After seeing Richard depart on his perilous mission to Malkin Tower,
Mistress Nutter retired to her own chamber, and held long and anxious
self-communion. The course of her thoughts may be gathered from the
terrible revelations made by Mother Demdike to Alizon. A prey to the
most agonising emotions, it may be questioned if she could have endured
greater torment if her heart had been consumed by living fire, as in the
punishment assigned to the damned in the fabled halls of Eblis. For the
first time remorse assailed her, and she felt compunction for the evil
she had committed. The whole of her dark career passed in review before
her. The long catalogue of her crimes unfolded itself like a scroll of
flame, and at its foot were written in blazing characters the awful
words, JUDGMENT AND CONDEMNATION! There was no escape--none! Hell, with
its unquenchable fires and unimaginable horrors, yawned to receive her;
and she felt, with anguish and self-reproach not to be described, how
wretched a bargain she had made, and how dearly the brief gratification
of her evil passions had been purchased at the cost of an eternity of
woe and torture.
This change of feeling had been produced by her newly-awakened affection
for her daughter, long supposed dead, and now restored to her, only to
be snatched away again in a manner which added to the sharpness of the
loss. She saw herself the sport of a juggling fiend, whose aim was to
win over her daughter's soul through her instrumentality, and she
resolved, if possible, to defeat his purposes. This, she was aware,
could only be accomplished by her own destruction, but even this dread
alternative she was prepared to embrace. Alizon's sinless nature and
devotion to herself had so wrought upon her, that, though she had at
first resisted the better impulses kindled within her bosom, in the end
they completely overmastered her.
Was it, she asked herself, too late to repent? Was there no way of
breaking her compact? She remembered to have read of a young man who had
signed away his own soul, being restored to heaven by the intercession
of the great reformer of the church, Martin Luther. But, on the other
hand, she had heard of many others, who, on the slightest manifestation
of penitence, had been rent in pieces by the Fiend. Still the idea
recurred to her. Might not her daughter, armed with perfect purity and
holiness, with a soul free from stain as an unspotted mirror; might not
she, who had avouched herself ready to risk all for her--for she had
overheard her declaration to Richard;--might not she be able to work out
her salvation? Would confession of her sins and voluntary submission to
earthly justice save her? Alas!--no. She was without hope. She had an
inexorable master to deal with, who would grant her no grace, except
upon conditions she would not assent to.
She would have thrown herself on her knees, but they refused to bend.
She would have prayed, but the words turned to blasphemies. She would
have wept, but the fountains of tears were dry. The witch could never
weep.
Then came despair and frenzy, and, like furies, lashed her with whips of
scorpions, goading her with the memory of her abominations and
idolatries, and her infinite and varied iniquities. They showed her, as
in a swiftly-fleeting vision, all who had suffered wrong by her, or whom
her malice had afflicted in body or estate. They mocked her with a
glimpse of the paradise she had forfeited. She saw her daughter in a
beatified state about to enter its golden portals, and would have clung
to her robes in the hope of being carried in with her, but she was
driven away by an angel with a flaming sword, who cried out, "Thou hast
abjured heaven, and heaven rejects thee. Satan's brand is upon thy brow
and, unless it be effaced, thou canst never enter here. Down to Tophet,
thou witch!" Then she implored her daughter to touch her brow with the
tip of her finger; and, as the latter was about to comply, a dark
demoniacal shape suddenly rose, and, seizing her by the hair, plunged
with her down--down--millions of miles--till she beheld a world of fire
appear beneath her, consisting of a multitude of volcanoes, roaring and
raging like furnaces, boiling over with redhot lava, and casting forth
huge burning stones. In each of these beds of fire thousands upon
thousands of sufferers were writhing, and their groans and lamentations
arose in one frightful, incessant wail, too terrible for human hearing.
Over this place of torment the demon held her suspended. She shrieked
aloud in her agony, and, shaking off the oppression, rejoiced to find
the vision had been caused by her own distempered imagination.
Meanwhile, the storm, which had obstructed Richard as he climbed the
hill, had come on, though Mistress Nutter had not noticed it; but now a
loud peal of thunder shook the room, and rousing herself she walked to
the window. The sight she beheld increased her alarm. Heavy
thunder-clouds rested upon the hill-side, and seemed ready to discharge
their artillery upon the course which she knew must be taken by the
young man.
