XIII. PROUD DAYS FOR THE OLD HALL 281
XIV. MARY STUART 302
XV. LIGHT 333
XVI. LEICESTER WAITS AT THE STILE 360





A TOUCH OF BLACK MAGIC


I draw the wizard's circle upon the sands, and blue flames spring from its
circumference. I describe an inner circle, and green flames come
responsive to my words of magic. I touch the common centre of both with my
wand, and red flames, like adders' tongues, leap from the earth. Over
these flames I place my caldron filled with the blood of a new-killed doe,
and as it boils I speak my incantations and make my mystic signs and
passes, watching the blood-red mist as it rises to meet the spirits of
Air. I chant my conjurations as I learned them from the Great Key of
Solomon, and while I speak, the ruddy fumes take human forms. Out of the
dark, fathomless Past--the Past of near four hundred years ago--comes a
goodly company of simple, pompous folk all having a touch of childish
savagery which shows itself in the fierceness of their love and of their
hate.

The fairest castle-château in all England's great domain, the walls and
halls of which were builded in the depths of time, takes on again its
olden form quick with quivering life, and from the gates of Eagle Tower
issues my quaint and radiant company. Some are clad in gold lace, silks,