When we saw his attention drawn another way, the sound was again produced.
“It is that iron,” said he; “but what moves it?”
“I don’t know,” said Mary; “it will soon rattle again, perhaps.”
It was not long before he wished to hear again that noise. While looking steadily upon it, the iron fell to the floor. “There,” said he, “I knew it was the iron. I wonder what done that!” I stood near him, and impressed his mind with the conviction that spirits wrought such things. He was impressed, as we could; and, at length, said he, “if that old iron was not lifeless, I should believe it could move itself.”
M. Oh, my worthy lord; do not—I shall be afraid of seeing ghosts, when I am alone.
L. Pshaw; a ghost never made that noise.
M. What then?
It was not more than a second before the iron was uplifted about a foot, and fell on the floor.
“Well: who knows what all this can mean?” said he. “The devil must be amusing himself. I wish he would come, and heal this dying man.”
“You do not suppose the devil will do good?” said Mary.