The chamber in which she stood, it has been said, was large and gloomy,
with a wainscoting of dark oak. On one of the panels was painted a
picture of herself in her days of youth, innocence, and beauty; and on
another, a portrait of her unfortunate husband, who appeared a handsome
young man, with a stern countenance, attired in a black velvet doublet
and cloak, of the fashion of Elizabeth's day. Between these paintings
stood a carved oak bedstead, with a high tester and dark heavy drapery,
opposite which was a wide window, occupying almost the whole length of
the room, but darkened by thick bars and glass, crowded with armorial
bearings, or otherwise deeply dyed. The high mantelpiece and its
carvings have been previously described, as well as the bloody
hearthstone, where the tragical incident occurred connected with
Alizon's early history.
As Mistress Nutter returned to the fireplace, a plaintive cry arose from
it, and starting--for the sound revived terrible memories within her
breast--she beheld the ineffaceable stains upon the flag traced out by
blue phosphoric fire, while above them hovered the shape of a bleeding
infant. Horror-stricken, she averted her gaze, but it encountered
another object, equally appalling--her husband's portrait; or rather,
it would seem, a phantom in its place; for the eyes, lighted up by
infernal fire, glared at her from beneath the frowning and contracted
brows, while the hand significantly pointed to the hearthstone, on which
the sanguinary stains had now formed themselves into the fatal word
"VENGEANCE!"
In a few minutes the fiery characters died away, and the portrait
resumed its wonted expression; but ere Mistress Nutter had recovered
from her terror the back of the fireplace opened, and a tall swarthy man
stepped out from it. As he appeared, a flash of lightning illumined the
chamber, and revealed his fiendish countenance. On seeing him, the lady
immediately regained her courage, and addressed him in a haughty and
commanding tone--
"Why this intrusion? I did not summon thee, and do not require thee."
"You are mistaken, madam," he replied; "you had never more occasion for
me than at this moment; and, so far from intruding upon you, I have
avoided coming near you, even though enjoined to do so by my lord. He is
perfectly aware of the change which has just taken place in your
opinions, and the anxiety you now feel to break the contract you have
entered into with him, and which he has scrupulously fulfilled on his
part; but he wishes you distinctly to understand, that he has no
intention of abandoning his claims upon you, but will most assuredly
enforce them at the proper time. I need not remind you that your term
draws to a close, and ere many months must expire; but means of
extending it have been offered you, if you choose to avail yourself of
them."
"I have no such intention," replied Mistress Nutter, in a decided tone.
"So be it, madam," replied the other; "but you will not preserve your
daughter, who is in the hands of a tried and faithful servant of my
lord, and what you hesitate to do that servant will perform, and so reap
the benefit of the sacrifice."
"Not so," rejoined Mistress Nutter.
"I say yea," retorted the familiar.
"Thou art my slave, I command thee to bring Alizon hither at once."
The familiar shook his head.
"Thou refusest!" cried Mistress Nutter, menacingly.
"Knows't thou not I have the means of chastising thee?"
"You had, madam," replied the other; "but the moment a thought of
penitence crossed your breast, the power you were invested with
departed. My lord, however, is willing to give you an hour of grace,
when, if you voluntarily renew your oaths to him, he will accept them,
and place me at your disposal once more; but if you still continue
obstinate--"
"He will abandon me," interrupted Mistress Nutter; "I knew it. Fool
that I was to trust one who, from the beginning, has been a deceiver."
"You have a short memory, and but little gratitude, madam and seem
entirely to forget the important favour conferred upon you last night.
At your solicitation, the boundaries of your property were changed, and
large slips of land filched from another, to be given to you. But if you
fail in your duty, you cannot expect this to continue. The boundary
marks will be set up in their old places, and the land restored to its
rightful owner."
"I expected as much," observed Mistress Nutter, disdainfully.
"Thus all our pains will be thrown away," pursued the familiar; "and
though you may make light of the labour, it is no easy task to change
the face of a whole country--to turn streams from their course, move
bogs, transplant trees, and shift houses, all of which has been done,
and will now have to be undone, because of your inconstancy. I, myself,
have been obliged to act as many parts as a poor player to please you,
and now you dismiss me at a moment's notice, as if I had played them
indifferently, whereas the most fastidious audience would have been
ravished with my performance. This morning I was the reeve of the
forest, and as such obliged to assume the shape of a rascally attorney.
I felt it a degradation, I assure you. Nor was I better pleased when you
compelled me to put on the likeness of old Roger Nowell; for, whatever
you may think, I am not so entirely destitute of personal vanity as to
prefer either of their figures to my own. However, I showed no
disinclination to oblige you. You are strangely unreasonable to-day. Is
it my lord's fault if your desire of vengeance expires in its
fruition--if, when you have accomplished an object, you no longer care
for it? You ask for revenge--for power. You have them, and cast them
aside like childish baubles!"
