Scarce one of them dared even look from the
door when the thunder was rolling over their heads, the lightnings
flashing about the roofs and turrets of the House, the wind raving
in fits between as if it would rave its last, and the rain falling
in sheets--not so much from fear of the elements, as for horror
of the far more terrible things that might be spied careering in the
storm. And indeed Lord Gernon himself was avoided in like fashion,
although rarely had any one the evil chance of seeing him, so seldom
did he go out of doors. There was but one in the whole community
--and that was a young girl, the daughter of his steward--who
declared she had no fear of him: she went so far as to uphold that
Lord Gernon meant harm to nobody, and was in consequence regarded
by the neighbours as unrighteously bold.
He worked in a certain lofty apartment on the ground floor--with
cellars underneath, reserved, it was believed, for frightfullest
conjurations and interviews; where, although no one was permitted
to enter, they knew from the smoke that he had a furnace, and
from the evil smells which wandered out, that he dealt with things
altogether devilish in their natures and powers. They said he always
washed there--in water medicated with distilments to prolong life
and produce invulnerability; but of this they could of course know
nothing. Strange to say, however, he always slept in the garret,
as far removed from his laboratory as the limits of the house would
permit; whence people said he dared not sleep in the neighbourhood
of his deeds, but sought shelter for his unconscious hours in the
spiritual shadow of the chapel, which was in the same wing as his
chamber.
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