Mr. Allen observed him calmly; then, after a time, went into the house—to get a cigar of his own, he said.
In the hall he paused, listening. From the library came Mrs. Thomas’s voice, reading with fine dramatic fire:
“ ‘What! thou frontless dastard, thou—thou who didst wait for opened gate and lowered bridge, when Conrad Horst forced his way over moat and wall, must thou be malapert? Knit him up to the stanchions of the hall-window! He shall beat time with his feet while we drink a cup to his safe passage to the devil!’
“ ‘The doom was scarce sooner pronounced than accomplished; and in a moment the wretch wrestled out his last agonies, suspended from the iron bars. His body still hung there when our young hero entered the hall, and, intercepting the pale moonbeam, threw on the castle-floor an uncertain shadow, which dubiously yet fearfully intimated the nature of the substance which produced it.
“ ‘When the syndic——’ ”
Ludlum interrupted. “Mamma, what’s a stanchion?” His voice was low and a little husky.
“It’s a kind of an iron bar, or something, I think,” Mrs. Thomas answered. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, does it mean—mamma, what does it mean when it says ‘he wrested out his last annogies?’ ”
“ ‘Agonies,’ dear. It doesn’t mean anything that little boys ought to think about. This is a very unpleasant part of the book, and we’ll hurry on to where it’s all about knights and ladies, and pennons fluttering in the sunshine and——”
“No; I don’t want you to hurry. I like to hear this part, too. It’s nice. Go on, mamma.”