"You may see it, if ever Wolstang comes in your way." "But shall I never possess it--shall I never be myself again?" "Not unless he pleases." "The villain!" exclaimed I, in an agony of grief; "I am then undone--the tool of a heartless unprincipled miscreant. Is my case hopeless?" "O no, my dear friend," said the little man, "not at all hopeless; there is nothing simpler than the remedy. Only put your name here, and you will be yourself in a minute. The fellow will then lose all power over your body." I seized with avidity the pen which he presented to me, dipped it in a vial of red ink, and was proceeding to do as he directed, when the writing above caught my eye. It ran thus:-- "I hereby engage, after my natural decease, to give over my soul to the owner of this book." "Zounds!" said I, "what is this?" "It is nothing at all; just a form--a mere form of business, of no intrinsic meaning. If you would just write your name--it is very easily done." "Has any other person signed such deeds?" demanded I. "Many a one. Here, for example, is Wolstang's name attached to a similar contract. It is, in fact, by virtue of this that he has the power over your body. The deed which you have signed would have availed him nothing without this one." "Then," said I, "if you relieve me from my present condition, you break faith with Wolstang, seeing that you deprive him of his stipulated power." "I deprive him of his power over you, but I give him in return a similar power over some other person, which will answer his purpose equally well. I think you had better sign." "No, you old villain!" said I, wrought up to a pitch of fury at the infernal plan which I saw he was meditating, "I will never sign your damnable compact. I have religion enough to know the value of my soul, and sufficient philosophy to bear with any wretchedness I may endure under my present form. You may play the Devil if you choose, but you shall never get me to act the part of Dr Faustus." I pronounced these words in a voice of thunder; but so far from being angry, he used every endeavour to soothe me--made a thousand apologies for having been the unwilling cause of such a commotion; then, snatching up his hat and making a profound bow, he left the room. CHAPTER III.