“‘Make your feet wings, or I will aid you.’”] “Dead?” cried he, incredulously; “he is but in a trance. He sleeps; he will awake in quiet. The demons tore him grievously in departing, but he is not dead.” Urtasen had knelt by the body, examining. Now he looked upward. “Saruch had an incurable disease. Thoth, the wisest god, could have scarce saved him in the end. But this smoke and bellowing brought on a last convulsion. With treatment he could have lived many years. Now he will wake only at the call of Osiris.” The widow and Joram had leaped upon Gudea. “Imposter! Juggler!” screamed the Jewess; “_you_ boast to cure? Call my husband’s spirit back from Sheol, if you may.” In their rage they would have wrung the wizard’s neck. Isaiah interposed. “You alone are to blame, Joram—you, false Jew, who have forsaken the faith of your fathers! Jehovah justly requites you. How long have you forgotten our law forbidding dealings with wizards and necromancers? I heard the rumour of Saruch’s state, and hastened hither with Urtasen to forestall this viper,”—with a glance toward Gudea,—“but the Most High ordained that I should come late, and you all be dealt with after your sins.” “No more! On my father’s soul, no more!” Joram was moaning, while his tears came fast. “You do well to weep,” was the stern retort; “but I have said enough. Now let these servants of the very fiends depart.” Gudea had recovered his composure. “Luckless people,” began he, “it was none other than the counter spells muttered by this Isaiah which ruined my incantation and gave victory to the demons. I accuse him of black magic and murder.” But Gudea had lost all favour with the crowd. A guffaw answered him. “Ha, scoundrel!” yelled twenty, “do not cover your mummery!” And Khatin added, “Verily, friend, if any murderer needs speech with me, his name is Gudea.” “Out with him!” roared all the onlookers, putting forth rough hands on Binit and her husband. “No tumult; respect the dead!” implored Isaiah. “And my ten shekels?” howled Gudea, struggling in the clutch of ten men. “Let the crows weigh them out to you,” groaned Joram, in his agony. “And may I not engage to wail at the funeral?” pleaded Binit, never setting safety before business. “Screech at your own,” admonished many at once. Khatin joined the rest in thrusting the necromancers very ungently into the street. “Good people,” said Isaiah to those yet in the court, “this is the house of death. Let all who are needless here go their ways.” “You shall repent this!” belched Gudea, as they haled him away, but none heeded him. The servants drove the rabble from the court. The portals clanged; the household was left to its grief. Khatin was laughing like a jackass. “Ah, my wise raven! Ah, my sweetly chirping sparrow! How amiably the demons obey you! Pity they took Saruch’s soul with them when they flitted forth.” “The Jew! the Jew and his sorceries!” groaned the wizard.