The fiend laughed, and pointing to the name on the parchment, written with blood, bade Gideon recollect that he was his property, by contract and consent.
“Oh!” once more ejaculated Gideon, “spare me! What! must I leave—”
“Nelly, you mean? Fear not. I shall bring her to you in good time. The separation cannot be long.”
“Oh!” resumed the tailor, “must I die,—have my brains dashed out against the wall, as your victims generally are treated?”
“No, no, Gideon, they shall even then be covered with your nightcap—”
“To leave my profession, to—”
“No, no,” was the reply, “you shall then make my pantaloons of many colours. My wages are—but I dare not quote from that Book.—You understand me, Gideon. You need not shriek: spare your lungs, as they will have exercise enough, and yet they will not require sewing and mending. They must last as long as your service, and that is for ever. I shall never dismiss you for bad conduct, Gideon. Eternity is the term of the engagement between us. Oh! eternity!”—and here all the farce and pantomime vanished, as his form changed into one of lofty power, and his voice thrilled with eloquence from the remembrance, and the still more intense anticipation of endless woe. “Oh! Eternity, how vast thou art. No shore, a boundless sea! No bank, nor yet a little island, on which the lost can alight, and, for a moment, quit the gulf, and shake off their pain. The scroll of fate is placed in the hand, written with woe: long and long may it unfold itself, but the last roll never comes. Oh! Eternity! thou hast no resting place for the bright foot of Hope:—yes,” and here Satan assumed the same appearance as before, “Gideon, our engagement expires only with eternity: you shall board with me, and have enough of food—not much ale or water, however, but a great supply of fuel, and that gratis. But before I depart, name two requests which you may wish me to fulfil. Would you enjoy power or beauty? They shall be granted, and the poor tailor may sit on a throne, or at the side of a beautiful empress. Amidst all, think of the coming night, when your appetite is about to pall, and how will it be whetted!—Name two requests.”
Jeremiah started up, so sudden was the advent of the idea in his mind, and no longer miserable, thinking that Gideon would now successfully puzzle Satan. He whispered into his brother’s ear, “Ask for the reformation of Nelly!”
“Well then,” said the tailor addressing the enemy, “the first condition is, that you thoroughly reform my wife: make her to love me; to give me due allowance of food, fuel, sleep, and all necessaries, and not to beat me. She may comb my head, but must not scratch it. She may kiss, but not bite me. The vinegar must be taken from her temper, and honey put in. The poker must only be used for the coals: in short, you have undertaken an impossibility. You may have made her what she is—but you cannot unmake her.”
“Ah! master Nicholas,” chuckled Jeremiah, who was vain of having suggested the above condition, “give it up, and confess that you are an easy simpleton for once. A devil make an angel of a woman! Ridiculous, quite ridiculous, Nick. You may pare her nails, but you cannot keep her from scratching. Say no more, give it up and depart, and carry a globe of snow on your shoulders, to your abode, to cool some of your friends.”