A half-moon shone in the sky between the rifts of
hurrying clouds. The lady rode in silence, absorbed in the
thought of the task before them, the danger and the shame.
Nigel chatted in a low tone with the priest. From him he learned
more of the evil name of this man whom they followed. His house
at Shalford was a den of profligacy and vice. No woman could
cross that threshold and depart unstained. In some strange
fashion, inexplicable and yet common, the man, with all his evil
soul and his twisted body, had yet some strange fascination for
women, some mastery over them which compelled them to his will.
Again and again he had brought ruin to a household, again and
again his adroit tongue and his cunning wit had in some fashion
saved him from the punishment of his deeds. His family was great
in the county, and his kinsmen held favor with the King, so that
his neighbors feared to push things too far against him. Such was
the man, malignant and ravenous, who had stooped like some foul
night-hawk and borne away to his evil nest the golden beauty of
Cosford. Nigel said little as he listened, but he raised his
hunting-dagger to his tightened lips, and thrice he kissed the
cross of its handle.
They had passed over the moors and through the village of Milford
and the little township of Godalming, until their path turned
southward over the Pease marsh and crossed the meadows of
Shalford.
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