart and a humble carriage he mounted the low wide steps and stood at the cardinal's door which should open on a marble vestibule dimly lit with a soft rosette violet color two huge negroes wearing silver collars and tiger skins were on guard at each column of the door and as the newcomer set foot within the portals one of them struck the silver bell attached to his wrist instantly appeared a slim and gorgeous youth habited in black a purple flower fastened at his throat The stranger took off his cap. This is the residence of his eminence, Cardinal Capriola, he asked, and the hint of hesitation, always in his manner, was accentuated. Yay, the youth bowed gracefully. I am his eminence's secretary, Messer Paolo Orsini.

I do desire to see the cardinal. What is your purpose, sir? One neither political nor worldly, he paused. flushed, then added, I would confess to his eminence, I have come from Constantinople for that, for that alone. The cardinal hears confession in the basilica. Sir Tays, I know, yet I would crave to see him privately. I have matters relating to my soul to put before him. Surely he will not refuse me. The stranger's voice was unequal, his bearing troubled, as the secretary curate.

seriously observed. Penitans, anxious for their souls, did not often trouble the cardinal, but Orsini's aristocratic manner showed no surprise. His eminence, he said, is ever loath to refuse himself to the faithful. I will ask him if he will give you audience. What, sir, is your quality and your name? I am unknown here, answered the other humbly. Lately, I have come from Constantinople, where I held an office at the court of Baal, but by birth I am a frank, of the cardinal's own country. Sir, your name, repeated the elegant secretary. I have been known by many, but let his eminence have the truth.

I am Thierry, born of Dendermonde. Paolo Orsini bowed again. I will acquaint the cardinal, he said. Will you await me here? He was gone, as far as. swiftly and silently as he had come. Thiris, hand to brow, gazed about him. He had seen nothing more lavishly splendid in the east.

Cardinal Capriola was no aesthetic, whatever the youth blay may have been. And for a moment Thiery was bewildered and disappointed. Could a saint live thus? Then he reflected, Good it was to consider that God, and not the devil, who so often used beauty and wealth for his lures, had given a man this. He walked up and down, none to watch him but the four silent and motionless negroes. The exquisite lights, the melody of the

fountain, the sweet odors that rose from the slow, curling blue vapors, the gorgeous surroundings, lulled and soothed. He felt that at last. After his changeful wanderings, his restless unhappiness, he had found his goal and his haven. In this man's hands was redemption. This man was housed as befitted an ambassador of the Lord of Heaven. Paolo Orsini, in person as rare and splendid as the palace, returned. The cardinal will receive you, sir, he said. If the message astonished him, he did not show it. He bowed before Thierry and preceded him up the magnificent stairs. Paolo Orsini opened a gilt door and held it wide while Thierry entered. Then he bowed himself away, saying,

His eminence will be with you presently. Thiery found himself in a fair-sized chamber, walls, floor and ceiling composed of ebony and mother of pearl. Incents burnt in a gold brazier, the rich scent of it glowing, almost insupportable in the close confined space. The dim blue light, the strong perfumes, were confusing to the senses. His pulses throbbed. His heart leapt. It did not seem as if he could speak to the cardinal.

Then it seemed as if he could tell him everything and leave absolved. Yet, and yet, what was there in the place reviving memories that had been thrust deep into his heart for years? A certain room in an old house in Antwerp, with the obvious of the obvious of the old house. a light over the figure of a young man gilding a devil, a chamber in the college at Baal, and two youths bending over a witch's fire, a dark, wet night, and the sound of a weak voice coming to him, Frankfurt, and a garden blazing with crimson roses, other scenes, crowded, horrible, why did he think of them here, in this remote land among strangers, here where he had come to purge his soul. There was a shiver of silks, and the cardinal stepped into the chamber.

Thirri sank on his knees and bowed his throbbing head. The cardinal slowly closed to the door. A low rumble of thunder sounded. A great storm was gathering over the Tirhenian Sea. End of Section 23. Recording by Molly Craig. bowen this libervox recording is in the public domain part two chapter two the confession en nominate patres ephili et spiritis sancti i give you greeting said the cardinal in a low grave voice he crossed to the ivory chair and seated himself thirie lifted his head and looked eagerly at the man who he hoped would be his savior the cardinal was young of the middle height, of a full but elegant person, and conveying an impression of slightness and delicacy, though he was, in reality, neither small nor fragile. His face was pale, by this light only dimly to be seen. He wore a robe of vivid pink and violet silk that spread about the step on which

his chair was placed. His hands were very beautiful and ornamented with a variety of costly rings. his head was a black skull cap, and outside it his hair showed thick, curling, and of a chestnut red color. His foot, very small and well-shaped, encased in a gold slipper, showed beneath his gown. He caught hold of the ivory arms of his seat and looked straight at Thiris with intense, dark eyes. "'On what matters did you wish to speak with me?' he asked. Tyri could not find words, a choking sense of horror, of something dreadful and blasphemous beyond all words clutched at his heart. He stared at the young cardinal. He must be going mad.

The air. The incense makes me giddy, holy father, he murmured. The cardinal touched a bell and motioned to Thiris to rise. A beautiful boy in a white tunic answered the summons. extinguish the incense said the cardinal and open the windows jeanne it is very hot a storm gathers does it not the youth drew apart the painted curtains and unlatched the window as the cooler air was wafted into the close chamber thirri breathed more freely the stars are all hidden your eminence said jean looking at the night certainly it is a storm He raised the brazier, shook out the incense, leaving it smoldering grayly, went on one knee to the cardinal, then withdrew backwards. As the door closed behind him, Luigi Capriola turned to the man standing humbly before him. Now you can speak, he said gravely. Tiree flushed. Scarcely have I the heart. Your eminence abashes me. I have a sickening tale to relate.

of you, I thought, this holy man can give me peace, and I came half across the world to lay my troubles at your feet. But now, sir, now, I fear to speak. Indeed, am scarce able. Unreal and hideous, it seems, in this place. In brief, sir, said the cardinal, ye have changed your mind. I think ye were ever of a changeful disposition, Tyree of Dendermonde. How does your eminence know that of me? It is, alas, true! I see it in your face, answered the cardinal. And something else I see.

You are, and long have been, unhappy. It is my great unhappiness that has brought me before your eminence. Weary of sin and afraid of heaven, ye have come to seek absolution of me, said the cardinal. Yay, if it might be yehury of you. be granted me, if by any penitence I might obtain pardon. Then Thiery, whose gaze was fixed on the ground

as he spoke, had an extraordinary vivid impression that the Cardinal was laughing. He looked up quickly, only to behold Luigi Capriola calm and grave. Appeal of thunder sounded, and the echoes hovered in the chamber. The confession must come before the absolution, said the Cardinal. Tell me my son, what troubles you? Tiri shuddered. It involves others than myself. The seal of the confession is sacred, and I will ask for no names. Tiri of Dendermonde, kneel here and confess. He pointed to the ivory footstool close to his raised seat. Tiri came and humbly knelt. The curtains fluttered in the hot wind, a flash of lightning darted in between them and mingled with the luminous color cast by the faint lamps. The cardinal took up the gold book and laid it on his knee. His pink silk sleeve almost

touched Thiery's lips. His garments gave out a strange and beautiful perfume. Tell me of these sins of thine, he said half under his breath. I must go far back, answered the penitent in a trembling voice. for your eminence to understand my sins. They had small beginnings. He paused and fixed his gaze on the cardinal's long, fair fingers resting across the gold cover of the brevery. I was born in Dendermonday, he said at last. My father was a clerk who taught me his learning. When he died, I came to Cotrreg. I was 18, ambitious, and clever beyond other scholars of my age. I wished above every everything to go to one of the colleges. To gain a living, I taught the arts I was acquainted with. Among others, I gave lessons in music, to a daughter of a great lord in Cortreg. In this manner,

I came to know her brother, who was a young knight of lusty desires. He was, as I, restless and impatient with Cortreg. But unlike me, he was innocent, for I, he moistened his lips. I, about this time began to practice black magic. Black magic, repeated the cardinal. Go on. I read forbidden books that I found in an old library in the house of a Jew whose son I taught. I tried to work spells, to raise spirits. I was very desperate to better myself. I wished to become as Al-Qun, as Saint Jerome, nay, as Zerdushed himself. But I was not skillful enough. I was. I could do little or nothing. The young knight I have spoken of was in love with a mighty lady who came through Cortreg. He wished to follow her to Frankfurt. She had given him hopes that she would

find him service there. He asked me to bear him company, and I was glad to go. On the journey, he told me of his marriage to the daughter of a neighboring lord, and, although it is no matter here, he knew not if she were alive or dead, but he knew of the place where she had last been known of, and we went thither. It was in the old, half-deserted town of Antwerp. We found the house, and there we met a youth, who told us of the maid's death, and showed us her grave. What of this youth? asked the cardinal, softly. Tell me of him. He ruined me. By night he came to me, and told me of his studies. Black magic! Black magic! He cast spells and raised a devil. In a mirror, he showed me visions. I swore with him faithful friendship. He ruined my soul. He sold some of the goods in the

house, and we went together to Bale College. He was high-born, I think, dainty in his ways and pleasant to look upon. My faltering soul was caught by his wiles, for he was. He was high-born, for he was, He spoke of great rewards. I know not who he was, man or demon. I think he loved me. There was a little silence in the chamber. Then the cardinal spoke. Loved you? What makes you think he loved you? Sir Tays, he said so, and acted so. We went to Bal College. Then I also thought I loved him. He was the only thing in the world I had ever spoken to of my hopes, my desires. We continued our experiments. Our researches were blasphemous, horrible. He was ever more skillful than I. Then one day, I met a lady, and then I knew myself

hideous, but that very night I was drawn into the toils again. We cast a spell over another student. We were discovered and fled the college. A flash of lightning pierced to the blue gloom like a sword-rending silk. Thirie winced and shuddered as the thunder crashed overhead. Does your tale end here? demanded the cardinal. Alas! Alas! No! I fell from worse sin to worse sin. We were poor. We met a monk, robbed him of God his money and left him for dead. We came to Frankfurt and lived in the house of an Egyptian hag, and I began to to loathe the youth because the lady was ever in my thoughts, and he hated the lady bitterly because of this. He tempted me to do murder for gain, and I refused for her sake.

Therie's voice became hot and passionate. Then I found that he was tempting her, my saint, but I had no fear that she would fall, and while she spurned him, I thought I could also, "'A, and I did. But she proved no stronger. She loved her steward, and bid him slay his wife. "'You staked on her virtue,' the devil cried to me, and you've lost, lost!' The sobs thickened his voice, and the bitter tears gathered in his beautiful eyes. "'I was the youth's prey again, but now I hated him for his victory. We came back to Frankfurt, and he was sweet and soft to me, while I was thinking how I might injure him as he had injured me. I dwelt on that picture of her, dishonored, and undone, and I hated him, so waited my chance,

and the night we reached the city, I betrayed him for what he was, betrayed him, to whom I had sworn friendship. Well, half the town came howling through the snow to seize him, but we were were too late. We found a flaming house. It burnt to ashes. He with it. I had had my revenge, but it brought me no peace. I left the west and went to the east, to India, Persia, to Greece. I avoided both God and the devil. I dreaded hell and dared not hope for heaven. I tried to forget, but could not. I tried to repent, but could not. Good and evil strove for me until the Lord had pity. I heard of you, and I have come to Rome to cast myself at your feet,

to ask your aid to help throw myself on God His mercy. God wins, I think, this time. He continued in an unsteady voice. I have confessed my sins. I will do penance for them, and die at least in peace. God and the angels win. The cardinal rose. With one hand he held to the back of the ivory chair. With the other, he clasped the golden book to his breast. The light shining on his red hair showed it in filmy brightness against the wall of ebony and mother of pearl. His face and lips were

very pale above the vivid hue of his robe. His eyes large and dark stared at Thierry. Again the lightning flashed between the two and seemed to sink into the floor at the cardinal's feet. He lifted his head proudly and listened to the following mighty roll. When the echoes had quivered again into hot stillness, he spoke. The devil and his legions win, I think, he said. At least they have served Dirk Renswood well. Thierry fell back and back until he crouched against the gleaming wood. ball. Cardinal Capriola, he cried fearfully. Cardinal Capriola, speak to me. Even here I hear the

fiends jive. The cardinal stepped from the ebony dais, his stiff robes making a rustling as he walked. He laughed. Have I learned a mean so holy my old comrade knows me not? Have I changed so? I, who was dainty and pleasant to look upon your friend and your bane? He paused in the center of the room, the open window, the dark behind it, the waving curtains, the fierce lightning made a terrific background for his haughty figure. But Thierry moaned and whispered in his throat. Look at me, commanded the cardinal. Look at me well, you who betrayed me. Am I not he who Gilded a devil one August afternoon in a certain town in Flanders? Thierry drew himself up and pressed his clenched hands to his temples.

"'Betraid!' he shrieked. "'It is I who am betrayed. I sought God and have been delivered unto the devil!' The thunder crashed so that his words were lost in the great noise of it. The blue and forked lightning darted between them. "'You know me now?' asked the Cardinal. "'Tierry slipped to his knees, crying like a child. "'Where is God? Where is God?'

The cardinal smiled. "'He is not here,' he answered, "'nor in any place where I have been.' "'An awful stillness fell after the crash of thunder. "'Tiris hid his face, cowering like a man "'who feels his back bared to the lash. "'Canot you look at me?' asked the cardinal. in a half-mornful scorn.

After all these years, am I to meet you, thus, at my feet? Tiree sprang up, his features mask-like, in their unnatural distortion and lifeless hue. You do well to taunt me, he answered, for I am an accursed fool. I have been seeking for what does not exist. God! A, now I know that there is no God and no heaven. therefore what matter for my soul what matter for any of it since the devil owns us all your soul cried the cardinal as before always have you thought too much and not enough of that you served too many masters and not one faithfully had you been a stronger man you had stayed with your fallen saint not spurned her and then avenged her by my betrayal he crossed to the window and closed it

The while the lightning picked him out in a fierce flash, and waited until the after-crash had rocked to silence, his eyes all the while not leaving the shrinking, horror-stricken figure of Thiris. Well, it is a long while ago, he said, and I and you have changed. How did you escape that night? asked Thierie hoarsely. The master, I serve is powerful, smiled the cardinal. He saved me then, and set me where I am now, the greatest man in Rome. So great a man that did you wish a second time to betray me, you might shout the truth in the streets and find no one to believe you. Betray you, cried Tiri, wild-eyed. No, I bow the knee to the greatest thing I have met and kiss your hand your eminence.

