Drolls From Shadowland Part 11

"Very well, I will accept the pledge," said she.

He was beginning again to kiss her fondlingly.

"You are a man of honour, are you not?" asked she; showing her even white teeth, and dimpling her rose-leaf cheeks temptingly.

"Certainly. I hope so."

"Then let me have your soul."

"But that would mean death for me! Do you desire me to die, my love?"

And a look of questioning wonder crept into his eyes.

"By no means! I have not been reared by a philosopher for nothing. This crystal ball"--and she held out to him a tiny globe of crystal--"put your lips to it and p.a.w.n your soul to its keeping. I will warrant you, it will hold it as safely as I could."

He glanced at the tiny globe distrustfully.

"Are you afraid? Do you wish to withdraw from your word?"

"By no means."

"Then breathe against it, my love." And she held the crystal ball temptingly towards him. "You can imagine it is my lips you are touching," added she, with a light, coquettish laugh, leaning provocatively close to him.

He took the crystal reluctantly, and breathed against it as she wished.

"Oh!" cried he suddenly, drawing back his lips.

She took the crystal globe from him and peered into it anxiously. Then cried, in a tone of triumph, "Look! there it is."

He was aware of something cloudy--vague and light as smoke--floating, as it were, in the core of the crystal. And suddenly he felt a sense of want within himself.

She put the crystal in her bosom, and let it lie between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"It is warm and pleasant there: you will never let it grow cold, will you?"

"Never!" And she laughed; dimpling rosily in her mirth. "Now you can set off on your journey," said the maiden.

"I have no wish now to leave your side," he whispered meekly.

"This rose, that I have been wearing, you were wishing for just now.

See! I toss it yonder! Fetch and keep it!" cried the maiden.

He ran after it; groping for it where it had fallen in the gra.s.s.

"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" sounded all around him. It was as if the wood had suddenly grown vocal with cuckoos.

He turned his head quickly. The maiden had disappeared.

"Why did I trust my soul to her keeping?" he wailed drearily. "If she should lose it; or mislay it; or should even let it grow cold! My love!

my love! my love!" he began calling.

"Cuckoo! cuckoo!" kept sounding across the gra.s.s.

He ran hither and hither: he followed the woodland paths feverishly.

At times he fancied he caught a glimpse of her vanishing garments; of the sunlight glinting on her long gold tresses. Now he imagined he could hear her laughter echoing among the tree-trunks: and anon he even fancied he could hear her singing. But he pursued her down the long green vistas in vain.

He sat down beneath a tree and clasped his hands drearily. "What a fool I was to trust my soul to her!" he wailed.

And at that moment he was aware of a ragged pedlar coming along the forest glades, and whistling as he came.

"Ho! young man! you look melancholy," quoth the pedlar. "What d'ye lack?

A philtre to make your sweetheart love you? Ribbons for a lady? A collar for your hound?"

"I want a soul," said the young man, glancing at him hungrily.

"A common want!" quoth the pedlar, grinning broadly. "But here in my pack I have souls in plenty. Dip in your hand and take one boldly!"

"I should like to choose. . . ."

"It is take it, or leave it. I allow no choice. I am offering you a gift."

The pedlar laid his half-open pack on the gra.s.s.

"Dip in your hand and take one, if you will."

The young man dipped in his hand at a venture, and drew out one--the soul of an ape.

"Not that! I will not have that!" cried he.

"Then you will have none," said the pedlar, dropping the soul in his pack again. "If the great Soul Maker, who manufactures them by the million, allows neither picking nor choosing, beyond the casual dip of chance, do you think that a mere pedlar in souls, like myself, can do business on a basis which _he_ has found unprofitable? Pooh, man, get back your soul _if you can_, or else you may do without one, as far as I am concerned." And off strolled the pedlar, whistling as he went.

The young man leaned his head dejectedly on his hand.

"How can I get back my soul?" he moaned.

"Why not live without one?" croaked a voice above his shoulder.

He looked up, and saw a sooty old raven peering down at him.

"Live without a soul! You'll never miss it," croaked the raven.

"Can I?" cried the young man: amazed, yet hopeful.

"_Can I?_" croaked the raven, mockingly echoing him. "_Can I?_ Of course you can, young fool!"

"Then I will!" exclaimed the young man, starting to his feet.

"That's right," croaked the raven. "You're the right sort--_you_ are!"