in spite of me?"

"In spite of you and of your friends the fiends, and of your master the
Devil!" flung out Jan. For Jan had a soul that was generous and brave
and tender and excessively short-tempered. Even the best of souls have
their failings.

"I am sorry," said old Nicholas.

"I am glad to hear it," answered Jan.

"I am sorry for your mother," explained Nicholas. "The poor dame, I
fear, will be homeless in her old age. The mortgage shall be foreclosed,
Jan, on your wedding-day. I am sorry for your father, Jan. His
creditors, Jan--you have overlooked just one. I am sorry for him, Jan.
Prison has always been his dread. I am sorry even for you, my young
friend. You will have to begin life over again. Burgomaster Allart is in
the hollow of my hand. I have but to say the word, your ship is mine.
I wish you joy of your bride, my young friend. You must love her very
dearly--you will be paying a high price for her."

It was Nicholas Snyders' grin that maddened Jan. He sought for something
that, thrown straight at the wicked mouth, should silence it, and
by chance his hand lighted on the pedlar's silver flask. In the same
instance Nicholas Snyders' hand had closed upon it also. The grin had
died away.

"Sit down," commanded Nicholas Snyders. "Let us talk further." And there
was that in his voice that compelled the younger man's obedience.

"You wonder, Jan, why I seek always anger and hatred. I wonder at times
myself. Why do generous thoughts never come to me, as to other men!
Listen, Jan; I am in a whimsical mood. Such things cannot be, but it is
a whim of mine to think it might have been. Sell me your soul, Jan, sell
me your soul, that I, too, may taste this love and gladness that I hear
about. For a little while, Jan, only for a little while, and I will give
you all you desire."

The old man seized his pen and wrote.

"See, Jan, the ship is yours beyond mishap; the mill goes free; your
father may hold up his head again. And all I ask, Jan, is that you drink
to me, willing the while that your soul may go from you and become the
soul of old Nicholas Snyders--for a little while, Jan, only for a little
while."

With feverish hands the old man had drawn the stopper from the pedlar's
flagon, had poured the wine into twin glasses. Jan's inclination was to
laugh, but the old man's eagerness was almost frenzy. Surely he was mad;
but that would not make less binding the paper he had signed. A true man
does not jest wi