The cardinal turned and looked at him over his shoulder. I never broke my vows, he said softly, the vows of comradeship I made to you. Just now you said you thought I loved you. Then, I mean, in the old days, he paused and his delicate hand crept over his heart. Well, I loved you, and it ruined me as the devil's promised. Last night I was warned that you would come today, and I was warned. I was warned that you would come today, and that you would be my bane. Well, I do not care, since you are calm, for, sir, I love you still. Dirk, cried Tierry. Do you suppose it matters to me that you are weak, foolish, or that you betrayed me? You are the one thing in all the world I care for. Love! What was your love when you left her at Sebastian's feet?

had she been my lady, I had stayed and laughed at all of it. It is not the devil who has taught you to be so faithful, said Tyree. For the first time a look of trouble, almost of despair, came into the cardinal's eyes. He turned his head away. You shame me, continued Tyri. I have no constancy in me, thinking of my own soul, almost have I forgotten Jacob. of Marzburg. And yet... And yet you loved her.

Maybe I did. It is long ago. A bitter smile curved the Cardinal's lips. Is that the way men care for women, he said? Certes, not in that manner had I wooed and remembered. Had I been a lover? Strange that we, meeting here like this, should talk of love, cried Thiery, his heart heaving, his eyes dilating. Strange, that I, driven round the world by fear of God, that I, coming here to one of God's own saints, should find myself in the

devil's net again. Come, he has done much for you. What will he do for me? The cardinal smiled sadly. Neither God nor devil will do anything for you. For you are not singly. neither constant to good nor evil, but I will risk everything to serve your desires. Tyree laughed. Heaven has cast the world away and we are mad. You, you famous as a holy man. Did you murder the young Blay? I will back to India, to the east and die an idle worshipper. See yonder crucifix. It hangs upon your walls. But the Christ does not rise to the smite you. You handle the holy mysteries in the church, and no angel slays you on the altar steps. Let me away from Rome. He turned to the gilt door, but the cardinal caught his sleeve.

Stay, he said. Stay, and all I promise you in the old days shall come true. Do you doubt me? Look about you. See what I have won for myself. Nay, let me go. The last rumble of the thunder crossed their speech. Stay, and I will make you emperor. Oh, devil, cried Tyroi. Can you do that? We will rule the world between us, yea, I will make you emperor if you will stay in Rome and serve me.

I will snatch the diadem from Baltasar's head, and cast his empress out as I ever meant to do. And you shall bear the scepter of the Caesars. Oh, my friend, my friend! he held out his right hand as he spoke thirie caught it crushed the fingers in his hot grasp and kissed the brilliant rings the cardinal flushed and dropped his lids over sparkling eyes you will stay he breathed yea my sweet fiend i am yours and wholly yours lo were not rewards such as these better worth crossing the world for than a pardon from god he laughed and staggered back against the wall his look dazed and reckless the cardinal withdrew his hand and crossed to the ivory seat now farewell he said the audience has been over long i know where to find you and in a while i shall send for you farewell o teri of dendermonde

farewell o disciple of satanas i your humble follower shall look for fulfilment of your promises when luigi capriola was alone he put his hand over his eyes and swayed backwards as if about to fall while his breath came in tearing pants. With an effort he steadied himself, and clenching his hands now over his heart, paced up and down the room, his cardinal's robes trailing after him, his golden rosary glittering against his knee. As he struggled for control, the guilt door was opened, and Palo Orsini bowed himself into his presence. A messenger has just come from the Vatican, my lord. Ah, his holiness? was found dead in his sleep an hour ago your eminence the cardinal paled and fixed his burning eyes on the secretary thank you orsini i thought he would not last the spring well we must watch the conclave he moved his handkerchief from his mouth and twisted it in his fingers the secretary was taking his dismissal when the cardinal recalled him orsini it is desirable we should have an audience with the empress She has many creatures in the church who must be brought to heal.

Write to her, Orsini. I will, my lord. The young man withdrew, and Luigi Capriola stood very still, staring at the gleaming walls of his gorgeous cabinet. End of Section 24, recording by Molly Craig. Section 25 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2. Chapter 3. The Empress

Isabel, wife of Balthasar of Cotrég, and Empress of the West, waited in the porphyry cabinet of Cardinal Capriola. She sat on a low chair by the window and rested her chin on her hand. Her superb eyes were grave and thoughtful. She did not move from her reflective attitude during the time the haughty priest kept her waiting. When at last he entered with a shimmer and ripple of purple silks, she rose and bent her head. It pleases you to make me attendant on your pleasure, my lord, she said. Cardinal Capriola gave her calm greeting. My time is not my own, he added. God, his service comes first, lady. The empress returned to her seat. Have I come here to discuss God with your eminence, she asked, and her fair mouth was scornful.

The cardinal crossed to the far end of the cabinet, and slowly took his place on his carved gold chair. It is of ourselves we will speak, he said smiling. Sertes, your grace will have expected that. Nay, she answered, what is there we have in common, Cardinal Capriola? Ambition, said his eminence, which is known alike to Saint, and sinner. Isabel looked at him swiftly. He was smiling with lips and eyes, sitting back with an air of ease and power that discomposed her. She had never liked him. If your talk be of policy, my lord, it is to the emperor you should go. I think you have as much influence in Rome as your husband, my daughter.

It is our influence you wish, my lord, certais, a matter for the emperor. Yay, You understand me. Your eminence desires our support in the conclave now sitting, she continued haughtily. But have you ever shown so much duty to us that we should wish to see you in St. Peter's seat? She thought herself justified in speaking thus to a man whose greatness had always galled her, for she saw in this appeal for her help an amazing confession of weakness on his part. But Luigi Cabriola remained entirely composed. You have your creatures in the church, he said, and you intend one of them to wear the tiara. There are sixteen cardinals in the conclave, and I, perhaps, have half of them.

Your grace, you must see that your faction does not interfere with what these priests desire, my election, namely. Must, she repeated, her violet eyes dilating. Your eminence has some reputation as a holy man. and you suggest the corruption of the conclave. The cardinal leant forward in his chair. I do not play for a saintly fame, he said, and as for a corrupted conclave,

your grace should know corruption, seeing that your art and your art alone achieved the election of Baltasar to the German throne. Isabeau stared at him mutely. He gave a soft laugh. "'You are a clever woman,' he continued. Your husband is the first king of the Germans to hold the Emperor of the West for ten years and keep his heel on the homelands as well.

But even your wits will scarcely suffice now. Bohemia revolts, and Basil stretches greedy fingers from Ravenna, and to keep the throne secure, you desire a man in the Vatican who is Baltasar's creature. The Empress rose and placed her hand on the gilded ribbing of the window frame. Your eminence shows some understanding, she flashed, pale beneath her paint. We gained the West, and we will keep the West, so you see, my Lord, why my influence will be against you, not with you, in the conclave. Your grace speaks boldly.

You think me your enemy? You declare yourself hostile, my Lord. Nay, I may be a good friend to you in St. Peter's. She smiled. The conclave have not declared their decision yet, your eminence. You are a great prince, but the imperial party have some power. The cardinal sat erect, and his intense eyes quelled her despite herself. Some power, which I ask you to exert in my behalf. She looked away, though angry with herself that his gaze overawed her. You have declared your ambition, my lord. your talents and your wealth we know you are too powerful already for us to tolerate you as master in rome again you speak boldly smiled the cardinal perhaps too boldly i think you will yet help me to the tiara

isabeau gave a quick glance at his pale handsome face framed in the red hair do you seek to bribe me my lord she remembered the vast riches of this man and their own empty treasury Nay, said Luigi Capriola, still smiling. I threaten. Threaten! I threaten that I will make you an outcast in the streets unless you serve me well. She was the tiger cat now, ready to turn at bay, Marozia porphorogenitis of Byzantium. I know that of you, said the cardinal, that once revealed would make the emperor hurl you from his side. She sucked in her breath and waited. Malquhar of Brabant died by poison and by witchcraft.

All the world knows that, her eyes were long and evil, he was bewitched by a young doctor of Frankfurt College who perished for the deed. The cardinal looked down at the hand on his lap. Yay, that young doctor brewed the potion. You administered it. Isabel took a step forward into the room. You lie. I am not afraid of you. You lie most utterly. Luigi Cabriola sprang to his feet.

Silence, woman, speak not so to me. It is the truth, and I can prove it. The cardinal still stood and dominated her. Do you recall a youth who was scrivener to your Chamberlain and friend of the young doctor of rhetoric? Thierie his name. "'Born of Dandermonde? "'Ye, he is now dead, or in the east. "'He is alive and in Rome. "'He served you well once, Empress,

"'when he came to betray his friend, "'and you were quick to seize the chance. "'It suited him then to truckle to you. "'I think he was afraid of you. "'He is not now. "'He knows, and if I bid him, he will speak.' "'Isabot answered swiftly, I am not of a nation easily cowed, my lord, nor are the people of my blood readily trapped.

I can tear your reputed saintship to rags by spreading abroad this tale of how you tried to bargain with me for the popedom. The cardinal smiled in a way she did not care to see. But first, I say to the emperor, Your wife slew your friend, that she might be your wife, your friend, your friend, Melquhar, of Brabant. You loved him better than you loved the woman. Will you not avenge him now? The Empress pressed her clenched hands against her heart, and with an effort raised her eyes to her accuser's masterful face. My Lord's love against it all, she said hoarsely. He knows Malquhar's murderer perished in Frankfurt in the flames. He knows that I am innocent, and he will laugh at you.

we've what tissues of falsehood you will sir i do defy you and we'll do no bargaining to set you in the vatican the cardinal rested his finger-tips on the arm of the chair and looked down at them with a deepening smile you speak he answered as one whom i can admire it requires great courage to put the front you do on guilt but i have certain knowledge of what i say come i will prove to you that you cannot deceive me. You came first to the house of a certain witch in Frankfurt on a day in August. A youth opened the door and took you into a room at the back that looked on to a garden growing dark red roses. You knew that he had been driven from Bale College for witchcraft. Even as I know, you compassed the death of your first husband. And you asked him to help you, even as I ask you to help me now. The Cardinal reseated himself in his gold chair and marked with brilliant, merciless eyes the woman struggling to make a stand against him. Hugh of Rousselaerie died, he said with sudden venom, died basely for justly accusing you, and so shall you die basely, unless you aid me in the conclave.

Cardinal Capriola, she said, you ask me to use my influence. to bring about your election to the popedom. Knowing you, as I know you now, I cannot fail to see you are a man who would stop at naught. If I help you, I shall help my husband's enemy. Once you are in the Vatican, how long will you tolerate him in Rome? You will be no man's creature, and I think no man's ally. What chance shall we have in Rome once you are master? Sylvester was always, and meek. He let Baltasar hold the reins. Will you do that? That I will not, said Luigi Capriola. If it please me, I will hurl him down and set one of my own followers up. I have no love for Baltasar of Cortreg. Isobo's face hardened with hate,

but you think he can help you to the tiara? Through you, lady, you can tell him I am his friend, his ally, what you will, or you may directly influence the cardinals, I care not, so the thing be done, what I shall do if it be not done, I have said. Then you are wrong, neither threats nor bribery can make me do this thing. Say what you will to the emperor, I am secure in his good affections, blight my fame, and turn him against me if you can. I am not so mean a woman that fear can make me betray the fortunes of my husband and my son? The cardinal lowered his eyes. He was very pale. You dared death, he said. A shameful death. If my accusation be proved, as proved it shall be. The empress looked at him over her shoulder.

Dare death, she cried. You say I have dared hell for him. Shall I be afraid then of paltry death? luigi capriola's breast heaved beneath the vivid silk of his robe of what are you afraid he asked of nothing save evil to my lord the cardinal's lids dropped he moistened his lips this is your answer "'Ye, your eminence, all the power I possess shall go to prevent you mounting the throne you covet so. And now, seeing you have that answer, I will leave. My courtiers grow weary in your halls. She moved to the door. As she opened it, the cardinal turned his head. "'Give me a little longer, your grace,' he said softly. "'I have yet something to say.' She reclosed the door and stood with her back against it.

Well, my lord! The cardinal was pale and scornful. His narrow eyes and curving mouth expressed bitterness and passion. Here is the weapon that shall bring you to your knees, he said, and make your boasting die upon your lips. You are not the wife of Baltasar, and the only heritage your son will ever have is the shame and weariness of the outcast.

Not his wife. Why, you rave. We were married before all Frankfurt. Not Balthasar's wife. Your lord was wed before. Yay, I know. What of it? This, Ursula Ries, lives. Ursula of Roussela Rie died in Antwerp, she cried wildly, in the convent of the the white sisters. She did not, and Balthasar knows she did not. He thinks she died thereafter. He thinks he saw her grave, but he would find it empty. She lives. She is in Rome, and she is his wife, his empress, before God and man. How do you know this? She made a last pitiful attempt to brave him, but the terrible cardinal had broken her strength. The horror of the thing he said had chilled her blood and choked her heartbeats.

The youth who helped you once, the doctor Constantine. From him, Balthasar obtained the news of his wife's death, for Ursula and he were apprenticed to the same old master. Ask Balthasar if this be not so. Well, the youth lied, for purposes of his own. The maid lived then and is living now. and if I choose it, she will speak. It is not possible, shuddered the Empress.

No, you wish to drive me mad, and so you torture me. Why did not this woman speak before? The cardinal smiled. She did not love her husband as you do, lady, and so preferred her liberty. You should be grateful. She has his ring, and her wedding deeds signed by him and by the priest. There are those at Rousselaerie who know her, albeit it is near twenty years since she was there. Also, she hath the deposition of old Master Lucas that she was a supposed nun when she came to him,

and in reality the wife of Baltasar of Cortreg. She can prove no one lies buried in the garden of Master Lucas's house, and she can bring forward sisters of the order to which she belonged to show that she did not die on her wedding day. This and further proof can she show. She must be silence. By Christus his mother, she must be silenced. Secure me the casting vote in the conclave and she will never speak. I have said, I cannot, for his sake, for my son's sake. Then I will bring forth Ursula Rousselaerie, and she shall prove herself the emperor's wife.

