low from the
floodgates of heaven. The two men moved onward, and took shelter under
an old arch. Crauford first broke silence. "Hist!" said he, "hist! do
you hear anything?"

"Yes! I heard the winds and the rain, and the shaking houses, and the
plashing pavements, and the reeking housetops,--nothing more."

Looking long and anxiously around to certify himself that none was
indeed the witness of their conference, Crauford approached close to
Glendower and laid his hand heavily upon his arm. At that moment a vivid
and lengthened flash of lightning shot through the ruined arch, and gave
to Crauford's countenance a lustre which Glendower almost started to
behold. The face, usually so smooth, calm, bright in complexion, and
almost inexpressive from its extreme composure, now agitated by the
excitement of the moment, and tinged by the ghastly light of the skies,
became literally fearful. The cold blue eye glared out from its socket;
the lips blanched, and, parting in act to speak, showed the white
glistening teeth; and the corners of the mouth, drawn down in a half
sneer, gave to the cheeks, rendered green and livid by the lightning, a
lean and hollow appearance contrary to their natural shape.

"It is," said Crauford, in a whispered but distinct tone, "a perilous
secret that I am about to disclose to you. I indeed have no concern
in it, but my lords the judges have, and you will not therefore be
surprised if I forestall the ceremonies of their court and require an
oath."

Then, his manner and voice suddenly changing into an earnest and deep
solemnity, as excitement gave him an eloquence more impressive, because
unnatural to his ordinary moments, he continued: "By those lightnings
and commotions above; by the heavens in which they revel in their
terrible sports; by the earth, whose towers they crumble, and herbs
they blight, and creatures they blast into cinders at their will; by Him
whom, whatever be the name He bears, all men in the living world worship
and tremble before; by whatever is sacred in this great and mysterious
universe, and at the peril of whatever can wither and destroy and
curse,--swear to preserve inviolable and forever the secret I shall
whisper in your ear!"

The profound darkness which now, in the pause of the lightning, wrapped
the scene, hid from Crauford all sight of the effect he had produced,
and even the very outline of Glendower's figure; but the gloom made more
distinct the voice which thril