Impatiently Nydia awaited the arrival of the no less anxious Sosia.  Fortifying his courage by plentiful potations of a better liquor than that provided for the demon, the credulous ministrant stole into the blind girl’s chamber.

‘Well, Sosia, and art thou prepared?  Hast thou the bowl of pure water?’

’Verily, yes:  but I tremble a little.  You are sure I shall not see the demon?  I have heard that those gentlemen are by no means of a handsome person or a civil demeanor.’

‘Be assured!  And hast thou left the garden-gate gently open?’

’Yes; and placed some beautiful nuts and apples on a little table close by?’

’That’s well.  And the gate is open now, so that the demon may pass through it?’

‘Surely it is.’

’Well, then, open this door; there—­leave it just ajar.  And now, Sosia, give me the lamp.’

‘What, you will not extinguish it?’

’No; but I must breathe my spell over its ray.  There is a spirit in fire.  Seat thyself.’

The slave obeyed; and Nydia, after bending for some moments silently over the lamp, rose, and in a low voice chanted the following rude:—­

     Invocation to the spectre of the air

       Loved alike by Air and Water
        Aye must be Thessalia’s daughter;
        To us, Olympian hearts, are given
        Spells that draw the moon from heaven. 
          All that Egypt’s learning wrought—­
        All that Persia’s Magian taught—­
       Won from song, or wrung from flowers,
        Or whisper’d low by fiend—­are ours.

       Spectre of the viewless air! 
        Hear the blind Thessalian’s prayer! 
        By Erictho’s art, that shed
        Dews of life when life was fled—­
       By lone Ithaca’s wise king,

        Who could wake the crystal spring
        To the voice of prophecy? 
        By the lost Eurydice,
        Summon’d from the shadowy throng,
        As the muse-son’s magic song—­
       By the Colchian’s awful charms,
        When fair-haired Jason left her arms—­

       Spectre of the airy halls,
        One who owns thee duly calls! 
        Breathe along the brimming bowl,
        And instruct the fearful soul
        In the shadowy things that lie
        Dark in dim futurity. 
        Come, wild demon of the air,
        Answer to thy votary’s prayer! 
          Come! oh, come!

       And no god on heaven or earth—­
       Not the Paphian Queen of Mirth,
        Not the vivid Lord of Light,
        Nor the triple Maid of Night,
        Nor the Thunderer’s self shall be
        Blest and honour’d more than thee! 
          Come! oh, come!

‘The spectre is certainly coming,’ said Sosia.  ’I feel him running along my hair!’