“Ask that casket to save you, as you said it would do,” he said sarcastically.
“Mercy, sir, mercy!” repeated the expiring victim.
“I warned you to be faithful and to be dumb. You have not been faithful; but in future I protest that you shall be dumb.”
The keeper, grasping the horrible meaning of these words, uttered a deep groan.
“Fear nothing,” said the man; “I will not part you from your treasure.”
At these words, unfastening his leather belt, he passed it through a ring on the cover of the casket, and by this means hung it about Spiagudry’s neck, the poor fellow bending beneath its weight.
“Come!” rejoined the monster, “to what devil will you confide your soul? Make haste and summon him, lest another demon whom you do not care about, take possession of it before him.”
The desperate old man, past all power of speech, fell at the little man’s knees, making countless gestures of terror and entreaty.
“No, no!” said his tormentor; “my faithful Spiagudry, you need not be distressed at leaving your young companion without a guide. I promise you that he shall go where you go. Follow me; you do but show him the way. Come!”
With these words, seizing the wretched man in his powerful arms, he bore him from the tower as a tiger might carry off a writhing serpent, and a moment later a fearful shriek rang through the ruins, mingled with a horrible burst of laughter.