“Come, Gideon, come; it is the hour.” What terror these words inspired in all, save the speaker, who laughed at superstition, and even at the devil! The tailor’s limbs trembled,--he looked up, and then hid his face in his hands. Jeremiah brought a long cloak, to wrap his brother from the cold. All things were adjusted, as for a criminal on the drop. He was at the door. Nelly gave a shriek;--her husband heard it not. She embraced and hugged him,--he was passive in her arms. “Oh!--he is dead already!” she exclaimed, “he is,--yes!” But they observed, by the rolling of his eyes, that although his reason might have fled, his spirit was still in its tabernacle. Jeremiah shook him, but Gideon responded not. He was dragged forth, as the hour had already passed, and yet, no farewell was uttered by him. Nelly’s farewell was a loud, a long, a piercing shriek, as he was moved over the threshold, and then a longer fainting fit. The snow crisped beneath their feet, a slight breeze passed over their heads, and these were the only sounds heard. The hour of twelve was striking in the town, as they reached the spot assigned. Gideon now seemed to awake from his insensibility. He attempted to speak, but words and utterance altogether failed him. The magic circle was drawn around, and he looked up to summon the enemy of mankind to fulfil his engagements, when a violent fit of shuddering seized his limbs, and some thing not less gentle passed over his soul. The stars above were fiery, and gleaming with malignant aspect and influence over a mortal’s fate, and around them was a dull haze, which was interpreted into a shroud. Not that the tailor was an astrologer, in faith or practice: but there are moments and circumstances when the orbs of heaven appear as the types of earth’s history,--as the eyes of fate turned upon individuals, likewise, with their revelations. He then gazed around. Not a tree or fence stood near, for a covert; but a desert heath, still more desolate in its appearance from its snowy covering. The ground, with its winter’s carpet, was prevented from echoing to footsteps: and the air seemed, too, as if it were bound up from the vibrations of sound,--for over all was a dead silence. William Mauncel was the first who spoke. “Gideon, thou tremblest; I will take thy duty. Give me the charm by which thou renderest the devil obedient to thy call. Eh? does he stand upon ceremony? My good uncle assures us that he frequently pays us a visit when he is not invited, and that he makes himself such a pleasant fellow, that we are loth to give him a hint that it is not agreeable for the time to have his company, much less to shew him to the door. Ah! ah! Gideon, you were too polite, you gave him your card, with name and residence, last night. That will make him troublesome. He is a punctual keeper of his appointments. Now, pray, give me the signal. Nay, then,” as Gideon’s voice could not be heard, “Jeremiah will oblige me.”