rees which surrounded the tower, then he opened a small, black,
leathern-bound book, which lay chained to a monk's desk which stood in a
corner. Opening it he read a few words in an unknown tongue, then he
turned to the window again and waved a little silver wand over his head
three times.

"Come, Diabolus. Come, Diabolus," he muttered, and then he knelt on the
floor and waited eagerly, his eyes fixed on the Western horizon.

The sun had sunk, but the sky was clear, and one or two stars had
appeared, and were shining out peacefully, like little candles set in a
golden haze.

Presently, however, big black clouds began to appear, and pile up, one
against another, till the little stars were blotted out, and the whole
sky became as black as night.

In a little time the dull muttering of thunder could be heard far away
over the woods. It came nearer and nearer--crash upon crash, and roar
upon roar--while the lightning flashed, and a perfect tempest of wind
arose and lashed the branches of the tall trees into fury. Truly it was
an awful storm.

The wizard felt the solid masonry of the tower rock beneath him, but he
was as calm as if only a little gust of wind had been passing on a
summer's day.

Still he knelt on, peering eagerly into the darkness. At last his eyes
grew bright and keen, for he saw a shadowy form come floating through
the air, driven by the wind. He knew now that his charm had worked, and
that this was his familiar spirit--the spirit over whom he had most
control--who had come in the form of a great black horse, with flaming
eyes, and flowing mane, to carry him over the sea to France.

With one bound he flew through the window, and alighted on its back.

"Now woe betide thee, Diabolus," he said, "if thou fliest not swiftly.
For I must be in Paris by daylight to-morrow."

The huge black horse shook its mane, and snorted fiercely, as if it
understood, and without more ado it flew on its way, its uncanny
black-cloaked rider seated on its back.

As soon as they had disappeared, the storm died away, and the moon rose,
and the little stars shone out over Oakwood Tower as clearly and quietly
as if there had never been a cloud in the sky. Meanwhile Sir Michael
Scott and his huge black charger were flying over hills, and valleys,
and rivers, in the darkness. They even flew over the sea itself, and
never halted until the day broke, and there, far below, lay the city of
Paris, dimly seen in the gray morning l