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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

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    carat character: W^{m.}.




  _LITTLE NOVELS BY
  FAVOURITE AUTHORS_

  [Illustration]

  The Saint of the
  Dragon’s Dale

  [Illustration]

  WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS




[Illustration]




[Illustration: W^{m.} Stearns Davis]




  The Saint of the
  Dragon’s Dale

  _A Fantastic Tale_

  BY

  WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS

  AUTHOR OF “A FRIEND OF CÆSAR,”
  “GOD WILLS IT,” ETC.

  “_And he wist not that his face shone._”

  EXODUS xxxiv. 29.

  New York
  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
  LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
  1903

  _All rights reserved_




  COPYRIGHT, 1903,

  BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

  Set up, electrotyped, and published July, 1903.


  Norwood Press
  J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
  Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.




  TO

  LE BARON RUSSELL BRIGGS

  AN EVER KINDLY
  FRIEND AND COUNSELLOR
  TO ME
  AS TO SO MANY OTHER
  SONS OF HARVARD




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                   PAGE

     I. JEROME OF THE DRAGON’S DALE          1

    II. WITCH MARTHA                        14

   III. MAID AGNES                          26

    IV. THE DOVE AT THE DRAGON’S DALE       38

     V. JEROME IS TEMPTED OF THE DEVIL      49

    VI. THE HERALD OF THE KAISER            61

   VII. FRITZ THE MASTERLESS                74

  VIII. GRAF LUDWIG                         87

    IX. HARUN KNOWS THE WAY                101

     X. THE EVENING LIGHT                  115




ILLUSTRATIONS


  Portrait of William Stearns Davis          _Frontispiece_

                                                FACING PAGE

  “‘Give him the maid, Franz, and all the
      fiends go with her’”                               33

  “‘Back to Witch Martha; back! Fly fast,
      as you love me’”                                   84




[Illustration]

THE SAINT OF THE DRAGON’S DALE




CHAPTER I

JEROME OF THE DRAGON’S DALE


Patter, patter,--the rain had beaten all day on the brown roofs of
Eisenach. The wind swept in raw gusts across the rippling ocean of
pines and beeches which crowded upon the little town from many a
swelling hill. Under the grey battlements the Hörsel brawled angrily.
At the Marien Gate, Andreas the warder dozed in his box, wrapping his
great cloak tighter. He had searched few incoming wagons for toll that
day. It was very cold, as often chances even in summer in tree-carpeted
Thuringia. Andreas was sinking into another day-dream, when Joram, his
shaggy dog, having opened one eye, opened the other, then started his
master with a bark.

“Hoch! hold!” cried Andreas, rubbing his eyes. “Who passes?”

“