Then instantly you must leave him, or both of you will be excommunicated. Your alternative will be to stay and be his ruin, or go to obscurity, never seeing his face again. Your son will no longer be king of the Romans, but a nameless wanderer spurned and pitied by those who should be his subjects, and another woman will sit by Balthasar's side on the throne of the west. For a little while she was silent, and the cardinal also, as he looked at her. Then she raised her eyes to meet his. Steadily now she kept them at the level of his gaze, and her base, bold blood, served her well in the manner of her speech. Lord Cardinal, she said, you have won. Before you, before you,

as before the world, I stand Balthasar's wife. Nor can you fright me from that proud station by telling of this imposter. Yet, I am afraid of you. I dare not come to an issue with you, Luigi Capriola, and to by your silence on these matters, I will secure your election. And afterwards, you and my lord shall see who is the stronger. We part as enemies, he answered. but I kissed the hem of your gown, Empress, for you are brave as you are beautiful.

He gracefully lifted the purple robe to his lips, and above all things do I admire a constant woman. His voice was strangely soft. She moved away, steadying her steps with difficulty. The two chamberlains in the antechamber rose as she stepped out of the cabinet. Benedictus, my daughter, smiled the cardinal, and closed the door. How she loves him still, he said aloud. Yet why do I wonder? Is he not as fair a man as he broke off, then added reflectively.

Also, she is beautiful. His long fingers felt among his silk robes. He drew forth a little mirror and gazed at his handsome face with the darkened upper lip and tonsured head. As he looked, he smiled, then presently laughed. End of Section 25, recording by Molly Craig. Section 26 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2. Chapter 4. The Dancer in Orange.

Thiery walked slowly through the gorgeous ruins of Imperial Rome. It was something afternoon and glowingly hot. The tiber curled in and about the stone houses and broken palaces like a bronze and golden serpent, so smooth and glittering it was. He followed the river until it wound round the base of Mount Aventine, and there he paused and looked up at the emperor's palace, set splendidly on the hill. A little Byzantine chariot, guilt with Asherstrande, curtains and drawn by a white horse came towards him. The occupant was a lady in a green dress. The grooms ran either side of the horse's head to assist it up the hill. The chariot passed Thiery at a walking pace. The lady was unveiled and the sun was full on her face. It was Jacobia of

Martyrrstburg. She did not see him. Her car continued its slow way towards the palace and Thierry stood staring after it. He had last seen her ten years and more ago in her steward's arms in the courtyard of Castle Mardsburg, beyond them Sebastian's wife. The sound of symbols and laughter roused him from his agitated thoughts. He looked along the road that wound by the tiber and saw a little crowd approaching, evidently following a troop of jugglers or Montebanks. As they came nearer to where he loitered, Thiery, ever easily attracted by any passing excitement or attraction, could not choose but give them a half-sullen attention. The centre of the group was a girl in an orange gown, they who followed her the mere usual citizens of Rome,

some courtiers of the emperors, soldiers, merchants-clerks, and the rabble of children, lazy, mongrel foreigners and franks. The dancer stopped, and so, spread a scarlet carpet on the roadway. The crowd gathered about in a circle and Thierry drew up with the rest, interested by what interested them. The two facts, namely, that marked the girl as different from her kind. Firstly, she affected the unusual modesty or coquetry of a black mask that completely covered her face. And secondly, she was attended only by a hideous ape. Although the mask concealed the charms of her face, it was obvious that she was young, and probably Greek. Her figure was tall, full, and splendidly graceful. She held a pair of brass symbols

and struck them with a stormy joyousness above her proud head. The ape, wearing a collar of bright red stones and a long blue jacket trimmed with spangles, curled himself on the corner of the carpet and went to sleep. The girl began to and dancing. She had no music save her symbols and needed none. Suddenly, she lowered the symbols, struck them together before her breast, and looked from right to left. Therie caught the gleam of her dark eyes through the holes in her mask. For a while, she crouched together, panting, then drew herself erect and let her hands fall apart. The burning sun shone in her hair, in the metal hems of her robe. in her sandals and changed the symbols into disks of fire she began to sing her voice was deep and glorious though muffled by the mask slowly she moved round the red carpet and the words of her song fell clearly on the hot air

if love were all his perfect servant i would be kissing where his foot might fall doing him homage on a lowly knee if love were all if love were all and no such thing as pride nor emperey nor god nor sins or great or small if love were all she passed thirie so close her fluttering robe touched his slack hand he looked at her curiously for he thought he knew her voice he had heard many women sing And somewhere, this one. If love were all, but love is weak, And hate oft giveth him a fall, And wisdom smites him on the cheek, If love were all.

If love were all, And I had lived glad and meek, Nor heard ambition call, And valor speak, If love were all. The song ended as it had begun on a clash of symbols. The dancer swung round, stamped her foot, and called fiercely to the ape, who leapt up and began running round the crowd, offering a shell and making an ugly jabbering noise. Tiri flung the hideous thing as silver

besan and moved away. He was thinking, not of the dancer with the unknown memory in her voice, but of the lady in the gilt chariot behind the azure curtains. Jacobia. How little she had changed! A burst of laughter made him look round. He saw a quick picture, the girl's orange dress flashing in the strong sunlight, the ape on her shoulder,

hurling the contents of the shell in the air, which glittered for a second with silver pieces and the jesting crowd closing round both. He passed on moodily into the center of the town, In the unrest and agitation of his thoughts, he had determined to seek Cardinal Capriola, since the Cardinal gave no sign of sending for him, even of remembering him. But today it was useless to journey to the palace on the Palatine, for the conclave sat in the Vatican, and the Cardinal would be of their number.

The streets, the wine-shops, the public squares, were full of a mixed and excited mob. the adherents of the emperor who wished to see a German pontiff, and they who were ardent Romans or churchmen came, here and there, to open brawls. The endless processions that crossed and recrossed from the various monasteries and churches were interrupted by the lawless years of the Frankish inhabitants, who, under a strong emperor and a weak pope, had begun to assume the bearing of conquerors. Hiri left them all, too concerned as always in his own small affairs, to have any interest in larger issues. He turned into the Vaya Sacra, and there, under the splendid but broken

arch of Constantine, he saw again the dancing girl and her ape. She looked at him intently, of that he could have no doubt, despite her mask, and as he turned his hesitating steps toward the Palatine, she rose and followed him. As he ascended the narrow gray road that wound above the city, he kept looking over his shoulder, and she was always there, following, with the ape on her shoulder. They passed scattered huts, monasteries, decaying temples, and villas, and came out on to the deserted stretches of the Upper Palatine, where the fragmentary glories of another world lay under the cypress and olive trees. Here Therry paused and again looked, half fearfully for the bright figure of the dancer. She stood not far from him, leaning against a slender shaft of marble, the sole remaining column of a temple to some heathen god.

Thierry flung himself on a low marble seat that stood in the shade of a cypress, and his blood-red robe was vivid even in the shadow. He looked at the veiled city at his feet, and at the dancing girl resting against the time-stained, moss-grown column. She loosened the symbols from her hands and flung them on the ground. The ape jumped from her shoulder and caught them up. Again, she sang her passionate little song. As she sang, another and very different scene was suddenly brought to Tyree's mind. He remembered a night when he had slept on the edge of a pine forest. in Germany, many years ago, and had suddenly awoke. Nay, he had dreamt he heard singing, and a woman singing.

If it were not so mad a thought, he would have said, this woman singing. He turned bitter, dark eyes towards her. Why had she followed him? Swiftly and lightly, she came across the grass, glittering from head to foot in the sunlight, and paused before him. "'Sir Tays, you should be in Rome today,' she said. "'The conclave come to their decision this afternoon. "'Do you wish to hear it announced from the Vatican?'

"'Nay,' smiled Thierry. "'I would rather see you dance.' Her answer was mocking. "'You care nothing for my dancing. "'I would wager to stir any man in Rome sooner than you.' "'Tierri flushed. "'Why did you follow me?' he asked. in a half indifferent dislike. She seated herself on the other end of his marble bench.

My reasons are better than my dancing, and would, could I speak them, have more effect on you? She leant towards him across the length of the bench, and the perfume of her orange garments mingled with the odor of the violets. Take me for something other than what I appear. She continued, in a mournful and passionate voice. In being here, I risk an unthinkable fate. I stake the proudest hopes, the fairest fortune. Who are you? cried Thierry. Why are you masked? She drew back instantly, and her tone changed to scorn again.

When there are many pilgrims in Rome, the monks bid us poor fools wear masks, lest with our silly faces we lure souls away from God. Tyree was silent. The dancing girl laughed softly. Are you thinking of her? she asked. He turned with a start. Thinking of whom, he demanded. The lady in the Byzantine chariot, Jacobia of Mardsburg? He sprang up. Who are you, and what do you know of me? This, at least, that you have not forgotten her, yet you would be emperor too, would you not? "'Ye are some witch,' he said. "'I come from Thessaly, where we have skill in magic,' she answered. And now she sat erect, her yellow dress casting a glowing reflection into the marble.

"'And I tell you this,' she added passionately. "'If you would be emperor, let that woman be. "'She will do not for you. Let her go. "'This is a warning, Thierry, of Dendermonde.' day. His face flushed, his eyes sparkled. Have I a chance of wearing the imperial crown? he cried. May I, I rule the West? Tell me that witch. She whistled the ape on her side. I am no witch, but I warn you to think no more of

Jacobia of Martzburg. He answered hotly. I love not to hear her name on your tongue. She is nothing to me. I need not your warning. The dancer rose. For your own sake, forget her, Ti'i of Dendermonde, and you may be indeed Emperor of the West and Caesar of the Romans. How came you by your knowledge, he asked, and clutched the cypress trunk. I read your fortune in your eyes, she answered. We in Thessaly have skill in these things, as I have said. Look at the same. city beneath us, is it not worth much to rain in it? The gold vapor that lay about the distant hills seemed to be resolving into heavy menacing clouds.

Thierry, following the direction of her slender pointing finger, gazed at the city and saw the clouds beyond. A storm gathers, he said, and knew not why he shivered suddenly, until his pearl earrings tinkled on the collar round his neck. The dancer laughed wildly. musically. Come with me to the piazza of St. Peter, she said, and you shall hear strange words. With that, she caught hold of his blood-red garments and drew him towards the city. As they went down the road that wound through the glorious desolation, Thirri heard the sound of pattering feet and looked over his shoulder. It was the ape who followed them. He walked on his hind legs. How tall he was!

Tyri had not thought him so large, nor of such a human semblance. The dancer was silent, and Thierry could not speak. When they entered the city gates, the dun-colored clouds had swallowed up the gold vapor and half-covered the sky. As they crossed the tiber and neared the Vatican, the last beams of the sun disappeared under the shadow of the oncoming storm. enormous crowds were gathered in the piazza of st peter it seemed as if all rome had assembled there many faces were turned towards the sky and the sudden gloom that had overspread the city seemed to infect the people for they were mostly silent even sommer the enormous and terrible ape cleared an easy way for himself through the crowd and thirie and the dancing girl followed until they had pushed through the press of people and found themselves under the windows of the Vatican.

I cannot see, she said, not even the window. He, with an instinct to assist her, and an impulse to use his strength, caught her round the waist and lifted her up. For a second her breast touched his. He felt her heart beating violently behind her thin robe, and an extraordinary sensation took possession of him, occasioned by the touch of her, the sense of her in his arms.

there was communicated as if from her heart to his a high and rapturous passion. It was the most terrible and the most splendid feeling he had ever known. At once an agony and a delight such as he had never dreamed of before. Unconsciously he gave an exclamation and loosened his hold. She slipped to the ground with a stifled and miserable cry. Let me alone, she said wildly. Let me alone. "'Who are you?' he whispered excitedly, and tried to catch hold of her again.

But the great ape came between them, and the seething crowd roughly pushed him. Cardinal Maria Orsini had stepped out on to one of the balconies of the Vatican. He looked over the expectant crowd, then up at the black and angry sky, and seemed for a moment to hesitate. When he spoke, his words fell into a great stillness. College has elected a successor to St. Peter in the person of Louis of Dendermonde, abbot of the brethren of the Sacred Heart in Paris, Bishop of Ostia, and Cardinal Capriola, who will ascend the papal throne under the name of Michael II.

He finished. The cries of triumph from the Romans, the yells of rage from the Franks, were drowned in a sudden and awful peal of thunder. The lightnings were, darted across the black heavens and fell on the Vatican and Castel San Angelo. The clouds were rent in two behind the Temple of Mars the Avenger, and a thunderbolt fell with a hideous crash into the forum of Augustus. Tiery whipped with terror, turned with the frightened crowd to flee. He heard the dancing girl laugh and tried to snatch at her orange garments, but she swept by him and was lost in the surge. Rome quivered under the onslaught of the thunder, and the lightning alone lit the murky, hot gloom. The reign of the Antichrist has begun, shrieked Thiery, and laughed insanely.

End of Section 26, recording by Molly Craig. Section 27 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2, Chapter 5, The Pope. The chamber in the Vatican was so dimly, richly lit with jeweled and deep-colored lamps that at first Thiery thought himself alone. He looked round and saw silver walls hung with tapestries of violet and gold. Pillars with columns of sea-green marble and capitals of shining mosaic supported a roof encrusted with Jasper and Jade. The floor of Numidians and marble was spread with Indian silk carpets. Here and there stood crystal bowls of roses,

white and crimson, fainting in the close sweet air. At the far end of the room was Adais, and Thierry, as his eyes became used to the wine-colored gloom, saw that someone sat there. Someone so splendidly robed and so still that it seemed more like one of the images Tiri had seen worship, in Constantinople than a human being. He shivered. Presently, he could discern intense eyes looking at him out of a dazzle of dark gold and shimmering shadowed colors. Michael I moved in his seat. You sent for me, said Thiery, to himself, his voice sounded hoarse and unnatural. At last. At last? I have been waiting. You have been waiting. You have have been Pope thirty days, and never have you given me a sign. Is thirty days so long?

You have done nothing for me. You spoke of favors. Favors, echoed Michael. You are the only man in Christendom who would stand in my presence. The Emperor kneels to kiss my foot. The Emperor does not know, shuddered Thiery, but I do, and knowing, I cannot kneel to you. "'Ah, God! How can you dare it?' "'The Pope's, soft voice, came from the shadows. "'Your moods change. First this, then that. "'What humour are you in now, Thiery of Dendermonde? "'Would you still be, Emperor?'

"'Tirie put his hand to his brow. "'Ye, you know it. "'Why do you torture me with suspense, with waiting? "'If evil is to be my master, let me serve him and be rewarded. The Pope held back the blossom-strewn brocade so that he could see the other's face. I ask of you to let Jacobia of Mardsburg be. Thirri flushed. How ye have always hated her.

