sappointed
draughtsman saw that the stranger also was busily making a design.
Rapidly on the sand he sketched the details of a most magnificent
building, its towers rising to the clouds, its long aisles and lofty
choir stretching away before the eye of the startled architect, who
mentally confessed that it was indeed a temple worthy of the Most High.
The windows were enriched by tracery such as artist never had before
conceived, and the lofty columns reared their tall length toward a roof
which seemed to claim kindred with the clouds, and to equal the
firmament in expanse and beauty. But each section of this long-sought
plan vanished the moment it was seen, and, with a complete conviction of
its excellence, the architect was unable to remember a single line.

"Your sketch is excellent," said he to the unknown; "it is what I have
thought and dreamed of,--what I have sought for and wished for, and have
not been able to find. Give it to me on paper, and I will pay you twenty
gold pieces."

"Twenty pieces! ha! ha! twenty gold pieces!" laughed the stranger. "Look
here!" and from a doublet that did not seem big enough to hold half the
money, he drew forth a purse that certainly held a thousand.

The night had closed in, and the architect was desperate. "If money
cannot tempt you, fear shall force you;" and, springing toward the
stranger, he plucked a dagger from his girdle, and held its point close
to the breast of the mysterious draughtsman. In a moment his wrists
were pinioned, as with the grasp of a vise, and squeezed until he
dropped his weapon and shrieked in agony. Falling on the sands, he
writhed like an eel upon the fisherman's hook; but plunged and struggled
in vain. When nearly fainting, he felt himself thrown helpless upon the
very brink of the stream.

"There! revive, and be reasonable. Learn that gold and steel have no
power over me. You want my cathedral, for it would bring you honour,
fame, and profit; and you can have it if you choose."

"How?--tell me how?"

"By signing this parchment with your blood."

"Avaunt, fiend!" shrieked the architect; "in the name of the Saviour I
bid thee begone." And so saying, he made the sign of the cross; and the
Evil One (for it was he) was forced to vanish before the holy symbol. He
had time, however, to mutter: "You'll come for the plan at midnight
to-morrow."

The architect staggered home, half-dead with contending passions, and
muttering: "Sell my soul," "To-morro