Charlie did so; and, on the instant, the two friends were standing fixed in amazement like two statues. They moved not, save, now and then, to steal a momentary glance at each other. The great mountain of Eildon was actually rent in pieces from the top to its very foundations, and piled up in three towering spiral mountains, as they remain to this day. Only at that time they were taller, darker, and more uniform. It was a scene of wonder not to be understood, and awfully impressive. The two rivers flowed down their respective vallies, and met below the castle like two branching seas, and every little streamlet roared and foamed like a river. The hills had a wan, bleached appearance, many of the trees of the forest were shivered; and, towering up against the eastern sky, there stood the three romantic hills of Eildon, where before there was but one. The friar was the first to move from his trance, stepping away in deep meditation. Charlie was by this time likewise released from the spell, and he ran to the door of the high chamber, calling aloud, "Come a' out, sirs, come a' out. The like o' this was never seen sin the warld stood up!" They came forth accordingly, and their consternation was correspondent to the extraordinary event. But when the Master came out, and saw what was done, he shouted, and leaped on the battlement like one frantic, boasting, and uttering words of terrible blasphemy. He looked on the mountain of Cope-Law, and he could scarcely believe his eyes when he beheld it standing in one unskaithed unbroken cone, as it had done for ages. He looked again to the three mountains of Eildon, and his exultation and blasphemous boasting was redoubled. "So, all that you and your master can effect," cried he, "is to throw a little glamour on the sight,--is to practise a little deception! I never weened the monkish art or profession to consist of more. See what my sovereign and master can do!" "Hold there," said the friar. "Who was it that made these mountains at the first? Was that deception?" "It was not thou," said the Master. "But who was it, then, that sent up your wicked seneschal into the stormy clouds in a flame of fire?" added the friar. "And who was it that saved your life, but this morning, from a fiend that would have devoured you? Were these both deceptions?" The Master's countenance fell. The friar said this, because, in their present perilous situation, he wished to keep a little awe over the wizard, and likewise to put a stop to the torrent of blasphemy that proceeded from his lips.