"Thy lord is an arch deceiver," rejoined Mistress Nutter; "and cannot
perform his promises. They are empty delusions--profitless,
unsubstantial as shadows. His power prevails not against any thing holy,
as I myself have just now experienced. His money turns to withered
leaves; his treasures are dust and ashes. Strong only is he in power of
mischief, and even his mischief, like curses, recoils on those who use
it. His vengeance is no true vengeance, for it troubles the conscience,
and engenders remorse; whereas the servant of heaven heaps coals of fire
on the head of his adversary by kindness, and satisfies his own heart."
"You should have thought of all this before you vowed yourself to him,"
said the familiar; "it is too late to reflect now."
"Perchance not," rejoined Mistress Nutter.
"Beware!" thundered the demon, with a terrible gesture; "any overt act
of disobedience, and your limbs shall be scattered over this chamber."
"If I do not dare thee to it, it is not because I fear thee," replied
Mistress Nutter, in no way dismayed by the threat. "Thou canst not
control my tongue. Thou speakest of the services rendered by thy lord,
and I repeat they are like his promises, naught. Show me the witch he
has enriched. Of what profit is her worship of the false deity--of what
avail the sacrifices she makes at his foul altars? It is ever the same
spilling of blood, ever the same working of mischief. The wheels Of
crime roll on like the car of the Indian idol, crushing all before them.
Doth thy master ever help his servants in their need? Doth he not ever
abandon them when they are no longer useful, and can win him no more
proselytes? Miserable servants--miserable master! Look at the murtherous
Demdike and the malignant Chattox, and examine the means whereby they
have prolonged their baleful career. Enormities of all kinds committed,
and all their families devoted to the Fiend--all wizards or witches!
Look at them, I say. What profit to them is their long service? Are they
rich? Are they in possession of unfading youth and beauty? Are they
splendidly lodged? Have they all they desire? No!--the one dwells in a
solitary turret, and the other in a wretched hovel; and both are
miserable creatures, living only on the dole wrung by threats from
terrified peasants, and capable of no gratification but such as results
from practices of malice."
"Is that nothing?" asked the familiar. "To them it is every thing. They
care neither for splendid mansions, nor wealth, nor youth, nor beauty.
If they did, they could have them all. They care only for the dread and
mysterious power they possess, to be able to fascinate with a glance, to
transfix by a gesture, to inflict strange ailments by a word, and to
kill by a curse. This is the privilege they seek, and this privilege
they enjoy."
"And what is the end of it all?" demanded Mistress Nutter, sternly.
"Erelong, they will be unable to furnish victims to their insatiate
master, who will then abandon them. Their bodies will go to the hangman,
and their souls to endless bale!"
The familiar laughed as if a good joke had been repeated to him, and
rubbed his hands gleefully.
"Very true," he said; "very true. You have stated the case exactly,
madam. Such will certainly be the course of events. But what of that?
The old hags will have enjoyed a long term--much longer than might have
been anticipated. Mother Demdike, however, as I have intimated, will
extend hers, and it is fortunate for her she is enabled to do so, as it
would otherwise expire an hour after midnight, and could not be
renewed."
"Thou liest!" cried Mistress Nutter--"liest like thy lord, who is the
father of lies. My innocent child can never be offered up at his impious
shrine. I have no fear for her. Neither he, nor Mother Demdike, nor any
of the accursed sisterhood, can harm her. Her goodness will cover her
like armour, which no evil can penetrate. Let him wreak his vengeance,
if he will, on me. Let him treat me as a slave who has cast off his
yoke. Let him abridge the scanty time allotted me, and bear me hence to
his burning kingdom; but injure my child, he cannot--shall not!"
"Go to Malkin Tower at midnight, and thou wilt see," replied the
familiar, with a mocking laugh.
"I will go there, but it shall be to deliver her," rejoined Mistress
Nutter. "And now get thee gone! I need thee no more."
"Be not deceived, proud woman," said the familiar. "Once dismissed, I
may not be recalled, while thou wilt be wholly unable to defend thyself
against thy enemies."
"I care not," she rejoined; "begone!"
The familiar stepped back, and, stamping upon the hearthstone, it sank
like a trapdoor, and he disappeared beneath it, a flash of lightning
playing round his dusky figure.
Notwithstanding her vaunted resolution, and the boldness with which she
had comported herself before the familiar, Mistress Nutter now
completely gave way, and for awhile abandoned herself to despair.
