ou I can't go, and I won't! Anything in reason I'll do.
Anything I can send she shall have. Here, Wool, look in my breeches
pocket and take out my purse and hand it. And then go and wake up Mrs.
Condiment, and ask her to fill a large basket full of everything a poor
old dying woman might want, and you shall carry it."

"Spare your pains, sir. The poor woman is already past all earthly,
selfish wants. She only asks your presence at her dying bed."

"But I can't go! I! The idea of turning out of my warm bed and exposing
myself to a snow-storm this time of night!"

"Excuse me for insisting, sir; but this is an official duty," said the
parson mildly but firmly.

"I'll--I'll throw up my commission to-morrow," growled the old man.

"To-morrow you may do that; but meanwhile, to-night, being still in the
commission of the peace, you are bound to get up and go with me to this
woman's bedside."

"And what the demon is wanted of me there?"

"To receive her dying deposition."

"To receive a dying deposition! Good Heaven! was she murdered, then?"
exclaimed the old man in alarm, as he started out of bed and began to
draw on his nether garments.

"Be composed; she was not murdered," said the pastor.

"Well, then, what is it? Dying deposition! It must concern a crime,"
exclaimed the old man, hastily drawing on his coat.

"It does concern a crime."

"What crime, for the love of Heaven?"

"I am not at liberty to tell you. She will do that."

"Wool, go down and rouse up Jehu, and tell him to put Parson Goodwin's
mule in the stable for the night. And tell him to put the black draught
horses to the close carriage, and light both of the front lanterns--for
we shall have a dark, stormy road----Shut the door, you infernal----I
beg your pardon, parson, but that villain always leaves the door ajar
after him."

The good pastor bowed gravely, and the major completed his toilet by the
time the servant returned and reported the carriage ready.

It was dark as pitch when they emerged from the hall door out into the
front portico, before which nothing could be seen but two red
bull's-eyes of the carriage lanterns, and nothing heard but the
dissatisfied whinnying and pawing of the horses.

CHAPTER II.

THE MASKS.

"What are these,
So withered and so wild in their attire
That look not like th' inhabitants of earth
And yet are on't?"
--Macbeth.

"To the Devil's Pun