Then horrible thoughts came upon her, crushing her and overwhelming her, and she felt by anticipation all the torments she would speedily have to endure.  Oceans of fire, in which miserable souls were for ever tossing, rolled before her.  Yells, such as no human anguish can produce, smote her ears.  Monsters of frightful form yawned to devour her.  Fiends, armed with terrible implements of torture, such as the wildest imagination cannot paint, menaced her.  All hell, and its horrors, was there, its dreadful gulf, its roaring furnaces, its rivers of molten metal, ever burning, yet never consuming its victims.  A hot sulphureous atmosphere oppressed her, and a film of blood dimmed her sight.

She endeavoured to pray, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.  She looked about for her Bible, but it had been left behind when she was taken from her retreat.  She had no safeguard—­none.

Still the sand ran on.

New agonies assailed her.  Hell was before her again, but in a new form, and with new torments.  She closed her eyes.  She shut her ears.  But she saw it still, and heard its terrific yells.

Again she consults the hourglass.  The sand is running on—­ever diminishing.

New torments assail her.  She thinks of all she loves most on earth—­of her daughter!  Oh! if Alizon were near her, she might pray for her—­might scare away these frightful visions—­might save her.  She calls to her—­but she answers not.  No, she is utterly abandoned of God and man, and must perish eternally.

Again she consults the hourglass.  One quarter of an hour is all that remains to her.  Oh! that she could employ it in prayer!  Oh! that she could kneel—­or even weep!

A large mirror hangs against the wall, and she is drawn towards it by an irresistible impulse.  She sees a figure within it—­but she does not know herself.  Can that cadaverous object, with the white hair, that seems newly-arisen from the grave, be she?  It must be a phantom.  No—­she touches her cheek, and finds it is real.  But, ah! what is this red brand upon her brow?  It must be the seal of the demon.  She tries to efface it—­but it will not come out.  On the contrary, it becomes redder and deeper.

Again she consults the glass.  The sand is still running on.  How many minutes remain to her?

“Ten!” cried a voice, replying to her mental inquiry.—­“Ten!”

And, turning, she perceived her familiar standing beside her.

“Thy time is wellnigh out, Alice Nutter,” he said.  “In ten minutes my lord will claim thee.”

“My compact with thy master is broken,” she replied, summoning up all her resolution.  “I have long ceased to use the power bestowed upon me; but, even if I had wished it, thou hast refused to serve me.”

“I have refused to serve you, madam, because you have disobeyed the express injunctions of my master,” replied the familiar; “but your apostasy does not free you from bondage.  You have merely lost advantages which you might have enjoyed.  If you chose to dismiss me I could not help it.  Neither I nor my lord have been to blame.  We have performed our part of the contract.”