“Nevertheless, sinner as I am, one more ave would have saved me; for my sister, who was Abbess of St. Mary of Chauchigny, did so prevail, by her prayer and good works, for my lost and wretched soul, that every day I felt the pains of purgatory decrease; the pitchforks which, on my first entry, had never ceased to vex and torment my poor carcass, were now not applied above once a week; the roasting had ceased, the boiling had discontinued; only a certain warmth was kept up, to remind me of my situation.” “A gentle stew,” said the demon. “Yea, truly, I was but in a stew, and all from the effects of the prayers of my blessed sister. But yesterday, he who watched me in purgatory told me, that yet another prayer from my sister, and my bonds should be unloosed, and I, who am now a devil, should have been a blessed angel.” “And the other ave?” said the demon. “She died, sir--my sister died--death choked her in the middle of the prayer.” And hereat the wretched spirit began to weep and whine piteously; his salt tears falling over his beard, and scalding the tail of Mercurius the devil. “It is, in truth, a hard case,” said the demon; “but I know of no remedy save patience, and for that you will have an excellent opportunity in your lodgings below.” “But I have relations,” said the Earl; “my kinsman Randal, who has inherited my lands, will he not say a prayer for his uncle?” “Thou didst hate and oppress him when living.” “It is true; but an ave is not much; his sister, my niece, Matilda--” “You shut her in a convent, and hanged her lover.” “Had I not reason? besides, has she not others?” “A dozen, without a doubt.” “And my brother, the prior?” “A liege subject of my lord the Devil: he never opens his mouth, except to utter an oath, or to swallow a cup of wine.” “And yet, if but one of these would but say an ave for me, I should be saved.” “Aves with them are _rarae_ aves,” replied Mercurius, wagging his tail right waggishly; “and, what is more, I will lay thee any wager that no one of these will say a prayer to save thee.” “I would wager willingly,” responded he of Chauchigny; “but what has a poor soul like me to stake?” “Every evening, after the day’s roasting, my lord Satan giveth a cup of cold water to his servants; I will bet thee thy water for a year, that none of the three will pray for thee.” “Done!” said Rollo. “Done!” said the demon; “and here, if I mistake not, is thy castle of Chauchigny.” Indeed, it was true. The soul, on looking down, perceived the tall towers, the courts, the stables, and the fair gardens of the castle. Although it was past midnight, there was a blaze of light in the banqueting-hall, and a lamp burning in the open window of the Lady Matilda. “With whom shall we begin?” said the demon: “with the baron or the lady?” “With the lady, if you will.” “Be it so; her window is open, let us enter.” So they descended, and entered silently into Matilda’s chamber. * * * * *