Since I came to Rome, I have seen her the once. The Pope's smooth pale face showed a stain of red from the dim beams of one of the splendid lamps. Tiri observed it as he leant forward. She did not marry her steward, he said. The Pope's eyes narrowed. Ye have been at the pains to discover that? Thirie laughed mournfully. You have won.

You, sitting where you sit now, can afford to mock at me, at my love, at my hope, both of which I placed once at stake on, her, and lost, and lost. Ten years ago, but having again seen her, sometimes I must think of her, and that she was not vile after all, but only trapped by you, as I have been. Sebastian went to Palestine, and she has gone unwed. The Pope gave a quick sigh and bit his lip. I will make you emperor, he said,

but that woman shall not be your empress. Did I love her even, which I do not, I would put her gladly aside to sit on the imperial throne. Come, I have dollied long enough on the brink of devilry. Let me sin grandly now, and be grandly paid. Michael II gave so quick a breath the jewels on his breast scattered, colored light. Come nearer to me, he commanded, and take my hand, as you used to in Frankfurt. I am always dirk to you. You who never cared for me.

Hated me, I think. Oh, the traitors our hearts are, neither God nor devil is so fierce to fight. Thiery approached the gold steps. The Pope leant down and gave him his cool white hand, heavy with gemmed rings, and looked intently into his eyes. When they announced your election, How the storms smote the city, whispered Thierry fearfully. Were you not daunted? The Pope withdrew his hand. was not in the conclave, he said, in a strange tone. I lay sick in my villa. As for the storm, it has not lifted since, breathed Thiris. Day and night have the clouds hung over Rome. Is not there, after all, a god? Silence, cried the Pope in a troubled voice. You would be emperor of the West,

would you not? Let us speak of that. Tiri leant against the arm of the throne and stared with an awful fascination into the other's face. A, let us speak of that, he answered wildly. Can all your devilries accomplish it? It is common talk in Rome that you secured your election by Frankish influence, because you vowed to league with Baltasar. They say you are his ally. Nevertheless, I will cast him down and set you in his place.

He comes today to ask my aid against Lombardi and Bohemia, and therefore I have sent for you that you may overhear this audience and see how I mate and checkmate an emperor for your sake. As he spoke he pointed to the other end of the room where hung a somber and rich curtain. Conceal yourself behind that tapestry and listen carefully to what I say, and you will understand how I may humble Baltasar and shake him from his throne. Tyree, not joyous nor triumphant, but agitated and trembling with a horrible excitement, crept across the room and passed silently behind the arras. As the long folds shook into place again, the Pope touched a bell. Paolo Orsini entered.

Admit the Emperor! The secretary withdrew. There was a soft sound in the antechamber, the voices of priests. A heavy tread sounded. A heavy tread sounded. without, and the Emperor advanced into the splendid glooms of the audience chamber. He was bareheaded, and at sight of the awe-inspiring figure went on his knees at the foot of the Dias. Michael II looked at him in silence. The silver door was closed, and they were alone, save for the unseen listener behind the Arras. At last the Pope said slowly, Arise, my son. The Emperor stood erect, showing he, his magnificent height and bearing. Your holiness knows that it is my humble desire to form a firm

alliance between Rome and Germany. I have ruled both long enough to prove myself neither weak nor false. I have ever been a faithful servant of Holy Church. Michael II smiled. On what right does your grace presume when you ask us to aid you in steadying a trembling throne? I was assured, Holy Father, of your friendliness before the election, the Empress, again the Pope cut him short. Cardinal Capriola was not the vicerent of Christ, the high priest of Christendom, as we are now, and those whom Louis of Dendermonde knew became as nothing before the Pope of Rome, in whose estimate all men are the same. Your holiness can have no object in refusing my alliance, he answered. Sylvester crowned me with his own hands, and I always lived in friendship with him. He aided me with

troops when the Lombards rebelled against their Souseran, and Suabia he placed under an interdict. We are not Sylvester, said the Pope haughtily, nor accountable for his doings, as you may show yourself the obedient son of the church, so may we support you. Otherwise, we can denounce as we can uphold, pull down as we can raise up, and it wants but little Balthasar of Cortreg to shake your throne from under you. The emperor bit his lip, and the scales of his male gleamed as they rose with his heavy breathing. He knew that if the power of the Vatican was placed on the side of his enemies, he was ruined. In what way have I offended your holiness? He asked, with what humility he could. Ye have offended heaven, for whom we stand, he answered, and until, by penitence,

ye as soil your soul, we must hold you outcast from the mercies of the church. Tell me my sins, said Baltusar hoarsely, and what I can do to blot them out. Masses, money, lands. None of these can make your peace with God and us, only one thing can avail there. Tell it me, cried the emperor eagerly. If it be a crusade, surely I will go, after Lombardi is subdued. The Pope flashed a quick glance over him. We want no knight-erranty in the east. We demand this, that you put away the woman whom you call your wife. Balthasar stared with dilating eyes. St. Yorus guard us, he muttered, the woman whom I call my wife. Isabel, first wedded to the man whom you succeeded. I do not understand your holiness. The Pope turned in his chair so that the

lamplight made his robe one bright purple sheen. Come here, my lord. The Emperor advanced to the gold steps. A slim fair hand was held out to him, holding between finger and thumb a ring set with a deep red stone. Balthasar of Cortreg looked at the ring, round the bezel, two coats of arms were delicately engraved in the soft red gold. Why, he said in a troubled way, I know the ring, yea, it was made many years ago. The woman to whom in your name it was given still lives. Ursula of Russela Rie? cried Balthasar. Yay, Ursula of Russela Rie, your wife, "'My first wife, who died before I had seen her holiness,' stammered the emperor. "'Who told you she was dead?' continued the Pope.

"'A certain youth, who for his ends, I think, lied. "'A wicked youth he was, and he died in Frankfurt, "'for compassing the death of the late emperor, "'or escaped that end by firing his house. "'The tale grows faint with years. "'Twas he who told you Ursula of Roussella Rie was dead. dead. Even showed you her grave, and you were content to take his word, and she was content to be silent. Oh, Christos, cried the emperor, oh, Saint-Joras, but Holy Father, this thing is impossible.

He wrung his hands together and beat his mailed breast. From whom had you this tale? From Ursula Ruezzleri. It cannot be. Why was she silent all these years? Why did she allow me to take Isabel to wife? A wild expression crossed the Pope's face. He looked beyond the Emperor with deep, soft eyes, because she loved another man. A pause fell for a second. Then Michael the Second spoke again. I think, too, she something hated you, who had failed her and scorned her. There was her father also, who died shamefully by Isabel's command. She meant, I take it, to revenge that upon the Empress, and now perhaps her chance has come. Where is this woman who has so influenced your holiness against me? An imposter. Do not listen to her. She speaks the truth, as God and devil's

know, flashed the Pope, and we, with all the weight of Holy Church, will support her in the maintenance of her just rights. We also have no love for this Eastern woman who slew her lord. Nay, that is false. Altosar ground his teeth. I know some said it of her, but it is a lie. This to me, cried the Pope, beware how ye anger God's vicerant. I bend my neck for your holiness to step on, so you do not ask me to listen to evil of the Empress. Isabel is not Empress, nor your wife. Her son is not your heir, and you must presently part with both of them, or suffer the extremity of of our wrath. Yay, the woman shall ye give into the hands of the executioner to suffer for the death of Melquhar, and the child shall ye turn away from you, and with pains and trouble shall ye search

for Ursula of Roussela Rie, and finding her, cause her to be acknowledged your wife and Empress of the West. That she lives, I know, the rest is for you. I have but one answer, said Balthasar, and it would be that. the same did I deliver it in the face of God, that while I live and have breath to speak, I shall proclaim Isabel and none other as my wife, and our son as an empress's son, and my heir, and successor, kingdom and even life may your holiness dispoil me of, but neither the armies of the earth nor the angels of heaven shall take from me these two. This my answer to your holiness.

The Pope resumed his seat. "'Ye dare to defy me?' he said. "'Well, ye are a foolish man to set yourself against heaven. Go back and live in sin and wait the judgment.' Balthasar's flesh crept and quivered, but he held his head high, even though the Pope's words opened the prospect of a sure hell. Michael II gazed at him in silence as he bent his head and backed towards the silver door. Presently he rose and descended from the dais,

The dark heiress was lifted cautiously, and Thierry crept into the room. What you said was false, whispered Thirri questioningly. The jewelled light flickered over the Pope's face. Nay, it was true. Ursula of Roussela Rie lives. I would like to see her. Who is it that she loves? The Pope showed pale. He moved slowly across the room with his head bent.

A man, for who's who's in? sake she puts her very life in jeopardy, he said in a low, passionate voice. A man, I think, who is unworthy of her. The Pope lifted an arras that concealed an inner door. The first move is made, he said. Farewell now, I will acquaint you of the progress of your fortunes. He gave a slight queer smile. As for Ursula Ries, ye have seen her.

Seen her? "'Ye. She wears the disguise of a masked dancer in orange. With that he pointed Thiery to the concealed doorway and turning, left him. End of Section 27, recording by Molly Craig. Section 28 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Lubberwock's recording is in the public domain. Part 2, Chapter 6. San Giovanni in Laterano In the palace on the Aventine, Balthasar stood at a window looking over Rome. The clouds that had hung for weeks over the city cast a dull yellow glow over marble and stone. The air was hot and sultry.

Now and then thunder rolled over the Vatican and a flash of lightning revealed to the angel on Castel San Angelo, poised above the muddy waters of the tiber. A furious, utter dread and terror gripped Balthasar's heart. Days had passed since his defiance of the Pope, and he had heard no more of his daring, but he was afraid, afraid of Michael II, of the church, of heaven behind it, afraid of this woman who had risen from the dead. He knew the number of his enemies, and with what difficulty he held Rome. He guessed that the Pope intended his downfall and to put another in his place.

But not this almost certain ruin disturbed him day and night. No, the thought that the church might throw him out and consigned his soul to the smoky hell. Bravely enough he had dared the Pope at the time when his heart was hot within him. But in the days that followed, his very soul had fainted to think what he had done. He could not sleep, nor rest while waiting for outraged heaven to strike. He darkly believed the continual storm brooding over Rome to be omen of God's wrath with him. His trouble was the greater because it was secret, the first that since they had been wedded, he had concealed from Isabel.

As this touched her, in an infamous and horrible manner, he could neither breathe it to her, nor any other, and the loneliness of his miserable apprehension was an added torture. This morning he had interviewed the envoys from Germany and his chamberlain. Tales of anarchy and turmoil in Rome, a rebellion in Germany, had further distracted him. Now alone in his little marble cabinet, he stared across the gorgeous, storm-wrapped city. Not long ago, he heard someone quietly enter, and because he knew who it was, he would not turn his head. She came up to him and laid her hand on his plain brown doublet. Balthasar, she said, will you never tell me what it is that sits so heavily on your heart? He commanded his voice to answer. Nothing, Isabel, nothing.

Oh my lord, she cried passionately. No anguish is so bitter. when shared. Sir Tays, you know my troubles, Isabel, the discontent, the factions, matter enough to make any man grave. And the Pope, she said, raising her eyes to his, most of all it is the Pope. His holiness is no friend to me, said the Emperor in a low voice. Oh, Isabel, we were deceived to aid him to the Tierra. She shuddered. I persuaded you. Blame me. I was mad.

I set your enemy in authority. Nay, he answered, in a great tenderness. You are to blame for nothing. You, sweet, Isabel. She saw it, and terror shook her. He said more to you that day than you will tell me, she cried. You fear something that you will not reveal to me. He is a poor knight who tells his lady.

of his difficulties, he said, I cannot come crying to you like a child. I am very jealous of you, Balthasar, she said thickly. Jealous that you should shut me out from anything. You will know soon enough, he answered, in a hoarse voice, but never from me. Are we not as strong as this man, Balthasar? Nay, he shivered, for he has the church behind him.

"'Tomorrow we shall see him again. I dread tomorrow.' "'Why?' she asked thickly. "'Tomorrow is the feast of the assumption, and we go to the basilica.' "'Ye, and the Pope will be there in his power, and I must kneel humbly before him, yet not that alone.' "'Baltasar, what do you fear?' He breathed heavily. "'Nothing, a folly, an uproly.

Ugly presentiment. Of late I have slept so little. Why is he quiet? He meditates something. His blue eyes widened with fear. He put the empress gently from him. Take no heed, sweet. I am only weary, and your dear solicitude unnerves me. I must go pray, St. Yoris, to remember me. Angry scorn filled her heart when she considered the reputation this man had won in his youth. That, indeed, he still bore with some, yet it could not but stir her admiration to reflect what it must have cost a man of the Pope's nature to play the ascetic saint for so many years. But his piety had been well rewarded. The poor Flemish youth sat in the Vatican now, lord of her husband's fortunes and her own honour. Then she fell to pondering over the

story of Ursula of Russelaerie, wondering where she was, where she had been these years, and how she had met Cardinal Capriola. The empress dwelt on these things till her head ached. She was interrupted by the entry of a lady, tall and fair, leading a beautiful child by the hand, Jacobia of Mardsburg and Isobo's son. We seek for his grace, smiled the lady. Wenselus wishes to say his Latin lesson and to tell the tale of the three dukes and the sack of gold that he has lately learnt. The Empress gave her son a quick glance.

You shall tell it to me, Wenseless. My lord is not here. The boy, golden, large and glorious to look upon, scowled at her. The prince tossed his yellow curls. I want my father! Jacobia, in pity of the empress's distracted bearing, tried to pacify him. The empress crushed back the wild misery of her thoughts, and caught the child's embroidered yellow

sleeve. "'Sir Tays, ye shall see him,' she said quietly. "'If he promised you, I think he is in the oratory, we will wait at the door until he come forth.' The boy kissed her hand, and the shadow passed from his lovely, face. Jacobia saw the Empress look down on him, with a desperate and heart-broken expression. She wondered at the anguish revealed to her in that second, but she was neither disturbed nor touched. Her own heart had been broken so long ago that all emotions were but names to her.

The Empress dismissed her with a glance. Jacobia left the palace, mounted the little Byzantine chariot with the blue curtains, and drove to the church of San Giovanni in Lateranel. She went there every day to hear a mass sung for the soul of one who had died long ago. A large portion of her immense fortune had gone in paying for masses and candles for the repose of Sibylla,

one-time wife of Sebastian, her steward. If gold could send the murdered woman there, Jacobia had opened to her the doors of paradise. In her quiet, monotonous life in a strange land, caring for none, and by none cared for, with a dead heart in her bosom and leaden feet walking heavily the road to the grave, this Sibylla had come to be with Jacobia the most potent thing she knew. Neither Baltasar, nor the Empress, nor any of their court, were so real to her as the steward's dead wife. There were a few people in the church, kneeling for the Angeloos.

