shot forth lambent tongues of flame against her, and she drew back her withered hands. Then she paced round the circle, and with a grin presented her wares to William. "Give me the bones," said she, in a harsh, guttural tone, “and I'll give thee some spoons. Give the skulls to me, love; what's the trumpery to thee, love?" and then she chanted, with a scornful air:—

"There's nothing can help: 't is an hour too late;
Nothing can step betwixt thee and thy fate.
Shoot in the light, or shoot in the dark,
Thy bullets, be sure, shall go true to the mark.
'Shoot the dove,' says the word of command;
And the forester bold, with the matchless hand,
Levels and fires: O marksman good!

The dove lies bathed in her innocent blood!
Here's to the man that shoots the dove!
Come for the prize to me, my love!"

William was aghast with horror; but he remained quiet within the circle, and pursued his labors. The old woman was one whom he well knew. A crazy old female beggar had formerly roamed about the neighborhood in this attire, till at last she was lodged in a mad-house. He was at a loss to discover whether the object now before him were the reality or an illusion. After some little pause, the old crone scattered her lumber to the right and left with an angry air, and then tottered slowly away into the gloomy depths of the forest, singing those words:

"This to the left, and that to the right;
This and that for the bridal night.

Marksman fine, be sure and steady;

The bride she is dressed, the priest he is ready.
To-morrow, to-morrow, when daylight departs,
And twilight is spread over broken hearts;
When the fight is fought, when the race is run,
When the strife and the anguish are over and done;
When the bride-bed is decked with a winding-sheet,
And the innocent dove has died at thy feet, -

Then comes a bridegroom for me, I trow,

That shall live with me in my house of woe.
Here's to him that shoots the dove!

Come for the prize to me, my love!"

Now came all at once a rattling as of wheels and the cracking of postilions' whips. A carriage and six drove up with outriders. "What the devil's this that stops the way?" cried the man who rode the leaders. "Make way there, I say, - clear the road." William looked up and saw sparks of fire darting from the horses' hoofs, and a circle of flame about the carriage wheels. By this he knew it to be a work of the fiend, and never stirred. "Push on, my lads, drive over him helter-skelter,” cried the same postilion, looking back to the others; and in a moment the whole equipage moved rapidly upon the circle. William cowered down to the ground, beneath the dash of the leaders' fore-legs; but the airy train and the carriage soared into the air with a whistling sound, round and round the circle, and vanished in a hurricane, which moved not a leaf of the trees. Some time elapsed before William recovered from his consternation. However, he compelled his trembling hands to keep firm, and cast a few bullets. At that moment a well-known church clock at a distance began to strike. At first the sound was a sound of comfort, connecting, as with the tones of some friendly voice, the human world with the dismal circle in which he stood, that else seemed cut off from it as by an impassable gulf; but the clock struck twice, thrice, — here he shuddered at the rapid flight of time, for his work was not a third part advanced, then it struck a fourth time. He was appalled; every limb seemed palsied; and the mould slipped out of his nerveless hand. With the calmness of despair he listened to the clock until it completed the full hour of twelve; the knell then vibrated on the air, lingered,

and died away. To sport with the solemn hour of midnight appeared too bold an undertaking even for the powers of darkness. However, he drew out his watch, looked, and behold! it was no more than half-past eleven.

Recovering his courage, and now fully steeled against all fresh illusions, he resumed his labors with energy. Profound quiet was all around him, disturbed only at intervals by the owls, that made a low muttering, and now and then rattled the skulls and bones together. All at once a crashing was heard in the bushes. The sound was familiar to the experienced hunter's ears; he looked round, and, as he expected, a wild boar sprang out and rushed up to the circle. "This," thought William, " is no deception;" and he leaped up, seized his gun, and snapped it hastily at the wild beast; but no spark issued from the flint: he drew his hanger, but the bristly monster, like the carriage and horses, soared far above him into the air, and vanished.

XIII.

Just

William, thus repeatedly baffled, now hastened to fetch up the lost time. Sixty bullets were already cast: he looked up; suddenly the clouds opened, and the moon again threw a brilliant light over the whole country. then a voice was heard from the depths of the forest crying out, in great agitation, "William! William!" It was the voice of Kate. William saw her issue from the bushes, and fearfully look round her. Behind her panted the old woman, stretching her withered, spidery arms after the flying girl, and endeavoring to catch hold of her floating garments. Katharine now collected the last remains of her exhausted strength for flight: at that moment the old wooden-leg stepped across her path; for an instant it checked her speed, and then the old hag caught her with

her bony hands. William could contain himself no longer: he threw the mould with the last bullet out of his hands, and would have leaped out of the circle: but just then the clock struck twelve; the fiendish vision had vanished; the owls threw the skulls and bones confusedly together, and flew away; the fire went out, and William sank exhausted to the ground. Now came up slowly a horseman upon a black horse. He stopped at the effaced outline of the magic circle, and spoke thus: "Thou hast stood the trial well; what wouldst thou have of me?"

"Nothing of thee, nothing at all," said William: "what I want, I have prepared for myself."

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"Ay; but with my help: therefore part belongs to me." By no means, by no means: I bargained for no help; I summoned thee not."

The horseman laughed scornfully. "Thou art bolder," said he, "than such as thou are wont to be. Take the balls which thou hast cast; sixty for thee, three for me; the sixty go true, the three go askew: all will be plain when we meet again."

William averted his face. "I will never meet thee again," said he; "leave me."

Why turnest thou away?" said the stranger with a dreadful laugh; "dost know me

?"

"No, no," said William, shuddering: "I know thee not! I wish not to know thee. Be thou who thou mayest, leave me!"

The black horseman turned away his horse, and said with a gloomy solemnity: "Thou dost know me: the very hair of thy head, which stands on end, confesses for thee that thou dost. I am he whom at this moment thou namest in thy heart with horror." So saying, he vanished, followed by the dreary sound of withered leaves, and by the echo of blasted boughs falling from the trees beneath which he had stood.

XIV.

"Merciful God! what has happened to you, William?" exclaimed Kate and her mother, as William returned, pale and agitated, after midnight: "you look as if fresh risen from the grave."

"Nothing, nothing," said William, "nothing but night air; the truth is, I am a little feverish."

"William, William!" said old Bertram, stepping up to him, "you can't deceive me: something has met you in the forest. Why would you not stop at home? Something has crossed you on the road, I'll swear."

William was struck with the old man's seriousness, and replied: "Well, yes; I acknowledge something has crossed me. But wait for nine days: before then, you know yourself that

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Gladly, gladly, my son," said Bertram: "and God be praised, that it is anything of that kind which can wait for nine days. Trouble him not, wife; Kate, leave him at peace! Beshrew me, but I had nearly done thee wrong, William, in my thoughts. Now, my good lad, go to bed, and rest thyself. 'Night,' says the proverb, 'is no man's friend.' But be of good cheer: the man that is in his vocation, and walks only in lawful paths, may bid defiance to the fiends of darkness and all their works."

William needed his utmost powers of dissimulation to disguise from the old man's penetration how little his suspicions had done him injustice. This indulgent affection of father Bertram, and such unshaken confidence in his uprightness, wrung his heart. He hurried to his bedroom, with full determination to destroy the accursed bullets. "One only will I keep, only one I will use," said he, holding out his supplicating hands pressed palm to palm, with bitter tears, towards heaven. "O let the purpose, let the