Adrian gave a sigh of sorrow, and slightly turning his head, watched the preparations of the doctor. The fire was now burning a deep red, and the brazier was standing in the centre of a ring of white powder which had been strewn around it. The doctor bent down and touched this powder with his finger, muttering some words, whereupon a blue lambent flame sprang up and ran round the circle. Roversmire then cast some herbs on the fire, which he took out of a small silver box, and raising his arms chanted a kind of hymn in a low soft voice. The wild music, barbaric in the extreme, rose and fell like the rhythmical fall of waves on a lonely beach, and a thick white smoke curled upward from the brazier, spreading a pungent odour through the vault. After a time Roversmire, looking strange and spectral amid the veil of smoke, paused in his chanting, crossed over to the young man and spoke solemnly: "I am about to leave this world for that of the spirits and I leave your soul in charge of my body--make good use of it, for what you do will be of your own free will and must be expiated by your own spirit. Are you ready and willing to take this burden upon you?" "I am ready," replied Adrian slowly. "Then close your eyes," commanded Roversmire going over to the brazier. "Farewell, and may your crime-stained soul be cleansed by prayer, repentance and expiation." In obedience to the instructions, Adrian closed his eyes and felt the acrid odour of the smoke titillate his nostrils, while the doctor resumed his measured chant. The strange melody which sounded like the wailing of a lost spirit seemed to recede further and further away as the senses of the young man became clouded by the fumes spreading through the apartment. Suddenly his whole body felt contorted with extreme pain, every muscle, every nerve seemed to be wrenched asunder, and in a paroxysm of terror he strove to cry out, but was unable to do so. Fire seemed to run all through his body, burning up his physical frame, and he writhed and twisted in an agony of torture, then a thick darkness seemed to descend on his brain and he remembered no more. How long the thick darkness continued he did not know, for when he opened his eyes again he was lying on the floor near the brazier, from whence all the fire had died away. A cold air pervaded the vault, and raising himself from the floor, Adrian saw with a sudden thrill of horror that his body, pale and still, was lying on the couch while he himself, looking down at his limbs, saw that they were wrapped in Roversmire's dressing-gown. With a cry which did not sound like his own voice he walked to a mirror which was hanging on the wall and then recoiled with a shudder, for the face which looked from the glass was not his own handsome countenance, but the old, grey-bearded, wrinkled face of Roversmire, now no longer calm and placid but convulsed with terror and anguish. The transformation had taken place.