way home again," I said, half in a passion, for what I thought his folly angered me.

"Come into the house," he entreated, "and try to have patience with me; for indeed, Mr. Morison, I am sorely troubled. I have been through my deep waters, and they have gone clean over my head."

'We went into his little study and sat down. For a while he remained silent, his head resting upon his hand, struggling with some strong emotion; but after about five minutes he asked, in a low subdued voice,

"Do you believe in dreams?" "What has my belief to do with the matter in hand?" I inquired.

you all about it in a minute ;" and he covered his face with his hands again.

"I was as well when I went to bed about eleven o'clock as ever I was in my life," he began, putting a great restraint upon himself, as I could see by the nervous way he kept knotting and unknotting his fingers. "I had been considering my sermon, and felt satisfied I should be able to deliver a good one on Sunday morning. I had taken nothing after my tea, and I lay down in my bed feeling at peace with all mankind, satisfied with my lot, thankful for the many blessings vouchsafed to me. How long I slept, or what I dreamt about at first, if I dreamt at all, I don't

that is troubling me."

'I rose from my chair.

"Do you mean to say," I asked, "you have brought me from my business and my parish to tell me you have had a bad dream?"

"That is just what I do mean to say," he answered. "At least, it was not a dream-it was a vision; no, I don't mean a vision. I can't tell you what it was; but nothing I ever went through in actual life was half so real, and I have bound myself to go through it all again. There is no hope for me, Mr. Morison. I sit before you a lost creature, the most miserable man on the face of the whole earth."

"What did you dream?" I inquired.

'A dreadful fit of trembling again seized him; but at last he managed to say,

"I have been like this ever since, and I shall be like this for evermore, till till the end comes."

"When did you have your bad dream?" I asked.

"Last night, or rather, this morning," he answered. "I'll tell

seemed to clear from before my eyes, to roll away like clouds from a mountain summit, and I found myself walking on a beautiful summer's evening beside the river Deldy."

'He paused for a moment, and an irrepressible shudder shook his frame.

"Go on," I said, for I felt afraid of his breaking down again.

'He looked at me pitifully, with a hungry entreaty in his weary eyes, and continued,

"It was a lovely evening. I had never thought the earth so beautiful before: a gentle breeze just touched my cheek, the water flowed on clear and bright, the mountains in the distance looked bright and glowing, covered with purple heather. I walked on and on till I came to that point where, as you may perhaps remember, the path, growing very narrow, winds round the base of a great crag, and leads the wayfarer suddenly into a little green amphitheatre, bounded on one side by the river and on the other by rocks that rise in places sheer to a height of a hundred feet and more."

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"I remember it," I said; 66 little farther on three streams meet and fall with a tremendous roar into the Witches' Caldron. fine sight in the winter - time, only that there is scarce any reaching it from below, as the path you mention and the little green oasis are mostly covered with water."

"I had not been there before since I was a child," he went on mournfully, "but I recollected it as one of the most solitary spots possible; and my astonishment was great to see a man standing in the pathway with a drawn sword in his hand. He did not stir as I drew near, so I stepped aside on the grass. Instantly he barred my way.

ed.

"You can't pass here,' he said.
"Why not?' I asked.
"Because I say so,' he answer-

"And who are you that say so? I inquired, looking full at him.

"He was like a god. Majesty and power were written on every feature, were expressed in every gesture; but O, the awful scorn of his smile, the contempt with which he regarded me! The beams of the setting sun fell full upon him, and seemed to bring out as in letters of fire the wickedness and hate and sim that underlay the glorious and terrible beauty of his face.

"I felt afraid; but I managed to say,

"Stand out of my way; the river-bank is as free to me as to you.'

"Not this part of it,' he answered; this place belongs to me.'

"Very well,' I agreed, for I did not want to stand there bandying words with him, and a sudden darkness seemed to be falling around. 'It is getting late, and so I'll e'en turn back.'

"He gave a laugh, the like of

which never fell on human ear before, and made reply,

"You can't turn back; of your own free will you have come on my ground, and from it there is no return.'

"I did not speak; I only just turned round, and made as fast as I could for the narrow path at the foot of the crag. He did not pass me; yet before I could reach the point I desired he stood barring the way, with the scornful smile still on his lips, and his gigantic form assuming tremendous proportions in the narrow way.

