He stood with his mean figure bent cringingly forward, and with his hat in his hand. “A warning, sir,” he went ramblingly on. “Maybe a certain one has made me his enemy. Maybe I cut myself loose from his service. Maybe I would do him an ill turn. I can tell you a secret, sir.” He lowered his voice and looked around, as if in fear of eavesdroppers. “In your ear, sir,” he said. I recoiled. “Stand back,” I cried, “or you will cull no more simples this side of hell!” “Hell!” he answered. “There's no such place. I will not tell my secret aloud.” “Nicolo the Italian! Nicolo the Poisoner! Nicolo the Black Death! I am coming for the soul you sold me. There is a hell!” The thundering voice came from underneath our feet. With a sound that was not a groan and not a screech, the Italian reeled back against the heated iron of the brazier. Starting from that fiery contact with an unearthly shriek, he threw up his arms and dashed away into the darkness. The sound of his madly hurrying footsteps came back to us until the guest house had swallowed him and his guilty terrors. “Can the preacher play the devil too?” I asked, as Sparrow came up to us from the other side of the fire. “I could have sworn that that voice came from the bowels of the earth. 'T is the strangest gift!” “A mere trick,” he said, with his great laugh, “but it has served me well on more occasions than one. It is not known in Virginia, sir, but before ever the word of the Lord came to me to save poor silly souls I was a player. Once I played the King's ghost in Will Shakespeare's 'Hamlet,' and then, I warrant you, I spoke from the cellarage indeed. I so frighted players and playgoers that they swore it was witchcraft, and Burbage's knees did knock together in dead earnest. But to the matter in hand. When I had thrown yonder stone, I walked quietly down to the Governor's house and looked through the window. The Governor hath the Company's letters, and he and the Council--all save the reprobate Pory--sit there staring at them and drumming with their fingers on the table.” “Is Rolfe of the Council?” I asked. “Ay; he was speaking,--for you, I suppose, though I heard not the words. They all listened, but they all shook their heads.” “We shall know in the morning,” I said. “The night grows wilder, and honest folks should be abed. Nantauquas, good-night. When will you have tamed your panther?” “It is now the moon of cohonks,” answered the Indian. “When the moon of blossoms is here, the panther shall roll at the beautiful lady's feet.”