ed his horse's head in
the direction of Edinburgh, and rode off, leaving Sir Michael standing
on the doorstep gazing after them, a strange smile on his face.

"A good price," he repeated; "by my troth, 'twould need to be a very
good price which would buy my good Diabolus from me. But I must go and
summon him."

Muttering strangely to himself, he turned and entered the tower.

He went up the narrow, winding, stone stairs until he reached a little
iron-studded door. This door was locked, but he opened it with a key
which hung from his girdle, and, entering the low-roofed attic-room to
which it led, he locked it again carefully behind him. The attic was at
the top of the tower, and through the narrow windows which pierced three
of its walls, a glorious view was to be had over the surrounding
country.

But Sir Michael had not come up there to admire the view; he had other
work to do--work which seemed to need mysterious preparations.

First of all, he proceeded to dress himself in a curiously shaped black
cloak, and a hunting cap made of hair, which he took down from a nail in
the wall. The cloak was very long, and completely enveloped his figure,
and, when he had pulled the hairy cap well down over his eyes, no one
would have taken him, I warrant, for the quiet, middle-aged, master of
Oakwood.

When he was dressed he took down a leaden platter from a shelf by the
door, and, opening a cupboard, he took out a little glass bottle full of
a clear amber-coloured liquid, which glowed like melted fire. Setting
down the platter on a little round table in the middle of the room, he
dropped one or two drops of this liquid on it, and in an instant they
broke into tongues of flame which curled up high above his head.

It was a strange and weird fire, enough to frighten any man, but the
still, dark-robed figure standing beside it never moved, not even when a
number of tiny little imps appeared, clad in scarlet, and green, and
blue, and purple, and danced round and round it on the table, tossing
their tiny arms, and twisting their queer little faces, as if they had
gone mad.

He waited patiently until the little creatures had finished their dance
and disappeared, then he seized the platter, and, going to one of the
narrow windows, he flung it open, and, pushing the platter through it,
he threw it, with its burning load, far out into the gathering twilight.

He watched the fire as it fell, in glowing fragments, among the oak
t