Chapter 46

The wind howled and tore at the locked doors, making them creak and groan; the thunder shook the building; and at every fresh convulsion Visconti shrieked aloud in unison. The lightning, flashing blue through the crevices, seemed to play about that inner door, and he cowered from the sight, and bit at his fingers in a fierce endeavor to resist the madness seizing him. It was not so very long ago that he had turned the great key behind him in that ponderous door, and ridden from the deed he had done, shouting throug…