Aroused at length by the absolute necessity of action, she again walked
to the window and looked forth. The storm still raged furiously
without--so furiously, indeed, that it would be madness to brave it, now
that she was deprived of her power, and reduced to the ordinary level of
humanity. Its very violence, however, assured her it must soon cease,
and she would then set out for Malkin Tower. But what chance had she now
in a struggle with the old hag, with all the energies of hell at her
command?--what hope was there of her being able to effect her daughter's
liberation? No matter, however desperate, the attempt should be made.
Meanwhile, it would be necessary so see what was going on below, and
ascertain whether Blackadder had returned with Parson Holden. With this
view, she descended to the hall, where she found Nicholas Assheton fast
asleep in a great arm-chair, and rocked rather than disturbed by the
loud concussions of thunder. The squire was, no doubt, overcome by the
fatigues of the day, or it might be by the potency of the wine he had
swallowed, for an empty flask stood on the table beside him. Mistress
Nutter did not awaken him, but proceeded to the chamber where she had
left Nowell and Potts prisoners, both of whom rose on her entrance.
"Be seated, gentlemen, I pray you," she said, courteously. "I am come to
see if you need any thing; for when this fearful storm abates, I am
going forth for a short time."
"Indeed, madam," replied Potts. "For myself I require nothing further;
but perhaps another bottle of wine might be agreeable to my honoured and
singular good client."
"Speak for yourself, sir," cried Roger Nowell, sharply.
"You shall have it," interposed Mistress Nutter. "I shall be glad of a
word with you before I go, Master Nowell. I am sorry this dispute has
arisen between us."
"Humph!" exclaimed the magistrate.
"Very sorry," pursued Mistress Nutter; "and I wish to make every
reparation in my power."
"Reparation, madam!" cried Nowell. "Give back the land you have stolen
from me--restore the boundary lines--sign the deed in Sir Ralph's
possession--that is the only reparation you can make."
"I will," replied Mistress Nutter.
"You will!" exclaimed Nowell. "Then the fellow did not deceive us,
Master Potts."
"Has any one been with you?" asked the lady, uneasily.
"Ay, the reeve of the forest," replied Nowell. "He told us you would be
with us presently, and would make fair offers to us."
"And he told us also _why_ you would make them, madam," added Potts, in
an insolent and menacing tone; "he told us you would make a merit of
doing what you could not help--that your power had gone from you--that
your works of darkness would be destroyed--and that, in a word, you were
abandoned by the devil, your master."
"He deceived you," replied Mistress Nutter. "I have made you the offer
out of pure good-will, and you can reject it or not, as you please. All
I stipulate, if you do accept it, is, that you pledge me your word not
to bring any charge of witchcraft against me."
"Do not give the pledge," whispered a voice in the ear of the
magistrate.
"Did you speak?" he said, turning to Potts.
"No, sir," replied the attorney, in a low tone; "but I thought you
cautioned me against--"
"Hush!" interrupted Nowell; "it must be the reeve. We cannot comply with
your request, madam," he added, aloud.
"Certainly not," said Potts. "We can make no bargain with an avowed
witch. We should gain nothing by it; on the contrary, we should be
losers, for we have the positive assurance of a gentleman whom we
believe to be upon terms of intimacy with a certain black gentleman of
your acquaintance, madam, that the latter has given you up entirely, and
that law and justice may, therefore, take their course. We protest
against our unlawful detention; but we give ourselves small concern
about it, as Sir Ralph Assheton, who will be advised of our situation by
Parson Holden, will speedily come to our liberation."
"Yes, we are now quite easy on that score, madam," added Nowell; "and
to-morrow we shall have the pleasure of escorting you to Lancaster
Castle."
"And your trial will come on at the next assizes, about the middle of
August," said Potts, "You have only four months to run."
"That is indeed my term," muttered the lady. "I shall not tarry to
listen to your taunts," she added, aloud. "You may possibly regret
rejecting my proposal."
So saying, she quitted the room.
As she returned to the hall, Nicholas awoke.
"What a devil of a storm!" he exclaimed, stretching himself and rubbing
his eyes. "Zounds! that flash of lightning was enough to blind me, and
the thunder wellnigh splits one's ears."
"Yet you have slept through louder peals, Nicholas," said Mistress
Nutter, coming up to him. "Richard has not returned from his mission,
and I must go myself to Malkin Tower. In my absence, I must entrust you
with the defence of my house."
"I am willing to undertake it," replied Nicholas, "provided no
witchcraft be used."
"Nay, you need not fear that," said the lady, with a forced smile.
"Well, then, leave it to me," said the squire; "but you will not set out
till the storm is over?"
