“Not because he has taken him, but because he didn’t take me too, at the same time!” answered the woman, pettishly.
“What! did you love the old churl as much as all that?” asked Luxehale.
“Love him! what put that into your head? But I didn’t want to be left here to starve, I suppose.”
“Come along with me then, and you shan’t starve. You shall have a jollier time of it than with the old fool who is dead—plenty to eat and drink, and no lack, and no work!”
“That’s not a bad proposition, certainly; but, pray, who are you?”
“I am he who you regretted just now had not taken you. I will take you, if you wish, and make you my wife.”
“You the Devil!” exclaimed the woman, eyeing the handsome person he had assumed from head to foot; “impossible, you can’t be the Devil!”
“You see the Devil’s not so black as he’s painted,” replied Luxehale. “Believe me that is all stuff, invented by designing knaves to deceive silly people. You can see for yourself if I don’t look, by a long way, handsomer and taller than your departed spouse, at all events.”
“There’s no saying nay to that,” responded the widow.
“Nor to my other proposition either,” urged Luxehale; and, as he found she ceased to make any resistance, he took her up in his arms, and, spreading his great bat’s wings, carried her down to his palace, where he installed her as lady and mistress, much to her own satisfaction.