"Verily," said the poor tailor, with a piteous sigh, "that would be leapin' out o' t' gutter into t' ditch. I should be burnt for a he-witch an' a limb o' the de'il. I've yet seven years' respite from torment, an' that would be to throw even these precious morsels away. E'en let's tarry as we are, an' make the best on't. This comes of idleness and drink; but if ever I put foot across Giles's doorstone again, I wish--nay, it's no use wishing now, I've had enough o' sich thriftless work for a bit. But I'll be sober an' mind my work, and spend nothing idly, an' who knows but some plan or another may be hit on to escape." Now his disconsolate wife was much rejoiced at this determination, and could not help saying-- "Who knows? perhaps it was for good, Mike, that this distress happened thee." He shook his head; but his resolution was made, and he adhered to it in spite of the sneers and temptations of his former associates, who often tried to lead him on to the same vicious courses again. He had received a warning that he never forgot. The memory of it stuck to him night and day; and he would as soon have thought of thrusting his hand into the glowing coals as have entered Giles Chatburn's hovel again. He was truly an altered man, but his wife was the first to feel benefited by the change. He had plenty of work, and money came in apace. The house was cleaned and garnished. There was abundance of victuals, and a jug of their own brewing. He rarely stirred out but to wait upon his customers, and then he came home as soon as the job was completed. But there was an appearance of melancholy and dejection continually about him. He looked wan and dispirited. Time was rapidly passing by, and the last of the seven years was now ebbing away. One night, as they were sitting a while after supper, he fetched a heavy sigh. "It is but a short time I have to live," said he. "Nay," said the dame, let's hope that Heaven will not let thee fall a prey to His enemy and ours. Besides thou hast gotten nothing from him for thy bargain. It cannot be expected, therefore, that the old deceiver can claim any recompense." Mike shook his head, and looked incredulous. "Sure as there's wind i' Meg's entry he'll come for his own. I've been considering that I'd best go to the old man that lives in the cave by Sally. He'll maybe give me some advice how to act when the time comes." This suggestion met with his wife's approval; and the next morning our disconsolate hero was on his way to the "hermit" of the cave. The holy recluse had been long famed through that region for his kindness and attention to the wants of those who sought help and counsel; and Michael thought no harm could come of it, even though he might be unable to circumvent the designs of the arch-enemy. His dwelling was by the river-side, in a little hut, the back of which, the goodman's oratory, was scooped out in a circular form from the bank.