"I must," replied Mistress Nutter; "there seems no likelihood of its
cessation, and each moment is fraught with peril to Alizon. If aught
happens to me, Nicholas--if I should--whatever mischance may befall
me--promise me you will stand by her."
The squire gave the required promise.
"Enough, I hold you to your word," said Mistress Nutter. "Take this
parchment. It is a deed of gift, assigning this mansion and all my
estates to her. Under certain circumstances you will produce it."
"What circumstances? I am at a loss to understand you, madam," said the
squire.
"Do not question me further, but take especial care of the deed, and
produce it, as I have said, at the fitting moment. You will know when
that arrives. Ha! I am wanted."
The latter exclamation had been occasioned by the appearance of an old
woman at the further end of the hall, beckoning to her. On seeing her,
Mistress Nutter immediately quitted the squire, and followed her into a
small chamber opening from this part of the hall, and into which she
retreated.
"What brings you here, Mother Chattox?" exclaimed the lady, closing the
door.
"Can you not guess?" replied the hag. "I am come to help you, not for
any love I bear you, but to avenge myself on old Demdike. Do not
interrupt me. My familiar, Fancy, has told me all. I know how you are
circumstanced. I know Alizon is in old Demdike's clutches, and you are
unable to extricate her. But I can, and will; because if the hateful old
hag fails in offering up her sacrifice before the first hour of day, her
term will be out, and I shall be rid of her, and reign in her stead.
To-morrow she will be on her way to Lancaster Castle. Ha! ha! The
dungeon is prepared for her--the stake driven into the ground--the
fagots heaped around it. The torch has only to be lighted. Ho! Ho!"
[Illustration: THE RIDE THROUGH THE MURKY AIR.]
"Shall we go to Malkin Tower?" asked Mistress Nutter, shuddering.
"No; to the summit of Pendle Hill," rejoined Mother Chattox; "for there
the girl will be taken, and there only can we secure her. But first we
must proceed to my hut, and make some preparations. I have three scalps
and eight teeth, taken from a grave in Goldshaw churchyard this very
day. We can make a charm with them."
"You must prepare it alone," said Mistress Nutter; "I can have nought to
do with it."
"True--true--I had forgotten," cried the hag, with a chuckling
laugh--"you are no longer one of us. Well, then, I will do it alone. But
come with me. You will not object to mount upon my broomstick. It is the
only safe conveyance in this storm of the devil's raising. Come--away!"
And she threw open the window and sprang forth, followed by Mistress
Nutter.
Through the murky air, and borne as if on the wings of the wind, two
dark forms are flying swiftly. Over the tops of the tempest-shaken trees
they go, and as they gain the skirts of the thicket an oak beneath is
shivered by a thunderbolt. They hear the fearful crash, and see the
splinters fly far and wide; and the foremost of the two, who, with her
skinny arm extended, seems to direct their course, utters a wild scream
of laughter, while a raven, speeding on broad black wing before them,
croaks hoarsely. Now the torrent rages below, and they see its white
waters tumbling over a ledge of rock; now they pass over the brow of a
hill; now skim over a dreary waste and dangerous morass. Fearful it is
to behold those two flying figures, as the lightning shows them,
bestriding their fantastical steed; the one an old hag with hideous
lineaments and distorted person, and the other a proud dame, still
beautiful, though no longer young, pale as death, and her loose jetty
hair streaming like a meteor in the breeze.
The ride is over, and they alight near the door of a solitary hovel. The
raven has preceded them, and, perched on the chimney top, flies down it
as they enter, and greets them with hoarse croaking. The inside of the
hut corresponds with its miserable exterior, consisting only of two
rooms, in one of which is a wretched pallet; in the other are a couple
of large chests, a crazy table, a bench, a three-legged stool, and a
spinning-wheel. A caldron is suspended above a peat fire, smouldering on
the hearth. There is only one window, and a thick curtain is drawn
across it, to secure the inmate of the hut from prying eyes.
Mother Chattox closes and bars the door, and, motioning Mistress Nutter
to seat herself upon the stool, kneels down near the hearth, and blows
the turf into a flame, the raven helping her, by flapping his big black
wings, and uttering a variety of strange sounds, as the sparks fly
about. Heaping on more turf, and shifting the caldron, so that it may
receive the full influence of the flame, the hag proceeds to one of the
chests, and takes out sundry small matters, which she places one by one
with great care on the table. The raven has now fixed his great talons
on her shoulder, and chuckles and croaks in her ear as she pursues her
occupation. Suddenly a piece of bone attracts his attention, and darting
out his beak, he seizes it, and hops away.
