For the little girl, full of malevolence, stretches forth her hand, and it drops to the ground, as if stricken by a dart.

“Is thy heart broken, poor bird?” exclaimed the young man, taking up the hapless songster, yet warm and palpitating.  “To die in the midst of thy song—­’tis hard.”

“Very hard!” replied the maiden, tearfully.  “Its fate seems a type of our own.”

The little girl laughed, but in a low tone, and to herself.

The pair then grew sad.  This slight incident had touched them deeply, and their conversation took a melancholy turn.  They spoke of the blights that had nipped their love in the bud—­of the canker that had eaten into its heart—­of the destiny that so relentlessly pursued them, threatening to separate them for ever.

The little girl laughed merrily.

Then they spoke of the grave—­and of hope beyond the grave; and they spoke cheerfully.

The little girl could laugh no longer, for with her all beyond the grave was despair.

After that they spoke of the terrible power that Satan had lately obtained in that unhappy district, of the arts he had employed, and of the votaries he had won.  Both prayed fervently that his snares might be circumvented, and his rule destroyed.

During this part of the discourse the cat swelled to the size of a tiger, and his eyes glowed like fiery coals.  He made a motion as if he would spring forward, but the voice of prayer arrested him, and he shrank back to his former size.

“Poor Jennet is ensnared by the Fiend,” murmured the maiden, “and will perish eternally.  Would I could save her!”

“It cannot be,” replied the young man.  “She is beyond redemption.”

The little girl gnashed her teeth with rage.

“But my mother—­I do not now despair of her,” said Alizon.  “She has broken the bondage by which she was enchained, and, if she resists temptation to the last, I am assured will be saved.”

“Heaven aid her!” exclaimed Richard.

Scarcely were the words uttered, than the cat disappeared.

“Why, Tib!—­where are yo, Tib?  Ey want yo!” cried the little girl in a low tone.

But the familiar did not respond to the call.

“Where con he ha’ gone?” cried Jennet; “Tib!  Tib!”

Still the cat came not.

“Then ey mun do the wark without him,” pursued the little girl; “an ey win no longer delay it.”

And with this she crept stealthily round the arbour, and, approaching the side where Richard sat, watched an opportunity of touching him unperceived.

As her finger came in contact with his frame, a pang like death shot through his heart, and he fell upon Alizon’s shoulder.

“Are you ill?” she exclaimed, gazing at his pallid features, rendered ghastly white by the moonlight.

Richard could make no reply, and Alizon, becoming dreadfully alarmed, was about to fly for assistance, but the young man, by a great effort, detained her.