“Would that my path, like yon clouds, were on the wind, and my dwelling-place in their bosom!”

A soft breeze came suddenly towards her, rustling the dry heath as it swept along.  The grass bent beneath its footsteps, and it seemed to die away in articulate murmurs at her feet.  Terror crept upon her, her bosom thrilled, and her whole frame was pervaded by some subtle and mysterious influence.

“Who art thou?” she whispered, as though to some invisible agent.  She listened, but there was no reply; the same soft wind suddenly arose, and crept to her bosom.

“Who art thou?” she inquired again, but in a louder tone.  The breeze again flapped its wings, mantling upwards from where it lay, as if nestled on her breast.  It mounted lightly to her cheek, but it felt hot—­almost scorching—­when the maiden cried out as before.  It fluttered on her ear, and she thought there came a whisper—­

“I am thy good spirit.”

“Oh, tell me,” she cried with vehemence:  “show me who thou art!”—­a mist curled round her, and a lambent flame, like the soft lightning of a summer’s night, shot from it.  She saw a form, glorious but indistinct, and the flashes grew paler every moment.

“Leave me not,” she cried; “I will be thine!”

Then the cloud passed away, and a being stood before her, mightier and more stately than the sons of men.  A burning fillet was on his brow, and his eyes glowed with an ever-restless flame.

“Maiden, I come at thy wish.  Speak!—­what is thy desire.”

“Let thought be motion;—­let my will only be the boundary of my power,” said she, nothing daunted; for her mind had become too familiar with invisible fancies, and her ambition too boundless to feel either awe or alarm.  Immediately she felt as though she were sweeping through the trackless air,—­she heard the rush of mighty wings cleaving the sky,—­she thought the whole world lay at her feet, and the kingdoms of the earth moved on like a mighty pageant.  Then did the vision change.  Objects began to waver and grow dim, as if passing through a mist; and she found herself again upon that lonely crag, and her conductor at her side.  He grasped her hand:  she felt his burning touch, and a sudden smart as though she were stung—­a drop of blood hung on her finger.  He unbound the burning fillet, and she saw as though it were a glimpse of that unquenchable, unconsuming flame that devoured him.  He took the blood and wrote upon her brow.  The agony was intense, and a faint shriek escaped her.  He spoke, but the sound rang in her ears like the knell of hopes for ever departed.

For words of such presumptuous blasphemy, tradition must be voiceless.  The demon looked upwards; but, as if blasted by some withering sight, his eyes were suddenly withdrawn.

* * * * *

What homage was exacted, let no one seek to know.

After a pause, the deceiver again addressed her; and his form changed as he spoke.