right end. The corporation held it by the ferule. His reverence looked
exceedingly grave and said, "I must question you privately on this
untoward business." He took him into a private room and bade the officer
stand outside and guard the door, and be ready to come if called. The
big constable stood outside the door, quaking, and expecting to see the
room fly away and leave a stink of brimstone. Instantly they were alone
the cure unlocked his countenance and was himself again.

"Show me the trick on't," said he, all curiosity.

"I cannot, sir, unless the room be darkened."

The cure speedily closed out the light with a wooden shutter. "Now,
then."

"But on what shall I put it?" said Gerard. "Here is no dead face. 'Twas
that made it look so dire." The cure groped about the room. "Good; here
is an image: 'tis my patron saint."

"Heaven forbid! That were profanation."

"Pshaw! 'twill rub off, will't not?"

"Ay, but it goes against me to take such liberty with a saint," objected
the sorcerer.

"Fiddlestick!" said the divine.

"To be sure by putting it on his holiness will show your reverence it is
no Satanic art."

"Mayhap 'twas for that I did propose it." said the cure subtly.

Thus encouraged, Gerard fired the eyes and nostrils of the image and
made the cure jump. Then lighted up the hair in patches; and set the
whole face shining like a glow-worm's.

"By'r Lady," shouted the cure, "'tis strange, and small my wonder that
they took you for a magician, seeing a dead face thus fired. Now come
thy ways with me!"

He put on his grey gown and great hat, and in a few minutes they found
themselves in presence of the alderman. By his side, poisoning his mind,
stood the accuser, a singular figure in red hose and red shoes, a black
gown with blue bands, and a cocked hat.

After saluting the alderman, the cure turned to this personage and said
good-humouredly, "So, Mangis, at thy work again, babbling away honest
men's lives! Come, your worship, this is the old tale! two of a trade
can ne'er agree. Here is Mangis, who professes sorcery, and would sell
himself to Satan to-night, but that Satan is not so weak as buy what
he can have gratis, this Mangis, who would be a sorcerer, but is only
a quacksalver, accuses of magic a true lad, who did but use in
self-defence a secret of chemistry well-known to me and all churchmen."

"But he is no churchman, to dabble in such mysteries," objected the
alderman.

"He is more ch