Jacobia joined them, and fixed her eyes on the altar where a strong purple light glowed and flickered, bringing out points of gold in the molding of the ancient arches. A deep hush held the scented stillness. The scattered bent figures were dark and motionless against the mystic clouds of incense and the soft bright lights. monks in long brown habits came and stood in the chancel the bell struck the hour and young novices entered singing angelus dominion nunti and conceived of spiritu sancto the monks knelt and folded their hands on their breasts the response that still seemed very sweet jacobia a rose rose. Ave Maria, gratia plena. A side door near Jacobia opened softly, and a man stepped into the church.

A strong sense that the newcomer was observing her made Jacobia turn, almost unconsciously, her head towards him as she repeated the Ave Maria. A tall, richly dressed man was gazing at her intently. His face was in shadow, but she could see long pearls softly gleam in his ears. Priests and novices left the church. The monks filed out and bent figures rose. The man stepped from the shadows as Jacobia rose to her feet, and their eyes met. You remember me? asked Thierry faintly. I have forgotten nothing, she answered calmly.

Why do you seek to recall yourself to me? "'I cannot see you and let you pass. "'Are you free of the devils?' she asked and crossed herself. "'Tiery winced. "'He remembered that she believed Dirk was dead, "'that she thought of the Pope as a holy man. "'Forgive me,' he murmured. "'For what?

"'Ah, that I did not understand you to be always a saintly woman.' Jacobia laughed sadly. You must not think of the past, though you may think of nothing else, even as I do. We might have been friends once, but the devil was too strong for us. At that moment, Thierry hated Dirt passionately. He felt he could have been happy with this woman, and with her only in the whole world, and he loathed Dirk for making it impossible. As she moved towards the door he came beside her. her. Then, by a common impulse, both stopped. Round one of the dark, glittering pillars, a brilliant figure flashed into the rich light, the masked dancer in orange. She stepped up to

Thierry and laid her fingers on his scarlet sleeve. How does Thierry of Dendermonde keep his word, she mocked, and her eyes gleamed from their holes. Is your heart of a feather's weight that it fluttered this way and that with every breath of air? What does she mean? asked Jacobia, as the man flushed and shuddered, and what does she hear in this attire? The dancer turned to her swiftly. What of one who drags his weary limbs beneath a Syrian son, in penitence for a deed ye urged him too, she said in the same tone.

Jacobia stepped back with a quick cry, and Thiery seized the d'est the dixie seized the d'est, dancer's arm. Be gone, he said threateningly. I know you, or who you feigned to be. She answered between laughter and fear, Let me go. I have not hurt you. Why are you angry, my brave knight? At the sound of her voice that she in no way lowered, a monk came forward and sternly ordered her from the church. The dancer laughed. So I am flung out of the house of God. well sir and sweet lady will you come to the mass at the basilica to-morrow nay do it will be worth beholding the basilica to-morrow i shall be there

with that she darted before them and slipped from the church man and woman shuddered and knew not why a peal of thunder rolled the walls of the church shook and an image of the virgin was hurled to the marble-pourable pavement and shivered into fragments. End of Section 28, recording by Molly Craig. Section 29 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2, Chapter 7. The Vengeance of Michael the 2nd. From every church and convent in Rome, the bells rang out.

It was the feast of the assumption and holiday in the city. Strange, heavy clouds still obscured the sky, an intermittent thunder echoed in the distance. The Basilica of St. Peter was crowded from end to end. The vast congregation all knelt upon the marble floor, save the Emperor and his wife, who sat under a violet canopy, placed opposite the pulpit. Between them on a lower step of the dais stood their little sun, gleaming in white satin and overawed by the glitter and the silence. surrounding the throne were ladies, courtiers, Frankish knights, members of the council,

German margraves, Italian nobles, envoys from France, Spain, and resplendent Greeks from the court of Basel. Thiery, kneeling in the press, distinguished the calm face of Jacobia of Mardsburg among the dames of the Empress's retinue, but he sought in vain through the immense and varied crowd for the dancer in orange. A faint chant rose from the sacristy. Jeweled crosses showed above the heads of the multitude, as the monks entered holding them aloft. The fresh voices of the choristers came nearer,

Acolytes took their places round the altar, and the blue clouds of incense floated over the hushed multitude. The bells ceased. The rise and fall of singing filled. the basilica. Cardinal Orsini, followed by a number of priests, went slowly down the aisle towards the open bronze doors. His brilliant Dalmatica shivered into gleaming light as he moved, at the doors he paused. The pontifical train was arriving in a gorgeous dazzle of color and motion. Michael the second stepped from a gilt car drawn by four white oxen, whose polished horns were wreathed with roses white and red.

Preceded by cardinals, the vivid tints of whose silk robes burnt in the golden brightness of the basilica, the pope passed down the aisle, while the congregation crouched low on their knees and hid their faces. Emperor and Empress rose. He looked at his son, but she at the pontiff, who took no heed of either. Monks, priests, and novices moved away from the high altar, where the rose upon rows of candles shone like stars against the sparkling, incense-laden air. He passed to his gold and ivory seat, and the cardinals took their places beside him. The Empress put her hand over her eyes. Her jewels seemed so heavy they must drag her from the throne. The crown galled at her brow. The little wenseless stood motionless, a bright color in his cheeks, his eyes brilliant with excitement.

Now and then the emperor looked at him in a secretive, piteous manner. There was an involuntary stir among the people as the rich voices of the men took up the singing at the end of the epistle, a movement of joy, of pleasure in the triumphant music. Then the pope moved, descended slowly from the dais, and mounted the steps. of the high altar, his train upheld by two archbishops. Emperor and Empress knelt with the rest as he performed the office of the Mass, and intense stillness held the rapt assembly. But as he turned and displayed the host before the vast multitude who hid their eyes as he held it like a captured star above the hushed splendor of the altar, a crash of thunder shook the very foundations of the church,

the walls shivered as if mighty forces beat on them without. Michael the second, the only man erect in the crouching multitude, smiled slowly as he replaced to the Eucharist. Lightning darted through the high-colored windows and quivered a moment before it was absorbed in the rich lights. Down the chancel came a tall monk in the robe of the order of the black penitence. His arms were folded, his hands hidden in his sleeves. His deep cowl cast his face into utter shadow. I thought Cardinal Colonna preached, whispered Balthasar fearfully, as the monk ascended the pulpit.

I know not this man. The monk drew from his sleeve a parchment from which swung a mighty seal. Slowly he unfurled it. The empress crouched closer to Balthasar. The monk began to speak, and both to Isabel and her husband, the voice was familiar. a voice that had been long silent in death. In the name of Michael II, Servant of Servants of God and Vicerent of Christ,

I herewith pronounce the Anathema over Baltasar of Cortreg, Emperor of the West, over Isobo, born Morosia porphorogenitus, over their son, wenseless, over their followers, servants, and hosts. I herewith expel them from the pale of Holy Church and curse them as heretics. I forbid any to offer them shelter, food, or help. I hurl on their heads the wrath of God and the hatred of man.

I forbid any to attend their sickbed, to receive their confession, or to bury their bodies. I cut asunder the ties that bind the Latin people in obedience to them. and I lay under and interdict any person, village, town, or state that suckers or aids them against our wrath. May they and their children and their children's children be blighted and cursed in life, and in death may they taste misery and desolation on the earth before they go to everlasting torment in hell. And now the cowled monk caught up one of the candles that lit the pulpit and held it aloft. May their race perish with them, and their memories be swallowed in oblivion, thus, as I extinguish this flame, may the hand of God extinguish them.

He cast the candle on to the marble floor beneath the pulpit. The flame was immediately dashed out, a slow smoke curled an instant and vanished. For Baltasar of Cortreg cherishes a murderous on the throne, and until he cast her forth and receive his charge, true wife, this Anathema rests upon his head. Emperor and Empress listened, holding each other's hands and staring at the monk. As he ended, and while the awe of utter fear held the assembly numb, Isabel rose. But at that same instant, the monk tossed back his cowl and revealed the stern, pale features of Melchre of Brabant, crowned with the imperial diadem.

a frenzied shriek broke from the woman and she fell across the steps of the throne her crown slipped from her fair head and dazzled up on the pavement groaning in anguish baltasar stood to raise her up When he again looked at the pulpit, it was empty. Isobo's cry had loosened the souls of the multitude. They rose to their feet and began to surge wildly towards the door. But the pontiff rose, approached the altar, and began calmly to chant the gratius. Balthasar gave him a wild and desperate look, staggered and fiercely recovered himself, then took his child by the hand, and supporting with the other the empress, who struggled back to life, he swept down the aisle, followed by a few of his German knights. The people shuddered away to right and left to give him passage. The bronze doors were opened,

and the excommunicated man stepped into the thunder-wrapped streets of the city, where he no longer reigned. End of Section 29, recording by Molly Craig. Section 30 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2. Chapter 8. Ursula of Russelaerie Say I have done well for you. It seems that I must ask your thanks. The Pope sat at a little table near the window of his private room in the Vatican and rested his face on his hand. Leaning against the scarlet tapestries that covered the opposite wall was Thierry, clothed in chain mail, and had to be.

heavily armed. Yay, answered Thierry, and is it for my sake you have done this? Must you question it, returned Michael, with a quick breath. Yay, for your sake, to make you, as I promised, emperor of the West, my vengeance had else been more quietly satisfied. He laughed. I have not forgotten all my magic. Thierry winced. The vision in the basilica was proof of that. What are you who can bring back the hollow dead to aid your schemes? Do you think I am not human, Tyree? he gave a sigh. If you would believe in me, trust me, be faithful to me.

Why, our friendship would be the lever to move the universe, and you and I would rule the world between us. But this is truth. If again you forsake me, you bring about your own downfall. stand by me and I will share with you the dominion of this earth. This I say is truth. Tiri laughed unhappily. Sweet devil, there is no God, and I have no soul. There do not fear. I shall be very faithful to you, since what is there for man, save to glut his desires of pomp and wealth and power? He moved from the wall and took a quick turn about the room, and yet I know not,

he cried can all your magic all your learning all your riches keep you where you are the clouds hang angrily over rome nor have they lifted since orsini announced you pope the people riot in the streets all beautiful things are dead many see ghosts and devils walking at twilight across the meremma the powers that put me here can keep me here be you but true to me a i will be emperor. Thirri grasped his sword-hilt fiercely. Though the world I rule wrought about me, though ghouls and fiends make my imperial train, I will join hands with Antichrist and see if there be a god or no. The Pope rose. You must go against Baltasar. You must defeat his hosts and bring to me his empress. Then will I crown you in St. Peter's. Tiri pressed his hand to his forehead. We start to-moral with the dawn. Beneath the banner of God, His church, I, in this mail ye gave me,

tempered and forged in hell. Until then, stay in the Vatican, said Michael II, suddenly. My prelates and my nobles know you for their leader now. Nay, Thierry flushed as he answered. I must go to my own abode in the city. Jacobia of Martyrdburg is still in Rome, said the other.

Do you leave me to be? go to her? What is Jacobia to me? demanded Thierry desperately. Why did you approach her after her devotions in San Giovanni in Laterano? Speak to her and recall yourself to her mind? You know that. Ah, it was the dancer, your accomplice. What mystery is this? He asked in a distracted way. Why does not Ursula Ruezzleri come forth under her true name and confound the emperor? Why does she follow me, and in such a guise? Without looking at him, Michael answered, Maybe, because she is very wise, maybe because she is a very fool. Let her pass, she has served her turn. You say you do not go to paltar with Jacobia, then farewell until tomorrow. I have much to do.

Farewell, Therie. Thierry left the rich-scented chamber and the vast halls of the Vatican, and passed into the riotous and lawless streets of Rome. The storm that had hung so unnaturally long over the city had affected the people. Bravos and assassins crept from their hiding places in the catacombs, or the Palatine, and flaunted in the streets. The wine-chops were filled with mongrel soldiers of all nations, attracted by the declaration of war from the surrounding towns. Blasphemer's mocked openly at the processions of monks and monks,

pilgrims that traverse the streets chanting the penitential psalms, or scourging themselves in an attempt to avert the wrath of heaven. Witches gathered in the low marshes of the Morema and came at night into the city, trailing gray fever-laden vapor after them. The bell ropes began to rot in the churches, and the bells clattered from the steeples. The gold rusted on the altars, and mice gnawed the garments on the holy images of the saints. The people lived with reckless laughter and died with hopeless curses. And such under Pope Michael II was Rome, swiftly and in a moment. Thierry, like all others, went heavily armed. His hand was constantly on his sword-hilt as he made his way through the city that was forsaken by God. Tiri walked beyond the Appian Gate and stopped at a low

convent building, above the portals of which hung a lamp, its gentle radiance like a star in the heavy noisome twilight. The gate that led into a courtyard stood half open. Thirie softly pushed it wider and entered. There were no lights in the convent windows, but it was not yet too dark for Thir to distinguish the slim figure of a lady seated on a wooden bench. Her hands passive in her lap. He latched. the gate and softly cross the lawn. You said that I might come. Jacobia turned her head, unsmiling, unsurprised. A, sir, this place is open to all.

He seated himself beside her. What do you do here? he asked. So little. There are two sisters here, and I help them. One can do nothing against the plague, but for the little forsaken children, something and something for the miserable sick. the wretched of rome are not in your keeping he said eagerly it will mean your life why did you not go with the empress she shook her head i was not needed i suppose what they said of her was true

i cannot remember clearly but i think that when melchard died i knew it was her doing we must not dwell on the past said thiris have you heard that i lead the pope's army against baltasar nay her eyes were on the white rose jacobia i shall be the emperor in the now complete dark they could scarcely see each other there were no stars and distant thunder rolled at intervals Thiery timidly put out his hand and touched the fold of her dress where it lay along the seat. I wish you would not stay here. It is so lonely. I think she would wish me to do this. She, he questioned. Sibylla. She is dead. Yay, she died on a cold morning. It was so cold you could see your breath before you as you rode along, and the road was hard as glass. There was a yellow don't. that day and the pine trees seemed frozen. They stood so motionless. You would not think it was ten years ago.

