"Ah! but I forgot," interposed Duprèz again. "The daughter, Thelma, was the child the mysteriously vanished lady carried in her arms, wandering with it all about the woods and hills. After her disappearance, another thing extraordinary happens. The child also disappears, and Monsieur Güldmar lives alone, avoided carefully by every respectable person. Suddenly the child returns, grown to be nearly a woman--and they say, lovely to an almost impossible extreme. She lives with her father. She, like her strange mother, never enters a church, town, or village--nowhere, in fact, where persons are in any numbers. Three years ago, it appears, she vanished again, but came back at the end of ten months, lovelier than ever. Since then she has remained quiet--composed--but always apart,--she may disappear at any moment. Droll, is it not, Errington? and the reputation she has is natural!"
"Pray state it," said Philip, with freezing coldness. "The reputation of a woman is nothing nowadays. Fair game--go on!"
But his face was pale, and his eyes blazed dangerously. Almost unconsciously his hand toyed with the rose Thelma had given him, that still ornamented his button-hole.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Duprèz in amazement. "But look not at me like that! It seems to displease you, to put you en fureur, what I say! It is not my story,--it is not I,--I know not Mademoiselle Güldmar. But as her beauty is considered superhuman, they say it is the devil who is her parfumeur, her coiffeur, and who sees after her complexion; in brief, she is thought to be a witch in full practice, dangerous to life and limb."
Errington laughed loudly, he was so much relieved.
"Is that all?" he said with light contempt. "By Jove! what a pack of fools there must be about here,--ugly fools too, if they think beauty is a sign of witchcraft. I wonder Dyceworthy isn't scared out of his skin if he positively thinks the so-called witch is setting her cap at him."
"Ah, but he means to convairt her," said Macfarlane seriously. "To draw the evil oot o' her, as it were. He said he wad do't by fair means or foul."
Something in these latter words struck Lorimer, for, raising himself in his seat, he asked, "Surely Mr. Dyceworthy, with all his stupidity, doesn't carry it so far as to believe in witchcraft?"
"Oh, indeed he does," exclaimed Duprèz; "he believes in it à la lettre! He has Bible authority for his belief. He is very firm--firmest when drunk!" And he laughed gaily.