258 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. QSept. 



stood about, looking at the sleeper, who, according to the charity of the 

 beholder, seemed something more or less than human. To some he 

 appeared a sleeping fiend. His black, distended eyelids were in strong 

 contrast to the bloodless palor of his cheeks ; his sharp nose, as though 

 protruding through the skin ; his fallen jaw, discovering his firm-set 

 teeth ; and his arms, hugging his breast, gave him, with different minds, 

 the appearance of a saint or devil. 



At length a youth approached the sleeper, and pulled his garment. 

 The pilgrim, as under the influence of some dream, sprang up, and seiz- 

 ing the affrighted youth, shouted, " Where — wliere ?" — then, with the 

 rapidity of thought, felt at his breast, and smiled as he seemed to grasp 

 something. Then, a sudden cramp, the effect of his cold bed and the 

 night-air, shooting through his legs, he fell ; and his forehead striking 

 against the edge of the step, the blood gushed from the wound. The 

 people closed about him to render assistance ; but, although stunned, he 

 threw forth his legs to keep off 'the multitude, and never once loosened 

 his grasp from his garment. At length the people resolved to carry him 

 to a neighbouring surgeon ; and the pilgrim, fainting from the loss of 

 blood, was borne to a low hovel in an obscure lane. 



Here dwelt the leech, a rare compound of quaint humour, cheerful- 

 ness, and avarice. The wounded man was left alone with the surgeon, 

 who bound up the hurt, and strove to unclench the pilgrim's hands. 

 Insensibility gave the patient greater strength ; and already the man of 

 healing trembled for his fee. He administered violent restoratives to 

 tlie patient, who, at length, breathed more freely — he panted, and his 

 hands fell for an instant upon his knees. The surgeon thrust his arm 

 into the sick man's bosom — a deep snarl rattled in the pilgrim's throat, 

 as, recovering his consciousness, he grasped the arm at his breast, and 

 threw back his head to confront the danger that menaced him. There 

 was a terrific interchange of look : eye flashed on eye — the face of each 

 was distended — their lips worked — as though in disgust and hatred of 

 the name they uttered — as " Scowl," " Blitheheart," fell, like venom, 

 from them. 



The companions were again united. The hunters had again met. A 

 hatred of each other in youth had become more deadly in age : but 

 dissimulation could give a seeming sanctity to the purpose of a fiend. 

 " Dear brother," cried Scowl, " you have a good trade." 

 " Poor, wretchedly poor," answered Blitheheart. " What then, I am 

 not what I was. Now wealth hath no charms for me— (Scowl glanced 

 about the hut.) Believe it — I have more silver in my beard than my 

 bag. But come, you are wearied. Though we wear turbans we can 

 drink wine — come, come, we are too old to be choked with a grape- 

 stone. I have no money, but I have credit — we will have wine, boy ; 

 and drink to the memory of our old master !" So saying, Blitheheart 

 left the hut on his liberal errand. 



Scowl had well scanned his early companion. He liad read him with 

 eyes of distrust and hate. No sooner then had Blitheheart quitted the 

 hovel, than Scowl cast his greedy looks around — every corner, every 

 cranny, was ransacked — the search was unsuccessful. Waiting his 

 companion's return. Scowl took up a knife to cut a thorn from his foot — 

 he cut, and still his face was cold and colourless : he whetted the knife 

 upon the stone floor — it stuck at a small iron ring. Scowl seized it, 

 and bending every nerve to the effort, lifted up a huge granite slab. 



