He was no sooner certain, however, that he might move from his apartment without risk of observation, than he seized his lamp, and, as we have seen, sought the lonely cap-house of the Ancient. The small door of the place was closed. So strongly were men’s minds bound by the thraldom of superstition in those days, that the gallant Sir Walter de Selby, who had so often faced the foe like a lion in the field, and who would even now have defended the Castle of Norham to the uttermost extremity, yea, so long as one stone of its walls remained upon another—this brave old warrior, I say, absolutely trembled as he tapped at the door of the wretched Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, who once formed his most common subject of jest. He tapped, but no answer was returned; he listened, but not a sound was heard. He tapped again—and again he tapped louder. He called the Ancient by his name; but still all was profound silence. He hesitated for some moments, in doubt what to do. At last he brought himself to the determination of pushing the door up. He bent down on his knees to force it, and it yielded before his exertions; but the sight which met his eyes so appalled him, that he was unable at first to advance.
The Ancient Fenwick, to all appearance dead, lay stretched, with his arms and legs extended on the floor. His face had the leaden hue of death on it; and a small orb, composed of a number of points of bluish lambent flame, like that so ominously illuminating the shield, flitted on his forehead—a book of necromancy lay open on the floor—his lamp burned on the [[64]]usual pile of volumes—and, on a temporary altar, composed of several folios, raised one above the other against the wall, were placed a human skull, and thigh bones, and an hour-glass. Immediately over these a number of cabalistical figures were described with charcoal on the plaster; and a white rod seemed, from the position it lay in, to have been pointed towards them, and to have fallen from his hand, as if he had been suddenly struck down in the very act of conjuration.
Sir Walter was so overpowered with horror and superstitious fear, that some moments elapsed ere he could summon up resolution to creep into the place and examine the body more narrowly. He looked down on the hidous ghastly face, over which the magical flame still flitted. The small fiery eye-balls glared—but they were still; not a feature moved, nor was there the slightest sound or appearance of respiration. Scarcely bearing to behold such a spectacle, the old knight looked timorously around him, afraid that the demon, who had done this fearful work upon his disciple, might appear to annihilate him also. In truth his terrors so far overcame him, that he was just about to retreat hastily, when he observed a certain spasmodic twitch about the mouth, which soon afterwards became powerfully convulsed, writhing from side to side, and throwing the whole features of the countenance into the most fearful contortions. By degrees, the convulsion seemed to extend itself along the muscles of the body, arms, and limbs, until the whole frame was thrown into violent agitation; unintelligible sputtering sounds came from the alternate corners of the mouth; and Sir Walter quaked to hear the name of “Sathanas” often repeated energetically. At last, by a convulsion stronger than the rest, the head and body were erected, and, after a little time, the Ancient seemed to recover the use of his senses, and the command over his muscles, as well as of his powers of utterance.
“What, Master Ancient Fenwick, hath befallen thee?” exclaimed Sir Walter, in a voice almost indistinct from trepidation; “tell me, I beseech thee, what hath happened.”
“My brain burneth,” cried the Ancient, with a hideous yell, and striking his forehead with the palms of both hands, after which the flame no longer appeared. Then, after a pause, “Where am I?” said he, staring wildly around, “Where am I? Ha! I see I am again in the world of men. What?” exclaimed he, with surprise, on beholding Sir Walter, “art thou here? How camest thou to this place?”
“My friend,” replied the old knight, “my excellent friend, I [[65]]came to consult thee; I came to take counsel from thy superhuman knowledge—thy knowledge gathered from converse with the spirits of another world.”
“Another world!” exclaimed the Ancient, in a sepulchral voice—“in another world, didst thou say? Ay, I have indeed long had converse here, face to face, with some of its blackest inmates: but never till this night,” added he, shuddering, “did I visit its fiery realms.”
“Where hast thou been, then?” asked the knight, in a tone of alarm.
“In hell!” cried the Ancient, with a horrible voice that chilled the very blood in Sir Walter’s brains. “Yes,” continued he, “I have visited those dreadful abodes; but I may not tell their awful secrets. Some, it is true, I am permitted to disclose, if I can bring myself to speak of them—of things on which depend the fate of thyself and thy daughter, and deeply affecting thy country’s weal.”
“What, good Ancient, hast thou learned, that may affect me or my daughter? I do beseech thee, let me straightway be informed. The blue fire burns on my father’s shield to-night; some dreadful calamity impends.”