I wonder how long it seems to her. A silence fell upon them for a while. Then Thierry broke out desperately. Jacobia, my heart is torn within me. Today I said there was no God. But when I sit by you, Yay. There is a god, she answered quietly. Be very sure of that. Oh, Jacobia, he cried at last. I am beyond all measure, mean and vile. I know not what to do. I can be emperor, yet as I sit here that seems to me as nothing. Jacobia rose slowly from the bench. Why do you come to me? Because ye seem to me nearer heaven than anything I know. He followed her dim-seen figure across the grass. She lifted the latch of the convent door and went before him into the building. For a while she left him in the passage,

then returned with a pale lamp in her hand, and conducted him into a small bare chamber, which seemed mean in contrast with the glowing splendor of his appearance. The sisters are abroad, said Jacobia, and I stay here in case any ring the bell for succor. She set her lamp on the wooden table and slowly turned her eyes on Tyree. Sir, I am very selfish, she spoke with difficulty, as if she painfully forced expression. I have thought of myself for so many years, and somehow, she lightly touched her breast, I cannot feel. For myself or for others, nothing seems real. save Sibylla. Nothing matters, save her. Sometimes I cry for little things I find dying alone, for poor, unnoticed miseries of animals and children. But for the rest? You must not blame me

if I do not sympathize. That has gone from me. Nor can I help you. God is far away beyond the stars. I do not think he can stoop to such as you and me, and I do not feel as if I should wait. until I die." Tyri covered his eyes and moaned. Jacobia was not looking at him, but at the one bright thing in the room. A samite cushion worked with a scarlet lily that rested on a chair by the window. She took her gaze from the red flower and turned her tired gray eyes on him. The blood surged into his face. He clenched his hands and spoke passionately. I will renounce the world. I will become a monk. What was that? asked Jacobia. One was singing without. Tierry's strained eyes glistened. If love were all, his perfect servant I would be, kissing where his foot might fall,

doing him homage on a lonely knee, if love were all. Tierry turned and went out into the dark, hot night. He could see neither roses nor fountain, nor even the line of the convent wall against the sky. But the light above the gate revealed to him the dancer in orange, who leant against the stone arch of the entrance, and sang to a strange long instrument that hung round her neck by a gleaming chain. At her feet the ape crouched, nodding himself to sleep. What do you do here? he demanded fiercely. The Pope's spy, you. You. You. The Pope's May I not come to worship here as well as another? she answered. He caught her by the arms and held her against the stone gateway.

Now tell me the meaning of your disguise, he breathed, and of your league with Michael the second. She said a strange little word under her breath. The ape jumped up and tore away the man's hands while the girl bent to a run and sped through the gate. Thierry gave a cry of pain and rage and glit. glanced towards the convent. The door was closed. Lady and lamp had disappeared in the darkness. Shut out, whispered Tyree, shut out. He turned into the street and saw by the scattered lanterns along the Appian Way the figure of the dancer slipping fast towards the city gates. But he gained on her,

and at the sound of his clattering step she looked round. Ah, she said, I thought you had stayed with the sweet-faced saint yonder she wants none of me he panted but i-i mean to see your face to-night i am not beautiful answered the dancer and you have seen my face seen your face certais in the basilica on the fete the ever-gathering tempest was drawing near with fitful flashes of lightning playing over his jewel-like mail and her orange gown as they made their way through the ruins do you wander here alone at night asked tierie it is a vile place a man might be afraid i have the ape she said where are we going asked the wayside lanterns had ceased he could see her only by the lightning gleams i know not why do you follow me i am mad i think the earth rocks beneath me and heaven bends overhead you lure me and i follow in sheer confusion ursula of russela roussela rie why have you lured me what power is it that you have over me wherefore are you disguised i am baltasar's wife eh he responded eagerly and i do hear ye loved another man what is that to you she asked this though i have not seen your face perchance i could love you ursula there was no answer he felt her arm quiver under his hand and heard the hems of her tunic tinkle against her buskins as if she trembled at last she spoke in a half-swooning voice I have taken off my mask.

Bend your head and kiss me. Invisible and potent powers drew him towards her unseen face. His lips touched and kissed its softness. The thunder sounded with such a terrific force and clash, the Thierry sprang back. A cry of agony went up from the darkness. He ran blindly forward. Her presence had gone from his side,

nor could he see or feel her as he moved. He ran sobbing down the Appian way, and his pace was very swift, for all the mail he carried. End of Section 30, recording by Molly Craig. Section 31 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2. Chapter 9. Pope and Empress The Pope walked in the Garden of the Vatican. behind him Cardinal Orsini and Cardinal Colonia. Both talked of the horrible state of Rome,

of the unending storm hanging over the capital, of the army that had gone forth three days ago to crush the excommunicated emperor. Michael II was silent. He wore a white robe, his soft, heavy red hair showing a brilliant color above it. His dark eyes were thoughtful, his pale mouth resolutely set. The cardinals fell further behind and conversed with the greater ease. Suddenly the Pope paused and stood waiting, for Paulo Orsini, with a sprig of pink flower at his chin, was coming across the lawn. Michael II tapped his gold-shod foot on the marble path. What is it, Orsini? Your Holiness, a lady, who will neither unveil nor give her name, has obtained. entry to the Vatican and desires to see your holiness. Michael the Second reflected a moment,

his slim fingers pulling at the laurel leaves beside him. We will see her, he said at length. Bring her here, Orsini. The yellow clouds broke over a brief spell of sunshine that fell across the Vatican gardens. Though the horizon was dark with a freshly gathering storm, Michael the second seated himself on a bench where the sun gleamed. sirs he said to the two cardinals stand by me and listen to what this woman may say and picking a crimson rose from a thorny bush that brushed the seat he considered it curiously and only took his eyes from it when paulo orsini had returned and led the lady almost to his feet then he looked at her she wore a dark rough dress showing marks of ill usage and over her face a thick veil This she loosened as she knelt and revealed the exceedingly fair, sad face of Isabel the empress. Michael the second went swiftly pale. He fixed large eyes on her.

What do you hear defying us? he demanded. She rose. I am not here in defiance. I have come to give myself up to punishment for the crime you denounced, the crime for which my lord now suffers. It did not occur to your holiness, she added, facing him fearlessly, that I should do this. You thought that he would never give me up, and you were right. Crown, life, heaven he would forfeit for love of me, but I will not take the sacrifice. At last Michael spoke, ye slew Malquhar of Brabant, ye confess it? Her bosom heaved. I am here to confess it.

love of Balthasar, you did it? As for love of him, I stand here now to take the consequences. The Pope cast the crush rose from him. Has Balthasar sent you here? She smiled proudly. I come without his knowledge. Her voice trembled a little. I left a writing telling him where I had gone and why. Her hand crept to her brow. Enough of that. Michael the second. Michael the second. and rose. Why have you done this? he cried angrily. Isabel answered swiftly, that you may take the curse off him. For my sin, you cast him forth. Well, if I leave him, if I accept my punishment, if he be free to find the woman who can claim him, your holiness must absolve him of the excommunication. Had you told him to his face of your crime, would he have given you over to

our wrath? Nay, she flashed. It would have been only noble in him to refuse. But since of myself I have come, I pray you, Lord Pope, to send me to death and take the curse off him. Michael I second looked at his hand. The stem of the red rose had scratched his finger, and a tiny drop of blood showed on the white flesh. You are a wicked woman by your own confession, he said frowning. why should i show you any pity i do not ask pity but justice for the emperor i am the cause of the quarrel and now ye have me ye can have no bitterness against him He gave her a quick, sidelong look. Do you repent, Isabel? She shook the clinging hood free of her yellow hair.

No, the gain was worth the sin, nor am I afraid of you nor heaven. I am not of a faltering race, nor of a name easily ashamed. In my own eyes I am not abashed. Michael raised his head and their eyes met. So you would die for him? When I was a child, I was taught that they who live as kings and queens must not look for age. The flame soon burns away, leaving the ashes. And gorgeous years I'll like the flame.

Why should we taste the dust that follows? I have lived my life. He answered, This shall not save Baltasar, nor take our curse from off him. Thiery of Dendermonday has gone forth with many men and banners. and soon the Roman gates shall open to him and victory lead his charger through the streets and his reward shall be the Latin world his badge of triumph the imperial crown he is our choice to share with us the dominion of the West therefore no more of Baltasar ye might speak until the heavens fell and still our hearts be as brass he turned swiftly and caught the arm of cardinal Orsini away my lord Lord, we have given this Greek time enough. She clutched in her desperation at the priest's white garments.

Show some pity. Balthasar dies beneath your wrath. Take her away, said Michael. Cast her from Rome. He glared at her over his shoulder. Doubtless the eastern she-cat will find it worse so to die than as Hugh of Roussela-Rue perished. Come on, my lords. This, your Christian priest? she cried hoarsely, starting after the white figure. Then, as she saw the guards approaching, she fell into an utter silence. As Michael II entered the Vatican, the sun was again obscured, and the thunder rolled. He passed up the silver stairs to his cabinet and closed the door on all. The storm grew and rioted angrily in the sky. In the height of it came a messenger riding straight to the Vatican. Blood and dust were smeared on his clothes, and he was weary with swift travel.

They brought him to the ebony cabinet and face to face with the Pope. From Thiery of Dendermonde, your holiness, what says he, victory? Balthasar of Cortreg is defeated. His army lies dead, men and horses, in the veil of Tivoli, and his conqueror marches home today. a shaft of lightning showed the ghastly face of michael the second an appeal of thunder shook the messenger back against the wall end of section thirty one recording by molly craig section thirty two of black magic by marjorie bowen this librivox recording is in the public domain part two chapter ten evening before the coronation the orange marble pillars glowing in the light of a hundred lamps gave the chamber a dazzling brightness the windows were screened by scarlet silk curtains and crystal bowls of purple flowers stood on the serpentine floor On a low-gilled couch against the wall sat Thiery, his gold armor half-concealed by a violet and ermine mantle.

Round his close, dark hair was a wreath of red roses, and the long pearls in his ears glimmered with his movements. Opposite him on a throne supported by basalt lions was Michael the second, robed in gold and silver tissues under a dalmatica of orange and crimson brocade. It is done, he said in a low, eager voice, and tomorrow I crown you in St. Peter's Church. Thiery, it is done. Truly our fortunes are marvelous, answered Thiery, Today, when I heard the princes elect me, an unknown adventurer, when I heard the mob of Rome, shout for me, I thought I had gone mad. Are you afraid of me? the other asked.

Why do you so seldom look at me? Thirie slowly turned his beautiful face. I am afraid of my own fortunes. I am not as bold as you, he said fearfully. You never hesitated to sin. The Pope moved and his garments sparkled against the gleaming marble wall. I do not sin, he smiled. I am sin.

I do no evil, for I am evil. But you? His face became grave, almost sad. You are very human. Better it had been for me never to have met you. Tiri, for your sake, I have risked everything. For your sake maybe, I must leave this strange fair life and go back whence I came.

So much I care for you. So dearly have I kept the vows we made in Frankfurt. Cannot you meet with courage the destiny I offer you? Was not your blood warmed by that charge at Tivoli? When knight and horse fell before your spears, and your host humbled an emperor? When Rome rose to greet you, and I came to meet you with a kingdom for a gift? Did not some fire creep into your veins that might serve to heat you now? A kingdom! cried Tierry! The kingdom of Antichrist! The victory was not mine. The cohorts of the devil galloped beside us and urged us to unholy triumph. Rome is a place of horror, full of witches, ghosts,

and strange beasts. You said you would be emperor, answered the Pope, and I have granted you your wish. If you fail me or betray me now, it is over, for both of us. Tiri stopped in his pacing to and fro. Why do you say to me so often, Do not fail me, do not betray me? Michael the second answered in a low voice, Because I fear it. Therie laughed desperately. To whom should I betray you?

It seems that you have all the world. There is Jacobia of Martzburg. Why do you sting me with that name? Be like, I thought ye might wish to make her your empress. said the Pope in sudden mockery. Thirri pressed his hand to his brow. She believes in God. What is that to me? he cried.

The other day you lied to me, saying you knew not where she was, and straightway ye visited her. This is your spy's work, Ursula Ries. She will not trouble you again, answered Michael the second. Let her go. I cannot.

She said I have seen her face. Well, if you have, take it from me, she is not fair. I do not think of her fairness, answered Theritech sullenly, but of the mystery there is behind all of it. Why you never told me of her before, and why she haunts me with witches in her train? The Pope looked at him curiously, for one who has never been an ardent lover, ye dwell much on women. I had rather you thought,

on battles and kingdoms. Had I been a... Were I you? Dancer and none alike would be nothing to me compared with my coronation on the moral. Would ye had never come my way to be my ruin and your own? Would you were not such a sweet, fair fool that I must love you? And so we make ourselves the mock of destiny by these complaints. Oh, if you have the desire to be king, show the courage to dare a kingly fate. You must think me a coward, Tyree said, and I have been very weak, but that I think is past. I have reached the summit of all the greatness I ever dreamed, and it confuses me. But when the imperial crown is mine, you shall find me bold enough. Then are we great indeed? We shall join hands across the fairest dominion men ever ruled.

Swabia is ours, Bohemia and Lombardy. France courts our alliance. Cyprus, the Isle of Candy and Malta Town. In Rhodes they worship us, and Genoa Town owns us master. He paused in his speech and stepped down from the throne. Do you remember that day in Antwerp Thierry, when we looked in the mirror? He said, and his voice was to be. tender and beautiful. We hardly dared then to think of this. We saw a gallows in that mirror,

answered Thiris, a gallows tree beside the triple crown. It was for our enemies, cried Michael, our enemies whom we have triumphed over. Tyri, think of it. We were very young then and poor. Now I have kings at my footstool, and you will sleep tonight in the gold palace of the Avonite. he laughed joyously terry's face grew gentle at the old memories the house still stands i wot he mused though the dust be thick over the deserted rooms and the vine chokes the windows when i was in the east i have thought with great joy of antwerp the pope laid his delicate fragrant hand on the glittering vambres tiri do you not value me a little now you have done more for me than man or god and above both i do worship you he answered i am not fearful any more and to-morrow ye shall see me a king indeed until to-morrow then farewell i must attend a conclave of the cardinals and show myself unto the multitude in st peter's church you to the palace on the avonitein there to sleep soft and dream of gold They clasped hands. A hot color was in the Pope's face.

