book of Paracelsus in which he speaks of feeding the monsters he had made on human blood.”
Arthur gave a horrified cry.
“The most significant thing to my mind is that fact about Margaret which we are certain of,” said Dr. Porhoët. “All works that deal with the Black Arts are unanimous upon the supreme efficacy of the virginal condition.”
“But what is to be done?” asked Arthur in desperation. “We can’t leave her in the hands of a raving madman.” He turned on a sudden deathly white. “For all we know she may be dead now.”
“Have you ever heard of Gilles de Rais?” said Dr. Porhoët, continuing his reflections. “That is the classic instance of human sacrifice. I know the country in which he lived; and the peasants to this day dare not pass at night in the neighbourhood of the ruined castle which was the scene of his horrible crimes.”
“It’s awful to know that this dreadful danger hangs over her and to be able to do nothing.”
“We can only wait,” said Dr. Porhoët.
“And if we wait too long, we may be faced by a terrible catastrophe.”
“Fortunately we live in a civilised age. Haddo has a great care of his neck. I hope we are frightened unduly.”
It seemed to Susie that the chief thing was to distract Arthur, and she turned over in her mind some means of directing his attention to other matters.
“I was thinking of going down to Chartres for two days with Mrs. Bloomfield,” she said. “Won’t
