Glancing at the mother, he
saw the flash of wrath in her face. She rose and approached her
daughter, with her hand lifted to strike her. The young woman
stooped her head with a cry. He darted round the table to interpose
between them. But the mother had caught hold of her; the
handkerchief had fallen from her neck; and the youth saw five blue
bruises on her lovely throat--the marks of the four fingers and the
thumb of a left hand. With a cry of horror he rushed from the
house, but as he reached the door he turned. His hostess was lying
motionless on the floor, and a huge gray wolf came bounding after
him.'
An involuntary cry from Mysie interrupted the story-teller. He
changed his tone at once.
'I beg your pardon, Miss Lindsay, for telling you such a horrid
tale. Do forgive me. I didn't mean to frighten you more than a
little.'
'Only a case of lycanthropia,' remarked Mr. Lindsay, as coolly as if
that settled everything about it and lycanthropia, horror and all,
at once.
'Do tell us the rest,' pleaded Mysie, and Ericson resumed.
'There was no weapon at hand; and if there had been, his inborn
chivalry would never have allowed him to harm a woman even under the
guise of a wolf. Instinctively, he set himself firm, leaning a
little forward, with half outstretched arms, and hands curved ready
to clutch again at the throat upon which he had left those pitiful
marks. But the creature as she sprang eluded his grasp, and just as
he expected to feel her fangs, he found a woman weeping on his
bosom, with her arms around his neck.
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