"Let me pass,' I entreated, ' and I will never come here again, never trespass more on your ground.'

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No, you shall not pass.' "Who are you that takes such power on yourself?' I asked. "Come closer, and I will tell you,' he said.

"I drew a step nearer, and he spoke one word. I had never heard it before; but I knew what it meant, by some extraordinary intuition. He was the Evil One; the name seemed to be taken up by the echoes and repeated from rock to rock and crag to crag; the whole air seemed full of that one word; and then a great horror of darkness came about us, only the place where we stood remained light. light. We occupied a small circle walled round with the thick blackness of night.

"You must come with me,' he said.

"I refused; and then he threatened me. I implored and entreated and wept; but at last I agreed to do what he wanted if he would promise to let me return. Again he laughed, and said, Yes, I should return; and the rocks and trees and mountains, ay, and the very rivers, seemed to take up the answer, and bear it in sobbing whispers away into the darkness."

'He stopped and lay back in his chair, shivering like one in an ague fit.

"Go on," I repeated again; "'twas but a dream, you know."

"Was it?" he murmured mournfully. "Ah, you have not heard the end of it yet."

"Let me hear it, then," I said. "What happened afterwards?"

"The darkness seemed in part to clear away, and we walked side by side across the sward in the tender twilight straight up to the bare black wall of rock. With the hilt of his sword he struck a heavy blow, and the solid rock opened as though it were a door. We passed through, and it closed behind us with a tremendous clang; yes, it closed behind us;" and at that point he fairly broke down, crying and sobbing as I had never seen a man even in the most frightful grief cry and sob before.'

The minister paused in his narrative. At that moment there came a most tremendous blast of wind, which shook the windows of the manse, and burst open the hall-door, and caused the candles to flicker and the fire to go roaring up the chimney. It is not too much to say that, what with the uncanny story, and what with the howling storm, we every one felt that creeping sort of uneasiness which so often seems like the touch of something from another world-a hand stretched across the boundary-line of time and eternity the coldness and mystery of which make the stoutest heart tremble.

must draw your own deductions from the facts I put before you. I have no explanation to give or theory to propound. theory to propound. Part of that great and terrible region in which he found himself, my friend went on to tell me, he penetrated, compelled by a power he could not resist to see the most awful spectacles, the most frightful sufferings. There was no form of vice that had not there its representative. As they moved along his companion told him the special sin for which such horrible punishment was being inflicted. Shuddering, and in mortal agony, he was yet unable to withdraw his eyes from the dreadful spectacle; the atmosphere grew more unendurable, the sights more and more terrible; the cries, groans, blasphemies, more awful and heartrending.

"I can bear no more," he gasped at last; "let me go!"

With a mocking laugh the Presence beside him answered this appeal; a laugh which was taken up even by the lost and anguished spirits around.

"There is no return," said the pitiless voice.

"But you promised," he cried; "you promised me faithfully."

"What are promises here?" and the words were as the sound of doom.

'Still he prayed and entreated; he fell on his knees, and in his agony spoke words that seemed to cause the purpose of the Evil One to falter.

"You shall go," he said, "on one condition that you agree to return to me on Wednesday next, or send a substitute."

"I could not do that," said my friend. "I could not send any fellow-creature here. Better stop myself than do that."

"Then stop," said Satan, with the bitterest contempt; and he was turning away, when the poor

distracted soul asked for a minute more ere he made his choice.

'He was in an awful strait: on the one hand, how could he remain himself? on the other, how doom another to such fearful torments ? Who could he send? Who would come? And then suddenly there flashed through his mind the thought of an old man to whom it could not signify much whether he took up his abode in this place a few days sooner or a few days later. He was travelling to it as fast as he knew how; he was the reprobate of the parish; the sinner without hope successive ministers had striven in vain to reclaim from the error of his ways; a man marked and doomed; Sandy the Tinker; Sandy, who was mostly drunk, and always godless; Sandy, who, it was said, believed in nothing, and gloried in his infidelity; Sandy, whose soul really did not signify much. He would send him. Lifting his eyes, he saw those of his tormentor surveying him scornfully.

Well, have you made your choice?" he asked.

"Yes; I think I can send a substitute," was the hesitating an

swer.