"Give me that scalp, thou mischievous imp!" cries the hag, "I need it
for the charm I am about to prepare. Give it me, I say!"
But the raven still held it fast, and hopped here and there so nimbly
that she was unable to catch him. At length, when he had exhausted her
patience, he alighted on Mistress Nutter's shoulder, and dropped it into
her lap. Engrossed by her own painful thoughts, the lady had paid no
attention to what was passing, and she shuddered as she took up the
fragment of mortality, and placed it upon the table. A few tufts of
hair, the texture of which showed they had belonged to a female, still
adhered to the scalp. Mistress Nutter regarded it fixedly, and with an
interest for which she could not account.
After sharply chiding the raven, Mother Chattox put forth her hand to
grasp the prize she had been robbed of, when Mistress Nutter checked her
by observing, "You said you got this scalp from Goldshaw churchyard.
Know you ought concerning it?"
"Ay, a good deal," replied the old woman, chuckling. "It comes from a
grave near the yew-tree, and not far from Abbot Cliderhow's cross. Old
Zachariah Worms, the sexton, digged it up for me. That yellow skull had
once a fair face attached to it, and those few dull tufts were once
bright flowing tresses. She who owned them died young; but, young as she
was, she survived all her beauty. Hollow cheeks and hollow eyes, wasted
flesh, and cruel cough, were hers--and she pined and pined away. Folks
said she was forespoken, and that I had done it. I, forsooth! She had
never done me harm. You know whether I was rightly accused, madam."
"Take it away," cried Mistress Nutter, hurriedly, and as if struggling
against some overmastering feeling. "I cannot bear to look at it. I
wanted not this horrible reminder of my crimes."
"This was the reason, then, why Ralph stole the scalp from me," muttered
the hag, as she threw it, together with some other matters, into the
caldron. "He wanted to show you his sagacity. I might have guessed as
much."
"I will go into the other room while you make your preparations," said
Mistress Nutter, rising; "the sight of them disturbs me. You can summon
me when you are ready."
"I will, madam," replied the old hag, "and you must control your
impatience, for the spell requires time for its confection."
Mistress Nutter made no reply, but, walking into the inner room, closed
the door, and threw herself upon the pallet. Here, despite her anxiety,
sleep stole upon her, and though her dreams were troubled, she did not
awake till Mother Chattox stood beside her.
"Have I slept long?" she inquired.
"More than three hours," replied the hag.
"Three hours!" exclaimed Mistress Nutter. "Why did you not wake me
before? You would have saved me from terrible dreams. We are not too
late?"
"No, no," replied Mother Chattox; "there is plenty of time. Come into
the other room. All is ready."
As Mistress Nutter followed the old hag into the adjoining room, a
strong odour, arising from a chafing-dish, in which herbs, roots, and
other ingredients were burning, assailed her, and, versed in all weird
ceremonials, she knew that a powerful suffumigation had been made,
though with what intent she had yet to learn. The scanty furniture had
been cleared away, and a circle was described on the clay floor by
skulls and bones, alternated by dried toads, adders, and other reptiles.
In the midst of this magical circle, the caldron, which had been brought
from the chimney, was placed, and, the lid being removed, a thick vapour
arose from it. Mistress Nutter looked around for the raven, but the bird
was nowhere to be seen, nor did any other living thing appear to be
present beside themselves.
Taking the lady's hand, Mother Chattox drew her into the circle, and
began to mutter a spell; after which, still maintaining her hold of her
companion, she bade her look into the caldron, and declare what she saw.
"I see nothing," replied the lady, after she had gazed upon the bubbling
waters for a few moments. "Ah! yes--I discern certain figures, but they
are confused by the steam, and broken by the agitation of the water."
"Caldron--cease boiling! and smoke--disperse!" cried Mother Chattox,
stamping her foot. "Now, can you see more plainly?"
"I can," replied Mistress Nutter; "I behold the subterranean chamber
beneath Malkin Tower, with its nine ponderous columns, its altar in the
midst of them, its demon image, and the well with waters black as Lethe
beside it."
"The water within the caldron came from that well," said Mother Chattox,
with a chuckling laugh; "my familiar risked his liberty to bring it, but
he succeeded. Ha! ha! My precious Fancy, thou art the best of servants,
and shalt have my best blood to reward thee to-morrow--thou shalt, my
sweetheart, my chuck, my dandyprat. But hie thee back to Malkin Tower,
and contrive that this lady may hear, as well as see, all that passes.
Away!"
