of her one day, and made her a pretty speech
upon the happiness of the man, whoever he
might be, who could hope to gain her affections.
Thoughtless Sir Christopher! From the moment
that her eyes met those of the gay young gentleman
the lovely orange girl became the victim
of one all-consuming desire. Sir Christopher
bought many oranges of her as, every day
when he came to the theatre, she threw herself
in his path to attract his notice. Every
day he made her many little flattering speeches.
After a time he became somewhat annoyed to
learn that the girl's attachment to him was
so obvious as to have become a subject of
banter among his friends. He was in no
humour for an intrigue. But the colder he
became, the warmer she grew. When he
retreated, she pursued. When he was
indifferent, she was enthusiastic. When he froze,
she burned, and desperate thoughts took
possession of her mind. It seemed to her as if
she could neither live nor die, and that life without
his love was infinitely worse than all the
pangs of death. At this time, and long previously,
The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus——
a very doleful ballad——was commonly sung in
the streets:

The Devil in fryar's weeds appeared to me,
And straight to my request he did agree,
That I might have all things at my desire,
If / gave soul and body for his hire.

She knew this woful piece of doggerel by
heart. If Faustus could find a devil to buy his
soul——for the price of love and a term of earthly
felicity——could she not find a devil to do her
the same good turn? Oh, that she could! For
many days and nights she called upon the
Prince of Darkness, upon Satan, upon Lucifer,
upon Mephistopheles, by every name that she
thought powerful, to come to her assistance.
There was no answer. At last, upon one cold
and rainy night, when she was more than
usually desperate and unhappy, she strayed
towards the watermen's stairs at London-bridge,
and was about to drown herself, when
she became aware of a stranger, who was
standing by her side. He was a young man in
the bloom of beauty, had very sparkling blue
grey eyes of the colour of wood smoke, and a
thick bushy beard and moustache of a hue
between yellow and red, white regular teeth, a
smile that was rather haughty and condescending
than attractive or fascinating, and such beautiful
white hands as might have belonged to a
lady, and never could be supposed to have been
employed in hard or dirty work. He was
dressed in a suit of black velvet——all black
from top to toe, with the exception of his hose
and shoe ribbons and the jaunty feather in his
cap, all of which were of scarlet.

"So you think of jumping into the river,"
he said, in a grave tone of voice; " but would
not that be foolish as well as wicked?"

She started, though she did not in the least
imagine who he could be. He looked kind,
however, and she simply replied, " I am very
miserable."

"But you are young and lovely, and you may
yet find happiness, and plenty of it, if you will
only seek it in the right manner. I know your
history. You love Sir Christopher Hatton.
Yes, you love him, and he does not love you in
return. A very common case!"

"Mine is no common case," replied the
dark-eyed girl, with startling emphasis, looking
straight at her visitor. " If he cannot love me.
I will die. Life without him is hourly misery.

"And with him would be hourly bliss, of
course. I know all that," continued the stranger,
very coolly, if not sarcastically. "Listen to
me! I am a bliss merchant. I deal in the
article. I have a great stock at my disposal."

"Then give me some of it for the love of
Heaven," she said, clasping her hands, looking
up in his face, and appearing even to his eyes
to be exceedingly beautiful.

"Merchants don't give" said he. " You, for
instance, don't give away oranges! You sell
them. Giving is not in my line, or I should
soon be a bankrupt, rich as I am; and if I were
fool enough to be liberal, it would not be for
love of the place you mention."

"Sell me joy, then——sell me the love of Sir
Christopher Hatton; make him love me as I
love him, and if the bliss can be but mine for
seven days, you shall name your own price,
even if it be my soul, provided you can get
his also, and we can both go into your dark
kingdom together."

"Fair and softly," said Lucifer, if it were indeed
he, and who else could it be? "I can only
deal with one person at a time. You and I
can do our business first. He and I, if possible,
can do our business afterwards. In my little
transactions with human kind, I have but one
price——which is the soul. Will you sell me
yours?"

"I will," she replied, with a slight shudder,
"for his love; warm, passionate, undivided, for
seven days."

"Stupid girl! you must have a very bad
opinion of me, to think I could entrap you
into such a miserable bargain as that. No!
no! I have some heart and conscience,
though you may not believe it. What do you
say to seven weeks?"

"Better, oh better!"

"Seven months?"

"Bliss undescribable!"

"Seven years?"

"Oh, do not mock me! If I had seven souls,
I would sell them all to you, for such a price
as that."

There was not much talk between the two
after this. Seven years was the term agreed upon,
and the price was to be her immortal soul at
the end thereof. The stranger produced a
parchment, wrote out the agreement in a very
neat lawyer-like hand, read it over to her, and
all was ready for her mark. This, as everybody
knows, must in such transactions be made
with blood.

"You are not afraid of the prick of a needle?"
asked her companion, smiling; and before she