The lady looked him up and down with a searching
glance, but her expression was unchanged. It was confident--even
defiant. But it was very different with the priest. His face was
ghastly white, and I saw the moisture glisten and run on his high,
sloping forehead. He threw up his hands in prayer and he stooped
continually to mutter frantic words in the lady's ear.
The man in black now advanced, and taking one of the cords from
his left arm, he bound the woman's hands together. She held them
meekly toward him as he did so. Then he took her arm with a rough
grip and led her toward the wooden horse, which was little higher
than her waist. On to this she was lifted and laid, with her back
upon it, and her face to the ceiling, while the priest, quivering
with horror, had rushed out of the room. The woman's lips were
moving rapidly, and though I could hear nothing I knew that she was
praying. Her feet hung down on either side of the horse, and I saw
that the rough varlets in attendance had fastened cords to her
ankles and secured the other ends to iron rings in the stone floor.
My heart sank within me as I saw these ominous preparations,
and yet I was held by the fascination of horror, and I could not
take my eyes from the strange spectacle.
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