"See you do, then," was the reply; "for if you do not, and fail to return yourself, I shall come for you. Wednesday, remember, before midnight;" and with these words ringing in his ears he was flung violently through the rock, and found himself in the middle of his bedroom floor, as if he had just been kicked there.'

That is not the end of the story, is it?' asked one of our party, as the minister came to a full stop, and looked earnestly at the fire.

'No,' he answered, it is not the end; but before proceeding I must ask you to bear carefully in mind the circumstances already

recounted. Specially remember the date mentioned-Wednesday next, before midnight.

"Whatever I thought, and you may think, about my friend's dream, it made the most remarkable impression upon his mind. He could not shake off its influence; he passed from one state of nervousness to another. It was in vain I entreated him to exert his common sense and call all his strength of mind to his assistance. I might as well have spoken to the wind. He implored me not to leave him, and I agreed to remain; indeed, to leave him in his then frame of mind would have been an act of the greatest cruelty. He wanted me also to preach in his place on the Sunday ensuing; but this I flatly refused to do.

"If you do not make an effort now," I said, "you will never make it. Rouse yourself, get on with your sermon, and if you buckle to work you will soon forget all about that foolish dream."

'Well, somehow, to cut a long story short, the sermon was composed, and Sunday came; and my friend, a little better, and getting somewhat over his fret, got up into the pulpit to preach. He looked dreadfully ill; but I thought the worst was now over, and that he would go on mending.

'Vain hope! He gave out the text and then looked over the congregation: the first person on whom his eyes lighted was Sandy the Tinker-Sandy, who had never before been known to enter a place of worship of any sort; Sandy, whom he had mentally chosen as his substitute, and who was due on the following Wednesday-sitting just below him, quite sober and comparatively clean, waiting with a great show of attention for the opening words of the sermon.

"With a terrible cry, my friend caught the front of the pulpit, then

swayed back, and fell down in a fainting fit. He was carried home and a doctor sent for. I said a few words, addressed apparently to the congregation, but really to Sandy, for my heart somehow came into my mouth at sight of him; and then, after I dismissed the people, I walked slowly back to the manse, almost afraid of what might meet me there.

'Mr. Cawley was not dead; but he was in the most dreadful state of physical exhaustion and mental agitation. It was dreadful to hear him. How could he go himself? How could he send Sandy? -poor old Sandy, whose soul, in the sight of God, was just as precious as his own.

'His whole cry was for us to deliver him from the Evil One; to save him from committing a sin which would render him a wretched man for life. He counted the hours and the minutes before he must return to that horrible place.

"I can't send Sandy," he would moan. "I cannot, O, I cannot save myself at such a price!"

'And then he would cover his face with the bedclothes, only to start up and wildly entreat me not to leave him; to stand between the enemy and himself, to save him, or, if that were impossible, to give him courage to do what was right.

"If this continues," said the doctor, "Wednesday will find him either dead or a raving lunatic."

'We talked the matter over, the doctor and I, in the gloaming, as we walked to and fro in the meadow behind the manse; and we decided, having to make our choice of two evils, to risk giving him such an opiate as should carry him over the dreaded interval. We knew it was a perilous thing to do with one in his condi

tion, but, as I said before, we could only take the least of two evils.

'What we dreaded most was his awaking before the time expired; so I kept watch beside him. He lay like one dead through the whole of Tuesday night and Wednesday and Wednesday evening. Eight, nine, ten, eleven o'clock came and passed; twelve. "God be thanked!" I said, as I stooped over him and heard he was breathing quietly.

"He will do now, I hope," said the doctor, who had come in just before midnight; "you will stay with him till he wakes?"

'I promised that I would, and in the beautiful dawn of a summer's morning he opened his eyes and smiled. He had no recollection then of what had occurred; he was as weak as an infant, and when I bade him try to go to sleep again, turned on his pillow and sank to rest once more.

'Worn out with watching, I stepped softly from the room and passed into the fresh sweet air. I walked down to the garden-gate, and stood looking at the great mountains and the fair country, and the Deldy wandering like a silver thread through the green fields below.

All at once my attention was attracted by a group of people coming slowly along the road leading from the hills. I could not at first see that in their midst something was being borne on men's shoulders; but when at last I made this out, I hurried to meet them and learn what was the matter.

"Has there been an accident?" I asked as I drew near.

They stopped, and one man came towards me.

"Ay," he said, "the warst accident that could befa' him, puir fella'. He's deid."