them, but throwing
their heads back now and then as they strained against the reins, and
stamping their front hooves restlessly. Oh, they frightened me, I
tell you, that line of two-foot-long glossy-haired faces, writhing
back their upper lips from teeth wide as piano keys, every horse of
them looking as wild-eyed and evil as Fuseli's steed sticking its head
through the drapes in his picture "The Nightmare."

To the center the trees came close to the stage. Just in front of them
was Queen Elizabeth sitting on the chair on the spread carpet, just as
I'd seen her out there before; only now I could see that the braziers
were glowing and redly high-lighting her pale cheeks and dark red hair
and the silver in her dress and cloak. She was looking at Martin--Lady
Mack--most intently, her mouth grimaced tight, twisting her fingers
together.

Standing rather close around her were a half dozen men with fancier
hats and ruffs and wide-flaring riding gauntlets.

Then, through the trees and tall leafless bushes just behind
Elizabeth, I saw an identical Elizabeth-face floating, only this one
was smiling a demonic smile. The eyes were open very wide. Now and
then the pupils darted rapid glances from side to side.

* * * * *

There was a sharp pain in my left wrist and Sid whisper-snarling at
me, "Accustomed action!" out of the corner of his shadowed mouth.

I tolled on obediently, "It is an accustomed action with her, to seem
thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of
an hour."

Martin had set down the candle, which still flared and guttered, on a
little high table so firm its thin legs must have been stabbed into
the ground. And he was rubbing his hands together slowly, continually,
tormentedly, trying to get rid of Duncan's blood which Mrs. Mack knows
in her sleep is still there. And all the while as he did it, the
agitation of the seated Elizabeth grew, the eyes flicking from side to
side, hands writhing.

He got to the lines, "Here's the smell of blood still: all the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!"

As he wrung out those soft, tortured sighs, Elizabeth stood up from
her chair and took a step forward. The courtiers moved toward her
quickly, but not touching her, and she said loudly, "Tis the blood of
Mary Stuart whereof she speaks--the pails of blood that will gush from
her chopped neck. Oh, I cannot endure it!" And as she said