He raised the little white hand that was
free gently to his lips. Not with more reverent courtesy could he have
done homage to an anointed queen.
"I wish I were worthier of you," he murmured, and no more was said then.
As they walked slowly homeward, the sullen clouds broke away from the
face of the sun; but a weatherwise observer could have told that the
truce was only treacherous. The tempest bided its time.
CHAPTER XIX.
It is not pleasant to stand by and assist at each step of an incantation
that draws down a star from heaven, or darkens the face of the moon. Let
us be content to accept the result, when it is forced upon us, without
inquiring too minutely into the process. Not with impunity can even the
Adepts gain and keep the secrets of their evil Abracadabra. The beard of
Merlin is gray before its time; premature wrinkles furrow the brow of
Canidia; though the terror of his stony eyes may keep the fiends at bay,
the death-sleep of Michael Scott is not untroubled; the pillars of
Melrose shake ever and anon as though an earthquake passed by, and the
monks cross themselves in fear and pity, for they know that the awful
wizard is turning restlessly in his grave.
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