Mistress Nutter concluded that the injunction would be obeyed; but, as
the familiar was invisible to her, she could not detect his departure.
"Do you see no one within the dungeon?" inquired Mother Chattox.
"Ah! yes," exclaimed the lady; "I have at last discovered Alizon. She
was behind one of the pillars. A little girl is with her. It is Jennet
Device, and, from the spiteful looks of the latter, I judge she is
mocking her. Oh! what malice lurks in the breast of that hateful child!
She is a true descendant of Mother Demdike. But Alizon--sweet, patient
Alizon--she seems to bear all her taunts with a meekness and resignation
enough to move the hardest heart. I would weep for her if I could. And
now Jennet shakes her hand at her, and leaves her. She is alone. What
will she do now? Has she no thoughts of escape? Oh, yes! She looks about
her distractedly--runs round the vault--tries the door of every cell:
they are all bolted and barred--there is no outlet--none!"
"What next?" inquired the hag.
"She shrieks aloud," rejoined Mistress Nutter, "and the cry thrills
through every fibre in my frame. She calls upon me for aid--upon me, her
mother, and little thinks I hear her, and am unable to help her. Oh! it
is horrible. Take me to her, good Chattox--take me to her, I implore
you!"
"Impossible!" replied the hag: "you must await the fitting time. If you
cannot control yourself, I shall remove the caldron."
"Oh! no, no," cried the distracted lady. "I will be calm. Ah! what is
this I see?" she added, belying her former words by sudden vehemence,
while rage and astonishment were depicted upon her countenance. "What
infernal delusion is practised upon my child! This is monstrous--
intolerable. Oh! that I could undeceive her--could warn her
of the snare!"
"What is the nature of the delusion?" asked Mother Chattox, with some
curiosity. "I am so blind I cannot see the figures on the water."
"It is an evil spirit in my likeness," replied Mistress Nutter.
"In your likeness!" exclaimed the hag. "A cunning device--and worthy of
old Demdike--ho! ho!"
"I can scarce bear to look on," cried Mistress Nutter; "but I must,
though it tears my heart in pieces to witness such cruelty. The poor
girl has rushed to her false parent--has thrown her arms around her, and
is weeping on her shoulder. Oh! it is a maddening sight. But it is
nothing to what follows. The temptress, with the subtlety of the old
serpent, is pouring lies into her ear, telling her they both are
captives, and both will perish unless she consents to purchase their
deliverance at the price of her soul, and she offers her a bond to
sign--such a bond as, alas! thou and I, Chattox, have signed. But Alizon
rejects it with horror, and gazes at her false mother as if she
suspected the delusion. But the temptress is not to be beaten thus. She
renews her entreaties, casts herself on the ground, and clasps my
child's knees in humblest supplication. Oh! that Alizon would place her
foot upon her neck and crush her. But it is not so the good act. She
raises her, and tells her she will willingly die for her; but her soul
was given to her by her Creator, and must be returned to him. Oh! that I
had thought of this."
"And what answer makes the spirit?" asked the witch.
"It laughs derisively," replied Mistress Nutter; "and proceeds to use
all those sophistical arguments, which we have so often heard, to
pervert her mind, and overthrow her principles. But Alizon is proof
against them all. Religion and virtue support her, and make her more
than a match for her opponent. Equally vain are the spirit's attempts to
seduce her by the offer of a life of sinful enjoyment. She rejects it
with angry scorn. Failing in argument and entreaty, the spirit now
endeavours to work upon her fears, and paints, in appalling colours, the
tortures she will have to endure, contrasting them with the delight she
is voluntarily abandoning, with the lover she might espouse, with the
high worldly position she might fill. 'What are worldly joys and honours
compared with those of heaven!' exclaims Alizon; 'I would not exchange
them.' The spirit then, in a vision, shows her her lover, Richard, and
asks her if she can resist his entreaties. The trial is very sore, as
she gazes on that beloved form, seeming, by its passionate gestures, to
implore her to assent, but she is firm, and the vision disappears. The
ordeal is now over. Alizon has triumphed over all their arts. The spirit
in my likeness resumes its fiendish shape, and, with a dreadful menace
against the poor girl, vanishes from her sight."
"Mother Demdike has not done with her yet," observed Chattox.
"You are right," replied Mistress Nutter. "The old hag descends the
staircase leading to the vault, and approaches the miserable captive.
With her there are no supplications--no arguments; but commands and
terrible threats. She is as unsuccessful as her envoy. Alizon has gained
courage and defies her."
"Ha! does she so?" exclaimed Mother Chattox. "I am glad of it."
