And, as if in answer to the remark, the raven croaked exultingly; and, rising from the tree, wheeled in a circle above them.
"Is there no way of averting my terrible destiny, father?" cried Richard, despairingly.
"Ay, if you choose to adopt it," replied the old man. "When I said your ailment was incurable, I meant by ordinary remedies, but it will yield to such as I alone can employ. The malignant and fatal influence under which you labour may be removed, and then your instant restoration to health and vigour will follow."
"But how, father—how?" cried Richard, eagerly.
"You have simply to sign your name in this book," rejoined the hermit, "and what you desire shall be done. Here is a pen," he added, taking one from his girdle.
"But the ink?" cried Richard.
"Prick your arm with your dagger, and dip the pen in the blood," replied the old man. "That will suffice."
"And what follows if I sign?" demanded Richard, staring at him.
"Your instant cure. I will give you to drink of a wondrous elixir."
"But to what do I bind myself?" asked Richard.