tone.

Wolfert's heart was in his throat.

"Shall I dig?" said Sam, grasping the spade.

"_Pots tousends_, no!" replied the little doctor, hastily. He now
ordered his companions to keep close by him and to maintain the most
inflexible silence. That certain precautions must be taken, and
ceremonies used to prevent the evil spirits which keep about buried
treasure from doing them any harm. The doctor then drew a circle round
the place, enough to include the whole party. He next gathered dry
twigs and leaves, and made a fire, upon which he threw certain drugs
and dried herbs which he had brought in his basket. A thick smoke rose,
diffusing a potent odor, savoring marvellously of brimstone and
assafoetida, which, however grateful it might be to the olfactory
nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a fit of
coughing and wheezing that made the whole grove resound. Doctor
Knipperhausen then unclasped the volume which he had brought under his
arm, which was printed in red and black characters in German text.
While Wolfert held the lanthorn, the doctor, by the aid of his
spectacles, read off several forms of conjuration in Latin and German.
He then ordered Sam to seize the pick-axe and proceed to work. The
close-bound soil gave obstinate signs of not having been disturbed for
many a year. After having picked his way through the surface, Sam came
to a bed of sand and gravel, which he threw briskly to right and left
with the spade.

"Hark!" said Wolfert, who fancied he heard a trampling among the dry
leaves, and a rustling through the bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and
they listened. No footstep was near. The bat flitted about them in
silence; a bird roused from its nest by the light which glared up among
the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the profound stillness of
the woodland they could distinguish the current rippling along the
rocky shore, and the distant murmuring and roaring of Hell Gate.

Sam continued his labors, and had already digged a considerable hole.
The doctor stood on the edge, reading formulae every now and then from
the black letter volume, or throwing more drugs and herbs upon the
fire; while Wolfert bent anxiously over the pit, watching every stroke
of the spade. Any one witnessing the scene thus strangely lighted up by
fire, lanthorn, and the reflection of Wolfert's red mantle, might have
mistaken the little doctor for some foul magician, busied in his
incantations, and