The Syrian guards wait below, and the Lombard archers who stood beside you at Tivoli, they will attend you to the imperial palace. What shall I do there? asked Thierry. It is early yet, and I do not love to sit alone. Then come to the service in the basilica. Come with a bold bearing and a rich dress to overaw these mongrel crowds of Rome. To that, Thirri made no answer. The Pope came quickly to his side. Do not go to Jacobia to-night, he said earnestly.

Remember, if you fail me now, I shall not fail you or myself again. Farewell. Tyri descended the stairs, and now and then looked up, always to see fixed on him the yearning fierce gaze of the one who stood by the gilded rails and stared down at his glittering figure. Only when he had completely disappeared in the turn of the stairs,

did Michael II slowly return to the golden chamber and closed the gorgeous doors. Thierry, splendidly attended, flashed through the riotous streets of Rome to the palace on the Aventine Hill. There he dismissed the knights. I shall not go to the basilica to-night, he said. Go thou there without me.

He laid aside the golden armor, the purple cloak, and attired himself in a dark habit and a steel corslet. He meant to be emperor to moral. He meant to be faithful to the Pope. But it was in his heart to see Jacobia once more before he accepted the devil's last gift and sign. Leaving the palace secretly when they all thought him in his chamber, he took his way toward the Appian gate. He gently pushed the convent gate and entered. The hot dusk just revealed to him the dim shapes of the white roses and the dark figure of a lady standing beside them. Jacobia, he whispered.

She moved very slowly towards him. Ah, you! Jacobia, you must not remain in this place. Where are the nuns? She shook her head. They are dead of the plague, days past. and I have buried them in the garden. He thought she smiled. He followed her into the house, the chamber where they had sat before. A tall pale candle burnt on the bare table,

and by the light of it he saw her face. She crept with a slow, sick movement to a bench that stood against the wall and sank down on it. Her features showed pinched and wan. Her eyes unnaturally blue in the pallor of her face. You must return to Martzburg, cried Thiery, distractedly, and thought of her as he had first seen her, bright and gay, in a pale crimson dress. Nay, I shall return to Martzburg no more, she answered. He died today. He?

Who died Jacobia? Very faintly, she smiled. Sebastian, in Palestine. God let me see him then, because I had never looked on him since that morning on which you saw us, sir. He has been a holy man fighting the infidel. They wounded him, I think, and he was sick with fever. He crept into the shade, for it is very hot there, sir, and died. Thiris stood dumb, and the mad hatred of the devil who brought about this misery anew possessed him. Jacobia spoke again.

they have met in paradise, and as for me, I hope God may think me fit to die. Of late, it seemed to me that the fiends were again troubling me. She clasped her hands tightly on her knees and shivered. Something evil is abroad. Who is the dancer? Last night I saw her crouching by my gate as I was making the grave of Sister Angela, and it seemed—it seemed that she bewitched me as the young scholar did long ago. Tyree lent heavily against the table. She is the Pope's spy and tool, he cried hoarsely. Ursula Rie. Jacoby's dim eyes were bewildered. Ah, Baltasar's wife, she faltered. But the Pope's tool, how should he meddle with an evil thing? Then he told her in an outburst of wild, unnameable feeling. The Pope is Dirk Renswode. The Pope is, Dirk Renswode. The Pope's

is Antichrist, do you not understand? And I am to help him rule the kingdom of the devil. Dirk, Grenzwote, she muttered, and Ursula Ries? Why? Was it not to save Hugh of Rousselaeret that he rode that night? Tiree lifted his head and looked at her. Her utterance was feeble and confused, her eyes glazing in a livid face. He clasped his head. He clasped his head. He looked at her. Tiree, hands tightly over hers. What was Lord Hugh to him? she asked. Ursula's father? I do not understand, cried Tyree.

But it is very clear to me. I am dying. She loved you. Loves you still. That such things should be. Whom do you speak of, Jacobia? He cried. She drooped towards him and he caught her in his arms.

The city is a curse. she gasped. Give me Christian burial. If ever once you cared for me. And fly! Fly! She strained and writhed in his frantic embrace. And you never knew it was a woman,

she whispered. Pope and dancer. God! shrieked Thierry and staggered to his feet, drawing her with him. She slipped from him to the bench. Water! A crucifix! Oh, I have a

forgot my prayers. She stretched out her hands towards a wooden crucifix that hung on the wall, caught hold of it, pressed her lips to the feet. Sybilla, she said, and died with that name struggling in her throat. Terry stepped back from her with a strangled shriek that seemed to tear the breath from his body and staggered against the table. The lightning leapt in through the dark window and appeared to plunge like a sword into the breast of the chest of the wall. The lightning leapt in of the dead woman. Dead! Even as she uttered that horror! Dead, so suddenly! The plague had slain her. He did not wish to die, so he must leave this place. Was he not to be emperor to moral? He fell to laughing. He crawled across the room and stared at Jacobia. She was not

beautiful. He noticed that her hands were torn and stained with earth from making the graves of the nuns. asked for Christian burial. He could not stay to give it to her. He fiercely hated her for what she had told him, yet he took up the ends of her yellow hair and kissed them. Again the thunder and lightning and wild howlings reached him from without, as ghosts and nighthags wandered past to hold court within the accursed city. The candle shot up a long tongue of flame and went out. Tiri staggered across the darkness, a flash of lightning showed him the door. As the thunder crashed above the city, he fled from the convent and from Rome. End of Section 32, recording by Molly Craig. Section 33 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain.

Part 2, Chapter 11, The Angels In a ruined villa, shattered by the barbarians, and crumbled by time, sat Isabel the Empress looking over the sunless Morema. A few olive trees were all that shaded the bare expanse of marshy land, where great pools veiled with unhealthy vapors gleamed faintly under the heavy clouds. Here and there rose the straight roof of a forsaken convent, or the stately pillars of a deserted palace. There was no human being in sight. She had dwelt here for three days. At every sunrise a peasant girl, daring the excommunication, had brought her food, then fled with a frightened face. Isabel saw nothing before her save death, but she did not mean to die by the ignoble way of starvation.

She had not heard of the defeat of Baltasar at Tivoli, nor of the election of Thiris to the crown. Day and night she thought on her husband, and pondered how she still might possibly serve him. She did not hope to see him again. It never occurred to her to return to him. When she had fled his camp, she had left a confession behind her. No Greek would have heated it, but these Saxons, still to her foreigners, were different, and Balthasar had loved Malkaer of Brabun. She moved to the inner portion of the villa, and here she seated herself on the capital of a broken column, and a languid weariness subdued her proud spirit. Her head sank back against the stained wall, and she slept. When she woke, the whole landscape was glowing with the soft red of sunset.

There were faint voices coming from the outer room, and the sound of a man's tread. For a while she waited. then crept cautiously towards the shattered doorway that led into the other chamber she gained it and gazed through sitting where she had just now sat under the vine-twisted columns was a huge knight in defaced armor his back was towards her by his side his helmet stood and the great glittering dragon that formed the crest shone in the setting sun he was bending over a child that lay asleep on a crimson He was bending over a child that lay asleep on a crimson cloak. Balthasar, said Isabel. He gave a little cry and looked over his shoulder. He rose softly, his face flushed.

I am a ruined man. They have elected another emperor. Now, I think it does not matter. Her eyes travelled in a dazed way to the child. Is he sick? Nay, only weary. We have been wandered. since Tivoli. When he spoke, he looked at her as if the world held nothing else worth gazing on.

I must go, said Isabel. Must go? I am cast out. I may not share your misfortunes. Balthasar laughed. I have been searching for you madly, Isabel. But you found the writing, she cried. Yay. You know I slew him? I know. I know. I know. I know. I know. know you went to give your life for me. Oh, Balthasar, does it make no difference? It cannot, he said half sadly. You are my wife, part of me. I have given you my heart to keep, and nothing can alter it. You do not mock me? She questioned shuddering. It must be that you mock me. I will go away. He stepped before her. You shall never leave me again, Isabel. He put his arm round her bowed shoulders, her marvellous hair lay across his dinted male.

This is sweeter than our marriage day. Balthasar, for now you know the worst of me. He set her gently on the broken shaft by the door and kissed her hand, and he told her how they had been defeated at Tivoli, how the remnant of his force had forsaken him, and how Thierie of Dendermande had been elected emperor by the wishes of the Pope. Her eyes grew fierce at that. I have ruined you, she said.

Made you a beggar. Could I have held a throne without you, Isabel? Her fingers trembled in his. Would I had been a better woman, for your sake, Baltazar? His swift, bright flush dyed his fair face. All I grieve for, Isabel, is God. God? she asked, wondering. If he should not forgive me, his blue eyes were troubled, and we are cursed and cast out.

What think you? Through me, you grieve, and this is through me. Nay, our destiny is one, always, only I think of afterwards, yet, if you are damned, as the priest says, why, I will be so too. Do not fear, Balthasar, if God, will not receive me, the little images at Constantinople will forgive me if I pray to them again, as I did when I was a child. They fell on silence again, while the red color of the setting sun deepened and cast a glow over their weary faces and the sleeping figure of Wenseless. The vine leaves fluttered from the ancient marble, and the wild fowl screamed across the marshes. Who is this pope that he should hate us so? mused Isabel.

and who, Thierry of Dendermonde, that he should be emperor of the West? I do not understand it, nor do I now, Isabel, Balthasar looked at her, greatly care. She raised his hand, kissed it, and no more was said, while the mists gathered and thickened over the merrama, and the rich hues faded from the sky. Who is that? cried Isabel, and pointed across the marshland. A figure, dark against the mists, was running aimlessly, wildly to and fro, winding his way in and out the pools, now and then flinging his arms up in a frantic gesture toward the evening sky. A madman, said Balthasar. See, he runs with no object, round and round, yet always as if pursued. Suddenly, as if exhausted, the man stopped and stood still with hanging head and arm.

arms the sun burning to the horizon made a vivid background to his tall dark figure till the heavy noisome vapours rose to the level of the sunset and the solitary motionless stranger was blotted from the view of the two watching in the ruined villa we must get away said baltasar resolutely this is a vile spot the man whispered isabeau out of the dreary vapours the forlorn and foul mists of the marches he appeared, stumbling over the stones in his way, he caught hold of the slender pillar by the entrance, and stared at the three with distraught eyes. His clothes were dark, wet, and soiled. His hair hung lank round a face hollow and pale, but of obvious beauty. "'Tiris of Dendermonde!' exclaimed Balthasar. Isabel gave a cry that woke the child and sent him frightened into her arms. "'The emperor,' said the newcomer. "'Sendor,' said the newcomer. in a feeble voice.

Balthasar answered fiercely, Am I still emperor? To you? You, who today were to receive my crown in St. Peter's Church? Thiery shivered and crouched like one very cold. Of my own will I fled from Rome, that city of the devil. Balthasar stared at him. You are the emperor, said Thierry faintly,

and I pretend no longer to these wrongful honors, nor serve I any longer, Antichrist. He is mad, cried Balthasar. Nay, Isabel spoke eagerly. Listen to him. Thierie moaned. I have nothing to say. Give me a place to rest in.

Through you, we have no place ourselves to rest in, answered Balthasar grimly. No shelter save these broken walls, you see. But since you have returned to your allegiance, we command that you you tell us of this Antichrist. Thirri straightened himself. He who reigns in Rome is Antichrist. Michael, who was Dirk Renswode. He perished, said the Emperor, very pale,

and the Pope was Blay of Dendermonde. That was the devil's work. Black magic, cried Thierry wildly. The youth Blay died ten years ago, and Dirk Renswode took his place. It is true, cried the Empress, By what he said to me, I know it true. Now do I see it very clearly. Then Thierry began to speak. He told them, in a thick, expressionless voice, all he knew of

Dirk Renswode. He did not mention Ursula Rie. As his tale went on, the storm gathered till all light had vanished from the sky. The lightning rent a starless gloom. Tyre's voice suddenly strengthened. Now, turn against Rome, for all men will join you. A force of Lombards marches up from Trestivere, and the Saxons gather without the walls of the accursed city. A blue flash showed them his face. They heard him fall.

After a while, Balthasar made his way to him through the dark. He has fainted, he said fearfully. Is he be like mad? He speaks the hideous truth, whispered Isabel. Suddenly, at its very height, the storm ceased. The air became cool and fragrant, and a bright moon floated from the clouds, the first moon and stars that had shone since Michael II's reign in the Vatican. Balthasar looked at his wife.

Neither dared to speak, but Wenseless gave a panting sigh of relief at the lifting of the darkness. "'My lord,' he said, striving out of his mother's arms, "'a goodly company comes across the marsh. "'A great awe and fear held them silent, "'and the wonderful silver shine of the moon "'lay over them like a spell. "'They saw, slowly approaching them, "'two knights and two ladies,

"'who seemed to advance without motion across the marshland. "'The knights wore armour "'that shone-like glass "'and long mantles of white salmon, The dames were clad in silver tissue, and around their brows were close-pressed wreaths of roses mingled red and white. They paused. Balthasar drew back before the great light they brought with them, and Isabel hid her face, for some of them she knew. On earth their names had been Malquhar, Sebastian, Jacobia, and Sibylla.

Balthasar, said the foremost night, We are come from the courts of paradise To bid you march against Rome In that city reigns evil Permitted to punish a sinful people But now her time has come Go you to Viterbo There you will find the cardinal of Narbon

Whom God has ordained Pope And with him an army At the head of it storm Rome And all the people shall join you in destroying Antichrist. Balthasar fell on his knees. And the curse, he cried. Tis not the curse of God upon you.

Therefore be comforted, Balthasar of Cortreg, and at the dawn, haste to Viterbo. With that they moved away, and were absorbed into the silver light that transfigured the Morema. Balthasar sprang to his feet shouting, I am not excommunicate, I shall be emperor again.

The curse is lifted. Balthasar caught Thiris by the shoulder. Did you see the vision? The angels? Thiery came shuddering from his swoon. I saw nothing. Ursula! Ursula! End of Section 33, recording by Molly Craig. Section 34 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. in the Vatican. In the ebony cabinet in the Vatican sat Michael II. An expression of utter anguish

marked his face. Paolo Orsini entered. The Pope glanced at him without moving. No news, he asked. None of the Lord Thierry, Your Holiness. Michael II moistened his lips.

They have searched everywhere? Throughout Rome, your holiness. But he was armed, they said. when he left the palace. Have you sent to the convent I told you of? St. Angela, beyond the Appian Gate? Yay, your holiness, answered Orsini. And they found naught but a dead woman.