"The solid floor resounds with the stamping of the enraged witch,"
pursued Mistress Nutter. "She tells Alizon she will take her to Pendle
Hill at midnight, and there offer her up as a sacrifice to the Fiend. My
child replies that she trusts for her deliverance to Heaven--that her
body may be destroyed--that her soul cannot be harmed. Scarcely are the
words uttered than a terrible clangour is heard. The walls of the
dungeon seem breaking down, and the ponderous columns reel. The demon
statue rises on its throne, and a stream of flame issues from its brow.
The doors of the cells burst open, and with the clanking of chains, and
other dismal noises, skeleton shapes stalk forth, from them, each with a
pale blue light above its head. Monstrous beasts, like tiger-cats, with
rough black skins and flaming eyes, are moving about, and looking as if
they would spring upon the captive. Two gravestones are now pushed
aside, and from the cold earth arise the forms of Blackburn, the robber,
and his paramour, the dissolute Isole de Heton. She joins the grisly
throng now approaching the distracted girl, who falls insensible to the
ground."
"Can you see aught more?" asked the hag, as Mistress Nutter still bent
eagerly over the caldron.
"No; the whole chamber is buried in darkness," replied the lady; "I can
see nothing of my poor child. What will become of her?"
"I will question Fancy," replied the hag, throwing some fresh
ingredients into the chafing-dish; and, as the smoke arose, she
vociferated, "Come hither, Fancy; I want thee, my fondling, my sweet.
Come quickly! ha! thou art here."
The familiar was still invisible to Mistress Nutter, but a slight sound
made her aware of his presence.
"And now, my sweet Fancy," pursued the hag, "tell us, if thou canst,
what will be done with Alizon, and what course we must pursue to free
her from old Demdike?"
"At present she is in a state of insensibility," replied a harsh voice,
"and she will be kept in that condition till she is conveyed to the
summit of Pendle Hill. I have already told you it is useless to attempt
to take her from Malkin Tower. It is too well guarded. Your only chance
will be to interrupt the sacrifice."
"But how, my sweet Fancy? how, my little darling?" inquired the hag.
"It is a perplexing question," replied the voice; "for, by showing you
how to obtain possession of the girl, I disobey my lord."
"Ay, but you serve me--you please me, my pretty Fancy," cried the hag.
"You shall quaff your fill of blood on the morrow, if you do this for
me. I want to get rid of my old enemy--to catch her in her own toils--to
send her to a dungeon--to burn her--ha! ha! You must help me, my little
sweetheart."
"I will do all I can," replied the voice; "but Mother Demdike is cunning
and powerful, and high in favour with my lord. You must have mortal aid
as well as mine. The officers of justice must be there to seize her at
the moment when the victim is snatched from her, or she will baffle all
your schemes."
"And how shall we accomplish this?" asked Mother Chattox.
"I will tell you," said Mistress Nutter to the hag. "Let him put on the
form of Richard Assheton, and in that guise hasten to Rough Lee, where
he will find the young man's cousin, Nicholas, to whom he must make
known the dreadful deed about to be enacted on Pendle Hill. Nicholas
will at once engage to interrupt it. He can arm himself with the weapons
of justice by taking with him Roger Nowell, the magistrate, and his
myrmidon, Potts, the attorney, both of whom are detained prisoners in
the house by my orders."
"The scheme promises well, and shall be adopted," replied the hag; "but
suppose Richard himself should appear first on the scene. Dost know
where he is, my sweet Fancy?"
"When I last saw him," replied the voice, "he was lying senseless on the
ground, at the foot of Malkin Tower, having been precipitated from the
doorway by Mother Demdike. You need apprehend no interference from him."
"It is well," replied Mother Chattox. "Then take his form, my pet,
though it is not half as handsome as thy own."
"A black skin and goat-like limbs are to thy taste, I know," replied the
familiar, with a laugh.
"Let me look upon him before he goes, that I may be sure the likeness is
exact," said Mistress Nutter.
"Thou hearest, Fancy! Become visible to her," cried the hag.
And as she spoke, a figure in all respects resembling Richard stood
before them.
"What think you of him? Will he do?" said Mother Chattox.
"Ay," replied the lady; "and now send him off at once. There is no time
to lose."
"I shall be there in the twinkling of an eye," said the familiar; "but I
own I like not the task."
"There is no help for it, my sweet Fancy," cried the hag. "I cannot
forego my triumph over old Demdike. Now, away with thee, and when thou
hast executed thy mission, return and tell us how thou hast sped in the
matter."
The familiar promised obedience to her commands, and disappeared.