“Let him sign the deed, which gives over to my master his soul and body, and his wishes shall be gratified.”
Rudenfranck drew from his breast a parchment scroll, and the infatuated Adolf, with his own blood, subscribed to his eternal ruin.
“Take of my treasures,” said the sceptre, “what thou would’st have, and use it as thou wilt. In exchange for the gift of thy soul, contained in this writing, thou shalt have full access to my treasure. But, mark me. Seven years are granted unto thee, at the close of which time, thou must return, and pay thy homage to the lord of these realms.”
“And myself?” asked Rudenfranck, “shall I not reap the harvest for which I have labored? Recollect thy promises made me in Germany.”
“They are thine,” said the spirit. “This sceptre controls the fiercest demons. Take it. Return to thy native land, and revel in the possession of all earthly wisdom, riches, and power. But when thy date of life has again expired, seek not to renew it. It is enough. Dismiss me.”
“Depart to thy place, accursed spirit,” said the hunter. The spirit of Bructorix descended, and the phantoms hastened to pile the vases of gold and jewels outside of the brazen gate, until the first grey light of the dawn began to glimmer through the clouds. Instantly, the gorgeous scene disappeared, and the cavern resumed its original appearance. Adolf and Rudenfranck, loading themselves with gold, carefully filled up the mouth of the cavern with rocks and brushwood, and returned warily, homeward.
Chapter VII.
The guests of the preceding day were assembled in the farm house of Philip Mullerhorn, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Adolf. Old Mullerhorn went frequently to the door, and looked out, with anxiety, down the road which Adolf usually took when he visited the farm.
“I fear all is not right with him,” said he. “Adolf is late in coming this morning. He should have been here a full hour before this.”
“Peradventure,” snuffled Chriss, “the young man has fled, doubting whether he could make good his boasts of yesterday.”