The Pope averted his eyes. What did they with her? Orsini lifted his brows. Cast her into the plague-pit, holiness. That quarter is a carnal house. The Pope drew a deep breath. Well, he is gone. I do not think him dead. He flung back his head. But the game is over. Is it not, Orsini?

We fling down our pieces and say, good night. His nostrils dilated. His eyes flashed. He brought his open hand softly on to the table. What does your holiness mean? asked Orsini. We mean that this puppet emperor of ours has forsaken us, and that our position becomes perilous, answered the Pope. Cardinal Narbonne, hurling defiance at us from Viterbo, grow stronger, and the mob, Do not seek to deceive me, Orsini, the mob clamors against us? It is true, my lord. The Pope gave a terrible smile, and his beautiful eyes widened, and the soldiers mutiny. The Saxons, at Chastever, have joined Balthasar, and the Veronais have left me. We have not enough men to hold Rome an hour.

Well, Orsini, you shall take a summons to the Cardinals, and we will hold a conclave, there to decide how we may meet our fortune. The secretary departed in silence. Mutterings, murmurings, howlings rose from the accursed city to the pontiff's chamber. Lightning darted from the black heavens, and thunder rolled round the hills of Rome. Michael II walked to and fro in his gorgeous cabinet. In the three days since Thierry had fled the city, his power had crumbled like a handful of sand. Rome had turned against him, and every hour men fell away from his cause. The devils, too, had forsaken him.

He could not raise the spirits. The magic fires would not burn. All was blank darkness and silence. The day wore on and the storm grew in violence. Paolo Orsini came again to him. his face pale half the cardinals are fled to vitreble and those remaining refuse to acknowledge your holiness the pope smiled i had expected it news comes from a greek runner that thiris of dendermonde is with baltasar's host also i expected that said michael the second wildly and they proclaim you continued orsini in an agitated manner an impostor one giving to evil practices, and by these means incite the people against you. Cardinal Orvieto has led a thousand

men across the marshes to the Emperor's army, and Thiery of Dendermonde has denounced me, said the Pope. As he spoke, one beat for admission on the gilt door. The secretary opened, and there entered an eastern chamberlain. Holiness, he cried fearfully, the people have set fire to your palace, on the Palatine Hill, and Cardinal Colonna, with his brother Octavian, have seized Castel San Angelo for the Emperor, and hold it in defiance of your grace. The captain of my guard and those faithful to me, answered the Pope, will know how to do what may be done, apprise me of the approach of Balthasar's host, and now go. They left him. He stood for a while, listening to those ominous sounds that filled the murky air. Then he pressed a spring in one of the mother of pearl panels

and stepped into the secret chamber that was revealed. Cautiously he closed the panel by which he had entered and looked furtively about him. The small windowless space was lit only by one blood-red lamp, locked cupboards lined the walls, and a huge globe of faint gold painted with curious and mystic symbols hung from the ceiling. The Pope's stiff garments made a soft rustling sound as he moved. His quick, desperate breathing disturbed the heavy confined air. In his pallid face his eyes rolled and gleamed. Satanus, satanus, he muttered. Is this the end? A throbbing shook the red-lit gloom. His last words were echoed mournfully. The end. The Pope glared in front of him. Must I die, Satanus? Must I swiftly die? A little confused laughter came before the echo.

Swiftly die. He paced up and down the narrow space. I staked my fortunes on that man's faith, and he has forsaken me, and I have lost, lost, lost, lost, lost. The Pope laughed frantically. At least she died, Satanus. Her yellow hair wroughts in the plague pit now. I had some skill left, but what was all my skill if I could not keep him faithful to me? He clasped his jeweled hands over his eyes. Utter silence followed his words now. The globe of pallid gold trembled in the darkness of the domed ceiling, and the mystic characters on it began to rive and move. Ye warned me, breathed the Pope, that this man would be my bane. you promised on his truth to you and me to have the world between us.

He was false, and you have utterly forsaken me? The echo answered, utterly forsaken? The lamp went out. The pale luminous globe expanded to a monstrous size. The circle of dark little fiends round it danced and whirled madly. Then it burst and fell in a thousand fragments at the Pope's feet. Out of the darkness came a wail as of some thing hurt or dying, then long sighing shook the close air. The Pope fell along the wall, touched the spring, and stepped into the ebony cabinet.

He looked quite old and small and bowed. Night had fallen. He sank into a chair and folded his hands in his lap. His head fell forward on his breast, his lips quivered, and two tears. rolled down his cheeks. The Angelus bells rang out over the city. There were not many to ring now, as they quivered away a clock struck quite near. The Pope did not move. Once again, Palo Orsini entered, and Michael II averted his face. Holiness, Belt us are marches on Rome, said the secretary. The mob rushed forth to join him, and if the gates were brass and five times,

times brass, the Vatican could not withstand them. Now the Pope turned his white face. What may I do? The captain of the guard suggests that ye come to terms with the emperor, and by submission, save your life. That I will not. Then it were well if your holiness would flee. There is a secret way out of the Vatican. And that I will not. Orsini too was very pale. then you are doomed to fall into the hands of Baltasar, and he and his faction say horrible things. The Pope rose. You think they would lay hands on me? I do fear it. It would be a shameful death, Orsini? Surely not that. I cannot think the Emperor would do more than imprison your holiness. The Pope went to the window. How they howl, he said through his teeth. And Baltasar

comes nearer, nearer. He checked himself abruptly. I will dine here tonight, Orsini, see that everything is done as usual. The secretary bowed himself out of the gilt door. Michael the second went to the table on the dais and took from it a scroll of parchment. Standing in the center of the room he unrolled it. Some verses were written in scarlet ink on the smooth surface. In a low voice he read aloud, The two last. If love were all, I had lived glad and meek, nor heard ambition call and valor speak. If love were all, he smiled bitterly. But love is weak, and often leaves his throne, among his scattered roses pale, to weep and moan. And I, apostate to his

whispered creed shall miss his wings above my paul nor find his face in this my bitter need when love is all he tore the parchments into fragments and scattered them on the floor again the gilt doors were open this time a chamberlain entered a herald had brought a fierce and grim message from baltasar it spoke of the pope as antichrist and called on him to submit if he would keep his life. The Pope read it with haughty eyes. When he had finished, he rented a cross and cast the pieces down among the others. And ye shall hang the herald, he said. We have so much authority. The Chamberlain handed him a second packet, sealed, from Thierry of Dendermonde. The Pope took the packet. Let the herald live, he said, but cast him into the dungeons. The Chamberlain withdrew. drew. For a while, Michael the second stood staring at the packet, while the thunder crashed over Rome. Then he slowly broke the seal. He unfolded the long strip of vellum, and went nearer the candles to read it.

Thus it ran, the Emperor's Camp, marching on Rome, Thiery of Dendermonde, to Michael, Pope of Rome. Thus, I am approaching madness, I cannot sleep or rest. After days of torment, I write to you whom I have twice betrayed. She died on my breast, but I do not care. Balthasar says he saw her walking on the morema, but I saw nothing. Before she died, she said something. I think of you and of nothing else, though I have betrayed you. I have never uttered what she said.

No one guesses. the uncertainty, the horror, gnaw away at my heart, so I write this to you. This is my message. If you are a devil, be satisfied, for your devil's work is done. If you are a man, you have befriended, wronged me, and I have avenged myself. If you are that other thing you may be, then I know you love me, and that I kissed you once. If this last be true, as I do think it true, have some pity on my long ignorance, and believe I have it in me to love, even as you have loved. Oh, Ursula, I know a city in India where we might live, and you forget you ever ruled in Rome. Yonder are other gods who are so old they have forgot to punish, and they would smile on you and me there, Ursula.

are marches on the city, and you must be ruined and discovered, brought to an end so horrible. You have showed me a secret way out of the Vatican. Use it now, this night. I am in advance of the host. I shall be without the Appian Gate tonight, and I have means whereby we may fly to the coast, and there take ship to India, until we meet, farewell. And in the name of all, all the passions you have roused in me, come. As the Pope read, all the color slowly left his face. When he had finished, he mechanically rolled up the parchment, then unrolled it again. Thunder shook the Vatican, and the mob howled without. Again he read the letter. Then he thrust it into one of the candles and watched it blacken, curl, and burst into flame. He flung it on the

marble floor and set his gold heel on it, grinding it into ashes. At the usual hour, they served his sumptuous supper. When it was finished and removed, Paolo Orsini came again. Will not your holiness fly before it is too late? All traces of anguish and woe had vanished from his master's features. He looked proud and beautiful. I shall stay here, but let them who will seek safety. He dismissed Orsini and the attendance. It was now late in the evening and the thunder unceasing. The Pope locked the door of the cabinet, then went to the gilt table and wrote a letter rapidly. This he folded, sealed with purple wax, and stamped with his great thumb-ring. He sat silent a little while after this and stared with great luminous eyes before him, then roused himself and unlocked

a drawer in the table. From this he took some documents, tied together with orange silk, and a ring with a red stone in it. One by one he burnt the parchments in the candle, and when they were reduced to a little pile of ashes, he cast the ring into the midst of it and turned away. he crossed to the window drew the curtains and looked out over rome in the black heavens above the black hills hung a huge meteor a blazing globe of fire with a trail of flame he took up one of the candles and went to the gold door that led to his bedchamber before he opened it he paused a moment the candle flame lit his vivid eyes his haughty face his glittering vestments he turned the handle and entered the dark spacious room through the high undraped window could clearly be seen the star that seemed to burn away the very sky the pope set the candle on a shelf where it showed dim glimpses of white and gold tapestries walls of alabaster a bed of purple and gilt mysterious gorgeous luxury he returned to the cabinet and took from the bosom of his gown a little bit of a little bit of purple and gilt he returned to the cabinet and took from the bosom of his gown a little bottle of yellow jade, for the stopper a ruby served. The thunder crashed deafeningly. The lightning

seemed to split the room in twain. The Pope stood still, listening. Then he blew out the candles and returned to his bedchamber. Softly, he passed into the scented, splendid chamber and closed to the door behind him. End of Section 34. Recording by Molly Craig. 35 of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Part 2. Chapter 13. The Secret The mob had stormed to the Vatican. Octavian, Colonna, with a handful of fighting men,

ascended the undefended marble staircase. The papal guards lay slain in the courtyard, and in the entrance hall, Chamberlains, secretary, pages and priests, fled or surrendered. With the Lord Colonna was Thiery of Dendermonde, who had entered Rome that morning by the Appian Gate and headed a faction of the lawless crowd in their wild attack on the Vatican. To himself he kept saying, I shall know she did not come. I shall know she did not come. It was early morning. The terrific storm of last night still lingered over Rome. Flashes

of blue light divided the murky clouds and the thunder hung about the avonitein. The colonna grew afraid. He waited below in the gorgeous audience chamber and sent up to the Pope's apartments, demanding his submission and promising him safety. The overawed crowd retired into the courtyard and the piazza while Palo Orsini ascended the silver stairs. He returned with this message. His holiness' apartments were locked, nor could they make him here. It was a common thought among the knights that Michael the second had escaped. A monk offered to show them the secret passage where his holiness might be even now. Many went. But Thierry followed the attendance to the gilt door of the ebony cabinet. They broke the lock and entered fearfully. On the floor torn fragments of parchments,

a pile of ashes with a ruby ring lying in the midst nothing else his holiness is in his chamber we dare not enter they had always been afraid of him even now his name held terror the colonel waits our news cried tierie wildly i i dare enter they tiptoed to the other gilt door it took them some time to remove the lock when at last the door gave and swung open, they shrunk away, but Thierry passed into the chamber. The somber light of dawn filled it. Heavy shadows obscured the rich splendors of golden colors, of gleaming white walls. The men crept after him. It seemed to Thierry as if the world had stopped about them. On the magnificent purple bed lay the pope. On his brow the tiara glittered, and on his breast the chasseble. The crozier lay by his side on the samite coverlet, and his feet glittered in their golden shoes. By the crozier was a letter and a jade bottle. The attendants shrieked and fled.

Thierry crept to the bedside and took up the parchment. His name was over the top. He broke the seal. He read the fair writing. If I be a devil, I go whence I came. If a man I lived as one and died as one. If a woman, I have known love. Conquered it and by it have been vanquished. Whatsoever I am, I perish on the heights, but I do not descend from them.

I have known things in their fullness and will not stay to taste the dregs. So, to you, greeting and not for long farewell. The letter fell from Tyree's hand, fluttered and sank to the floor. He raised his eyes and saw through the window the meteor blazing over Rome, dead. He looked now at the proud smooth face on the pillow,

the gems of the papal crown gleaming above the red locks, the jeweled choscibles sparkling in the strengthening dawn until he was nearly fooled into thinking the bosom heaved beneath. He was alone. At least he could know. The air was like incense, sweet and stifling. His blood seemed to beat in his brain, with a little foolish sound of melody. A shaft of grey light fell over the splendors of the bed, the roses and dragons, hawks and hounds, sewn on the curtains and coverlets. From the poked garments rose a subtle and beautiful perfume. "'Eursala,' said Thierry.

He bent over the bed until the pearls in his ears touched his cheeks. Without, the thunder muttered. To know, he lifted the dead pope's arm. There seemed to be neither weight nor substance under the stiff silk. He dropped the sleeve. His cold fingers unclasped the heavy chasseval. Underneath lay perfumed samite, white and soft. an awful sensation crept through his veins he thought that under these gorgeous festments was nothing nothing ashes he did not dare to uncover the bosom that lay that must lie under the gleaming samite

but he must know he lifted up the fair crowned head to peer madly into the proud features it came away in his hands like crumbling wood that may preserve till touched the semblance of the carving. So the Pope's head parted from the trunk. Thierry smiled with horror and stared at what he held. Then it disappeared, fell into ashes before his eyes, and the tiara rolled onto the floor. Gone, like an image of smoke. He sank across the headless thing on the bed. Must I follow you to know, follow you to hell? he whispered. now he could open the rich garments they were empty of all save dust the strange strong perfume was stinging and numbing his brain his heart he thought he heard the fiends coming for his soul at last he hid his face in the purple silk robes and felt his blood grow cold the room darkened about him he knew he was being drawn downwards into eternity he sighed and slowly

from the bed onto the floor. As his last breath hovered on his lips, the meteor vanished. The thunder clouds rolled away from a fair blue sky, and a glorious sunrise laughed over the city. The reign of the Antichrist was ended. Through the Pope's chamber, the notes of silver trumpets quivered, Balthasar's trumpets, as his host marched triumphantly into Rome. End of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen.