 Book 1 Chapter 7 of The Lancashire Witches a romance of Pendle Forest by William Harrison Ainsworth Book 1. Alice and Device Chapter 7. The Ruined Conventional Church Beneath a wild cherry-tree, planted by chance in the Abbey Gardens, and of such remarkable size that it almost rivaled the elms and lime trees surrounding it, and when in bloom resembled an enormous garland, stood two young maidens, both of rare beauty, though in totally different styles—the one being fair-haired and blue-eyed, with a snowy skin tinged with delicate bloom, like that of roses seen through milk, to borrow a simile from old anachryon—while the other far eclipsed her in the brilliancy of her complexion, the dark splendour of her eyes, and the luxuriance of her jetty tresses, which unbound and knotted with ribbons, flowed down almost to the ground. In age there was little disparity between them, though perhaps the dark-haired girl might be a year nearer twenty than the other, and somewhat more of seriousness, though not much, sat upon her lovely countenance, than on the other's laughing features. Different were they two in degree, and here social position was infinitely in favour of the fairer girl, but no one would have judged it so, if not previously acquainted with their history. Indeed it was rather the one having the least title to be proud, if any one has such a title, who now seemed to look up to her companion with mingled admiration and regard, the latter being enthralled at the moment by the rich notes of a thrush poured from a neighbouring lime-tree. Pleasant was the garden where the two girls stood, shaded by great trees, laid out in exquisite parters with knots and figures, quaint flower-beds, shorn trees and hedges, covered alleys and arbours, terraces and mounds, in the taste of the time, and above all an admirably kept bowling-green. It was bounded on the one hand by the ruined chapter-house and vestry of the old monastic structure, and on the other by the stately pile of buildings formerly making part of the abbot's lodging, in which the long gallery was situated, some of its windows looking upon the bowling-green, and then kept in excellent condition, but now roofless and desolate. Behind them, on the right, half hidden by trees, lay the desecrated and despoiled conventional church, reared at such cost and with so much magnificence by thirteen abbots, the great work having been commenced as here to fall stated by Robert the Topcliff in 1330, and only completed in all its details by John Passlew. This splendid structure surpassing, according to Whitaker, many cathedrals in extent, was now abandoned to the slow ravages of decay. Would it had never encountered worse enemy? But some half-century later the hand of man was called in to accelerate its destruction, and it was then almost entirely raised to the ground. At the period in question, though, partially unroofed and with some of the walls destroyed, it was still beautiful and picturesque. More picturesque indeed than in the days of its pride and splendour. The tower, with its lofty, crooked spire, was still standing, though the latter was cracked and tottering, and the jack-doors roosted within its windows and belfry. Two ranges of broken columns told of the bygone glories of the aisles, and the beautiful side-chappels, having escaped injury better than other parts of the fabric, remained intolerable preservation. But the choir and high altar were stripped of all their rich carving and ornaments, and the rain descended through the open rudeloft upon the now grass-grown graves of the abbots in the Presbytery. Here and there the ramified mullions still retained their wealth of painted glass, and the grand eastern window shone gorgeously as of yore. All else was neglect and ruin. Briars and turf usurped the place of the marble pavement. Many of the pillars were festooned with ivy, and in some places the shattered walls were covered with creepers, and trees had taken root in the crevices of the masonry. Beautiful at all times were these magnificent ruins, but never so beautiful as when seen by the witching light of the moon. The hour, according to the best authority, when all ruins should be viewed, when the long lines of broken pillars, the moulding arches, and the still glowing panes over the altar had a magical effect. In front of the maidens stood a square tower, part of the defences of the religious establishment directed by Abbott Lindley in the reign of Edward III, but disused and decaying. It was sustained by high and richly groined arches, crossing the swift mill-race and facing the river. A path led through the ruined chapter-house to the spacious cloister quadrangle, once used as a cemetery for the monks, but now converted into a kitchen-garden, its broad area being planted out, and fruit-trees trained against its hoary walls. Little of the old refectory was left, except the dilapidated stairs, once conducting to the gallery, where the brethren were want to take their meals, but the inner wall still served to enclose the garden on that side. Of the dormitory, formally constituting the eastern angle of the cloisters, the shell was still left, and it was used partly as a grange, partly as a shed for cattle, the farmyard, and tenements lying on this side. Thus it will be seen that the garden and grounds filling up the ruins of Waley Abbey afforded abundant points of picturesque attraction, all of which, with the exception of the ruined conventional church, had been visited by the two girls. They had tracked the labyrinth of passages, scaled broken staircases, crept into the roofless and neglected chambers, covered timorously into the black and yawning vaults, and now, having finished their investigations, had paused for a while, previous to extending their ramble to the church, beneath the wild cherry-tree, to listen to the wobbling of the birds. You should hear the nightingales at Middleton, Allyson, observed Dorothy Asherton, breaking silence. They sing even more exquisitely than Yon Thrush. You must come and see them. I should like to show you the old house and gardens, though they are very different from these, and we have no ancient monastic ruins to ornament them. Still, they are very beautiful, and as I find your fund of flowers, I will show you some I have reared myself, for I am something of a gardener, Allyson. Promise you will come. I wish I dared promise it," replied Allyson. �And why not, then?� cried Dorothy, �what should prevent you? Do you know, Allyson, what I should like to do better than all? You are so amiable and so good, so very pretty. I don't blush. There is no one by to hear me. You are so charming altogether. I should like you to come and live with me. You shall be my handmaiden, if you will. I should desire nothing better, sweet young lady,� replied Allyson, �but what?� cried Dorothy, �you have only your own consent to obtain. Alas, I have� replied Allyson. �How can that be?� cried Dorothy, with a disappointed look. It is not likely your mother will stand in the way of your advancement, and you have not, I suppose, any other tie. Nay, forgive me if I appear too inquisitive. My curiosity only proceeds from the interest I take in you. �I know it. I feel it, dear kind young lady� replied Allyson, with the colour again mounting her cheeks. �I have no tie in the world except my family, but I am persuaded my mother will never allow me to quit her, however great the advantage might be to me. �Well, though sorry I am scarcely surprised at it,� said Dorothy, �she must love you too dearly to part with you. �I wish I could think so� sighed Allyson, �proud of me in some sort, though with little reason she may be, but love me most assuredly she does not. Nay more I am persuaded that she would be glad to be freed from my presence, which is an evident restraint and annoyance to her, were it not for some motive stronger than natural affection that binds her to me. �Now in good suit you amaze me, Allyson� cried Dorothy, �what possible motive can it be, if not of affection? �Of interest, I think� replied Allyson, �I speak to you without reserve, dear young lady, for the sympathy you have shown me deserves and demands confidence on my part, and there are none with whom I can freely converse, so that every emotion has been locked up in my own bosom. My mother fancies I shall one day be of use to her, and therefore keeps me with her. Hence to this effect she has thrown out when indulging in the uncontrollable fits of passion to which she is liable, and yet I have no just reason to complain. For though she has shown me little maternal tenderness and repelled all the exhibition of affection on my part, she has treated me very differently from her other children, and with much greater consideration I can make slight boast of education, but the best the village could afford has been given me, and I have derived much religious culture from good Dr. Ormerod. The kind, ladies of the vicarage, proposed, as you have done, that I should live with them, but my mother forbade it, in joining me on peril of incurring her displeasure, not to leave her and reminding me of all the benefits I have received from her, and of the necessity of making an adequate return. An ungrateful indeed I should be if I did not comply, for though her manner is cold and harsh to me, she has never ill-used me as she has done her favourite child, my little sister, Janet, but has always allowed me a separate chamber where I can retire when I please, to read or meditate or pray. For alas, dear young lady, I dare not pray before my mother. Be not shocked at what I tell you, but I cannot hide it. My poor mother denies herself the consolation of religion, never addresses herself to heaven in prayer, never opens the book of life and truth, never enters church. In her own mistaken way she has brought up poor little Janet, who has been taught to make a scarf at religious truths and ordinances, and has never been suffered to keep holy the sabbath day. Happy and thankful am I that no such evil lessons have been taught me, but rather that I have profited by the sad example. In my own secret chamber I have prayed daily and nightly for both, prayed that their hearts might be turned. Often I have besought my mother to let me take Janet to church, but she never would consent. And in that poor misguided child, dear young lady, there is a strange mixture of good and ill, afflicted with personal deformity and delicate in health, the mind perhaps sympathizing with the body. She is wayward and uncertain in temper, but sensitive and keenly alive to kindness, and with a shrewdness beyond her years. At the risk of offending my mother, for I felt confident I was acting rightly, I have endeavoured to instill religious principles into her heart, and to inspire her with a love of truth. Sometimes she has listened to me, and I have observed strange struggles in her nature, as if the good were obtaining mastery of the evil principle, and I have striven the more to convince her and win her over. But never with entire success, for my efforts have been overcome by pernicious counsels and sceptical sneers. Oh, dear young lady, what would I not do to be the instrument of her salvation? You pained me much by this relation, Alison, said Dorothy Ascherton, who had listened with profound attention, and I now wish, more ardently than ever, to take you from such a family. I cannot leave them, dear young lady, replied Alison, for I fear that I may be of infinite service, especially to gen it, by staying with them. Where there is a soul to be saved, especially the soul of one dear as a sister, no sacrifice can be too great to make, no price too heavy to pay. By the blessing of heaven I hope to save her, and that is the great tie that binds me to her home, only so in name. I will not oppose your virtuous intentions, dear Alison, replied Dorothy, but I must now mention a circumstance in connection with your mother, of which you are perhaps in ignorance, but which it is right you should know, and therefore no false delicacy on my part shall restrain me from mentioning it. Your grandmother, old Demdike, is in very ill repute in Pendle, and is stigmatized by the common folk, and even by others as a witch. Your mother, too, shares in the apropium attaching to her. I dreaded this, replied Alison, turning deathly pale and trembling violently. I feared you had heard the terrible report, but oh, believe it not! My poor mother is earing enough, but she is not so bad as that. Oh, believe it not! I will not believe it, said Dorothy, since she is blessed with such a daughter as you. But what I fear is that you, you so kind, so good, so beautiful, may come under the same ban. I must run this risk also, in the good work I have appointed myself, replied Alison. If I am ill thought of by men, I shall have the approval of my conscience to uphold me, whatever be tied and whatever be said. Do not you think ill of me, dear young lady? Fear it not! returned Dorothy earnestly. While thus conversing, they gradually strayed away from the cherry-tree, and taking a winding path leading in that direction, entered the conventional church about the middle of the South Isle. After gazing with wonder and delight at the still majestic pillars, that, like ghosts of the departed brethren, seemed to protest against the desolation around them, they took their way along the nave, through broken arches and over prostrate fragments of stone, to the eastern extremity of the vein, and having admired the light shafts and clear-story windows of the choir, as well as the magnificent painted glass over the altar. They stopped before an arched doorway on the right, with two gothic niches, in one of which was a small stone statue of St. Agnes with her lamb, and in the other a similar representation of St. Margaret, crowned and piercing the dragon with a cross, both for sculptures of much merit, and it was wonderful they had escaped destruction. The door was closed, but it easily opened when tried by Dorothy, and they found themselves in a small but beautiful chapel. What struck them chiefly in it was a magnificent monument of white marble, enriched with numerous small shields, painted and gilt, supporting two recumbent figures, representing Henry de Lacey, one of the founders of the Abbey, and his consort. The night was cased in plate armour, covered with the surcoat emblazoned with his arms, and his feet resting upon a hound. This superb monument was wholly uninjured, the painting and gilding being still fresh and bright. Behind it a flag had been removed, discovering a flight of steep stone steps leading to a vault or other subterranean chamber. After looking round this chapel, Dorothy remarked, There is something else that has just occurred to me. When a child, a strange dark tale, was told me to the effect that the last ill-fated abbot of Whaley laid his dying curse upon your grandmother, then an infant, predicting that she should be a witch and the mother of witches. I have heard the dread tradition, too, rejoined Allison, but I cannot, will not believe it. The all-benign power would never sanction such terrible implications. Far be it from me to affirm the contrary, replied Dorothy, but it is undoubted that some families have been and are under the influence of an inevitable fatality. In one respect, connected with the same unfortunate prelate, I might instance our own family. I but past you is said to be unlucky to us, even in his grave. If such a curse as I have described hangs over the head of your family, all your efforts to remove it will be ineffectual. I trust not, said Allison. Oh dear young lady, you have now penetrated the secret of my heart. The mystery of my life is laid open to you. Disguise it, as I may. I cannot but believe my mother to be under some baneful influence. Her unholy life, her strange actions, all impress me with the idea, and there is the same tendency in Janet. You have a brother, have you not? inquired Dorothy. I have, returned Allison, slightly colouring, but I see little of him, for he lives near my grandmother in Pendle Forest, and always avoids me in his rare visits here. You will think it strange when I tell you I have never beheld my grandmother, Demdike. I am glad to hear it, exclaimed Dorothy. I have never even been to Pendle, pursued Allison, though Janet and my mother go there frequently. At one time I much wished to see my aged relative and pressed my mother to take me with her, but she refused, and now I have no desire to go. Strange, exclaimed Dorothy, everything you tell me strengthens the idea I conceived the moment I saw you, and which my brother also entertained that you are not the daughter of Elizabeth device. Did your brother think this? said Allison, eagerly, but she immediately cast down her eyes. He did, replied Dorothy, not noticing her confusion. It is impossible, he said, that that lovely girl can be sprung from—but I will not wound you by adding the rest. I cannot disown my kindred, said Allison. Still, I must confess that some notions of the sword have crossed me, arising probably from my mother's extraordinary treatment, and from many other circumstances which, though trifling in themselves, were not without weight in leading me to the conclusion. Here the two I have treated it only as a passing fancy, but if you and Master Richard Asherton—and her voice slightly faltered, as she pronounced the name—think so, it may warrant me in more seriously considering the matter. Do consider it most seriously, dear Allison, cried Dorothy. I have made up my mind, and Richard has made up his mind, too, that you are not Mother Demdike's granddaughter, nor Elizabeth's device's daughter, nor Janet's sister, nor any relation of theirs. We are sure of it, and we will have you of our mind. The fair and animated speaker could not help noticing the blushes that mantled Allison's cheeks as she spoke, but she attributed them to other than the true cause. Nor did she mend the matter as she proceeded. I'm sure you're well-born, Allison, she said, and so it will be found in the end, and Richard thinks so, too, for he has said so to me, and Richard is my oracle, Allison. In spite of herself, Allison's eyes sparkled with pleasure, but she speedily checked the emotion. I must not indulge the dream, she said, with a sigh. Why not, cried Dorothy, I will have strict inquiries made as to your history. I cannot consent to it, replied Allison. I cannot leave one who, if she be not my parent, has stood to me in that relation. Neither can I have her brought into trouble on my account. What will she think of me if she learns I have indulged such a notion? She will say, and with truth, that I am the most ungrateful of human beings, as well as the most unnatural of children. No, dear young lady, it must not be. These fancies are brilliant, but fallacious, and like bubbles burst as soon as formed. I admire your sentiments, though I do not admit the justice of your reasoning, rejoined Dorothy. It is not on your own account merely, though that is much, that the secret of your birth, if there be one, ought to be cleared up, but for the sake of those with whom you are connected. There may be a mother like mine weeping for you as lost, a brother like Richard mourning you as dead. Think of the sad hearts, your restoration will make joyful. As to Elizabeth's device, no consideration should be shown her if she has stolen you from your parents, as I suspect she deserves no pity. All this is mere surmise, dear young lady, replied Allison. At this juncture they were startled by seeing an old woman come from behind the monument, and plant herself before them. Both uttered a cry and would have fled, but a gesture from the crone detained them. Very old was she, and a strange and sinister aspect, almost blind, bent double, with frosted brows and chin, and shaking with palsy. Stay where you are! cried the hang in an imperious town. Now I want to speak to you. Come nearer to me, my pretty wanes. Nearer! Nearer! And as they complied, drawn towards her by an impulse they could not resist. The old woman caught hold of Allison's arm, and said, with the chuckle, Sir, you are the wench they call Allison's device, eh? I replied Allison, trembling like a dove in the talons of a hawk. Do you know who I am? cried the hag, grasping her yet more tightly. Do you know who I am, I say? If not, I'll tell you. I'm Mother Chattox of Pendle Forest, the rival of Mother Dendak and the enemy of all her accursed brood. Now, do you know me, wench? Men call me witch. Whether I am or not, I have some power, as they and you shall find. Mother Dendak has often defied me, often injured me, but I will have marry Benj on her. Aye! Let me go! cried Allison, greatly terrified. I will run and bring assistance, cried Dorothy, and she flew to the door, but it resisted her attempts to open it. Come back! screamed the hag. Yoes, thriving wench! The door is fast shut, fast shut! Come back, I say! Oh, yo! she added, as the maid drew near, ready to sink with terror. Your vice is an Asherton's vice. I know you now, your Dorothy Asherton. Where's skin-blower Dorothy, listen to me, Dorothy? I owe your family a grudge, and if you provoke me, I'll weigh it off in part on you. Stay not, as you value your life. The poor girl did not dare to move, and Allison remained as if fascinated by the terrible old woman. Then I'll tell you what has happened, Dorothy. I came here to wear the o' business of my own, meddling with no one, arming no one, tread upon the adder, and it'll bite, and when molested I bite, like the adder. Your cousin, Nick Asherton, came in my way, called me witch, and menaced me. I cursed him, and then your brother, Richard— What of him in heaven's name almost shrieked, Allison? As this! exclaimed Mother Chattox, placing her hand on the beating heart of the girl. What of Richard Asherton? repeated Allison. You love him? I feel you do, Wench. cried the old crone with fierce exultation. Release me, wicked woman! cried Allison. Wicked am I? Ha-ha-ha! rejoined Mother Chattox, chuckling maliciously. Because busses are read thy art, and betray its secrets. Wicked eh? I'll tell thee, Wench, again, Richard Asherton is Lord and Mastery. Every pulse in thy bosom baits for him, for him alone. But beware of his love, beware, it I say, it shall bring thee rowing and despair. For pity's sake, release me, implored Allison. Not yet, replied the inexorable old woman, not yet. My tale is not after old. My curse fell on Richard's head, as it did on Nicholas's. But then the Elans thought to catch me, but they were at fault. I tricked them nicely. However, they took my nance, my pretty nance. They seized the band, the borough, to the gold, and their swammer. Curses lot on them. Oh, oh! The chief on him, who did it? Who was he? inquired Allison tremblingly. Gem device, replied the old woman, it was he who bound, and he who plunged her in the river, he who swammer, but I'll pinch and plague him for it, I'll throw his couch we nettles, and all all some food shall be bison to him. His blood shall be as water and his flesh shrink from his bones. He shall waste away slowly, slowly, slowly, till he drops like a skeleton into the grave when he digs for him. All connected we him shall fill my fury, not clean now, if thou wert ought of is. What of is? What mean you, old woman? demanded Allison. By this, rejoined mother Chatex, and let the knowledge work in day to the confusion of best device. Thou art not her daughter. It is as I thought. Now tell thee not this sacred to pleasure thee, continued mother Chatex, but to confound Elizabeth's device. I have no other motive. She hath provoked my vengeance, and she shall fail it. Thou art not her child, I say. The sacred of thy birth is known to me, but the time is not yet come for its disclosure. It shall art one day to the confusion of them who offend me. When thou goest down, tell thy reputed mother what I have said and mark our she takes information. Ha! Ha! Who comes here? The hag's last exclamation was occasioned by the sudden appearance of Mistress Nutter, who opened the door of the chapel and, staring in astonishment at the group, came quickly forward. What makes you hear, mother Chatex? She cried. I came to abide pursuit, replied the old hag, with a cowed manner, and in accents, sounding strangely submissive after her late infuriated tone. What have you been saying to these girls? demanded Mistress Nutter authoritatively. Ask them, the hag replied. She declares that Allison is not the daughter of Elizabeth's device, cried Dorothy Ascherton. Indeed, explained Mistress Nutter quickly, and as if a spring of extraordinary interest had been suddenly touched, what reason has now for this assertion? No good reason, replied the old woman evasively, yet with evident apprehension of her questioner. Good reason or bad, I will have it, cried Mistress Nutter. But you take an interest in this wench like the rest. Return, mother Chatex, is she so very winning? That is no answer to my question, said the lady. Whose child is she? Ask best if that or mother them dark, replied mother Chatex. There no more about the matter than me. I will have thee speak unto the purpose, cried the lady angrily. Now the young one who's lost a child would gladly have it back again, said the old hag mysteriously. Who has lost one? asked Mistress Nutter. Nay, it passeth me to tell, replied the old woman with affected ignorance. Question d'Arzo Stoller, I have set you on the track. If you fail in pursuing it, come to me. You know where to find me. You shall not go thus, said Mistress Nutter. I will have a direct answer now." And as she spoke, she waved her hands twice or thrice over the old woman. In doing this her figure seemed to dilate, and her countenance underwent a mocked and fearful change. All her beauty vanished, her eyes blazed, and terror sat on her wrinkled brow. The hag, on the contrary, crouched, lowered down, and seemed to dwindle less than her ordinary size, writhing as from heavy blows, and with a mixture of malice and fear in her countenance she cried, Where'd I to spake, and what d'ang me, let me go! Answer! Verciferated Mistress Nutter, disregarding the caution and speaking in a sharp, piercing voice, strangely contrasting with her ordinary utterance. Answer, I say, or I will beat thee to the last. And she continued her gestures, while the sufferings of the old hag evidently increased, and she crouched nearer and nearer to the ground, moaning out the words, Go out fast, me to spake, or repent it, or repent it! Do not torment her thus, madam, cried Allison, who, with Dorothy, looked at the strange scene with mingled apprehension and wonderment. Much as I desire to know the secret of my birth, I would not obtain it thus. As she uttered these words, the old woman contrived to shuffle off, and disappeared behind the tomb. Why did you interpose, Allison? cried Mistress Nutter, somewhat angrily, and dropping her hands. You broke the power I had over her. I would have compelled her to speak. I thank you, gracious lady, for your consideration," replied Allison gratefully, but the sight was too painful. What has become of her? Where is she gone? Allison cried Dorothy, peeping behind the tomb. She has crept into this vault, I suppose. Do not trouble yourself about her more, Dorothy, said Mistress Nutter, resuming her wanted voice and wanted looks. Let us return to the house. Thus much is ascertained, Allison, that you are no child of your supposed parent. Wait a little, and the rest shall be found out for you, and in the meantime be assured that I take a strong interest in you. That we all do," added Dorothy. Thank you, thank you," exclaimed Allison, almost overpowered. With this they went forth, and traversing the Shafted Isle, quitted the conventional church, and took their way along the alley leading to the garden. Say not a word at present to Elizabeth's device of the information you have obtained, Allison, observed Mistress Nutter, I have reasons for this counsel, which I will afterwards explain to you. And do you keep silence on the subject, Dorothy? May I not tell Richard," said the young lady, not Richard, nor any one. Return, Mistress Nutter, or you may seriously affect Allison's prospects. You have cautioned me in time, cried Dorothy, for here comes my brother with our cousin Nicholas. And as she spoke, a turn in the alley showed Richard and Nicholas Ascherton advancing towards them. A strange resolution had been produced in Allison's feelings by the events of the last half hour. The opinions expressed by Dorothy Ascherton as to her birth had been singularly confirmed by Mother Chatex. But could reliance be placed on the old woman's assertions? Might they not have been made with a mischievous intent? And was it not possible, may probable, that in her place of concealment behind the tomb, the vindictive hag had overheard the previous conversation with Dorothy and based her own declaration upon it. All these suggestions occurred to Allison, but the previous idea having once gained admission to her breast soon established itself firmly there, in spite of doubts and misgivings, and began to mix itself up with new thoughts and wishes, which with other persons were connected, for she could not help fancying she might be well-born. And if so, the vast distance here too fore-existing between her and Richard Ascherton might be greatly diminished if not altogether removed. So rapid is the progress of thought that only a few minutes were required for this long train of reflections to pass through her mind, and it was merely put to flight by the approach of the main object of her thoughts. On joining the party Richard Ascherton saw plainly that something had happened, but as both his sister and Allison laboured under evident embarrassment, he abstained from making inquiries as to its cause for the present, hoping a better opportunity of doing so would occur, and the conversation was kept up by Nicholas Ascherton, who described in his wanted lively manner the encounter with Mother Chatex and Nancy Redfern, the swimming of the latter, and the trickery and punishment of pots. During the recital, Mistress Nutter often glanced uneasily at the two girls, but neither of them offered any interruption until Nicholas had finished. When Dorothy, taking her brother's hand, said with a look of affectionate admiration, "'You acted like yourself, dear Richard.' Allison did not venture to give utterance to the same sentiment, but her looks plainly expressed it. "'I only wish you had punished that cruel James device as well as saved poor Nance,' added Dorothy. "'Hush!' exclaimed Richard, glancing at Allison. "'You need not be afraid of hurting her feelings,' cried the young lady. "'She does not mind him now.' "'What do you mean, Dorothy?' cried Richard in surprise. "'Oh, nothing, nothing,' she replied hastily. "'Perhaps you will explain,' said Richard to Allison. "'Indeed I cannot,' she answered in confusion. "'You would have laughed as the pots creep out of the river,' said Nicholas, turning to Dorothy. "'He looked just like a drowned rat. Ha! "'You have made a bitter enemy of him, Nicholas,' observed Mistress Nutter. "'So look well to yourself.' "'Aye, he did not,' rejoined the squire. "'He knows me now too well to meddle with me again, and I shall take good care before I put myself in his power. One thing I may mention, to show the impotent malice of the nave, just as he was setting off, he said, "'This is not the only discovery of witchcraft I have made today. I have another case nearer home. What could he mean?' "'I know not,' replied Mistress Nutter, a shade of disquietude passing over her counter-lands. "'But he is quite capable of bringing the charge against you or any of us.' "'He is so,' said Nicholas. "'After what has occurred, I wonder whether he will go over to roughly to-morrow.' "'Very likely not,' replied Mistress Nutter, and in that case Master Roger Knowle must provide some other person competent to examine the boundary line of the properties on his behalf. "'Then you are confident of the adjudication being in your favour?' said Nicholas. "'Quite so,' replied Mistress Nutter, with a self-satisfied smile. "'The result I hope may justify your expectation,' said Nicholas. "'Does it is right to tell you that Sir Ralph, in consenting to postpone his decision, has only done so out of consideration to you? If the division of the properties be as represented by him, Master Knowle will unquestionably obtain an award in his favour.' "'Under such circumstances he may,' said Mistress Nutter, "'but you will find the contrary turn out to be the fact. I will show you a plan I have had lately prepared, and you can then judge for yourself.' While thus conversing, the party passed through a door in the high-stone wall dividing the garden from the court, and proceeded towards the principal entrance of the mansion. Built out of the ruins of the Abbey, which had served as a very convenient quarry for the construction of this edifice, as well as for Portfield, the house was large and irregular, planned chiefly with the view of embodying part of the old Abbott's lodgings, and consisting of a wide front with two wings, one of which looked into the court, and the other comprehending the long gallery into the garden. The old north-east gate of the Abbey, with its lofty archway and embattled walls, served as an entrance to the great courtyard, and at its wicket ordinarily stood Ned Huddleston, the porter, though he was absent on the present occasion, being occupied with the May Day festivities. Only opposite the gateway sprang a flight of stone steps with a double landing-place and a broad balustrade of the same material, on the lowest pillar of which was placed a large escutcheon sculpted with the arms of the family, argent, a mullet, sable, with a rebus on the name, and ash on a tonne. The great door to which these steps conducted stood wide open, and before it on the upper landing-place were collected Lady Ascherton, Mistress Braddill, Mistress Nicholas Ascherton, and some other dames laughing and conversing together. Some long-eared spanules, favourites of the Lady of the House were chasing each other up and down the steps, disturbing the slumbers of a couple of fine bloodhounds in the courtyard, or persecuting the proud p-file that strutted about to display their gorgeous plumage to the spectators. On seeing the party approach, Lady Ascherton came down to meet them. You have long been absent, she said to Dorothy, but I suppose you have been exploring the ruins. Yes, we not left a whole or corner unvisited, was the reply. That is right, said Lady Ascherton. I knew you would make a good guide, Dorothy. Of course you have often seen the old conventional church before, Alice, and I am ashamed to say I have not your ladyship," she replied. Indeed, exclaimed Lady Ascherton, and yet you have lived all your life in the village. Quite true, your ladyship," answered Alice, but these ruins have been prohibited to me. Not by us, said Lady Ascherton, they are open to everyone. I was forbidden to visit them by my mother, said Alice, and for the first time the word mother seemed strange to her. Lady Ascherton looked shocked, but made no remark, and mounting the steps led the way to a spacious, though not very lofty chamber with huge uncovered rafters and a floor of polished oak. Over a great fireplace at one side furnished with immense andrians, hung a noble pair of antlers, and similar trophies of the chase were affixed to other parts of the walls. Here and there were likewise hung rusty skull-caps, breast- plates, two-handed and single-handed swords, maces, halberts, and archibuses, with chain-shirts, buffed jerkins, match-locks, and other wall-like implements, amongst which were several shields painted with the arms of the Aschertons and their alliances. High-backed chairs of gilt leather were ranged against the walls, and abony cabinets inlaid with ivory were set between them at intervals, supporting rare specimens of glass on earthenware. At the fireplace stood a large clock, curiously painted and decorated with emblematical devices, with the signs of the zodiac, and provided with movable figures to strike the hours on a bell, while from the centre of the roof hung a great chandelier of stag's-horn. Lady Ascherton did not tarry long within the entrance hall, for such it was, but conducted her guests through an arched doorway on the right into the long gallery. One hundred and fifty feet in length, and proportionately wide and lofty, this vast chamber had undergone little change since its original construction by the old owners of the Abbey. Panelled and floored with lustrous oak, and hung in some parts with antique tapestry, representing scriptural subjects, one side was pierced with lofty-pointed windows, looking out upon the garden, while the southern extremity boasted a magnificent window with heavy stone mullions, though of more recent workmen ship, than the framework commanding Whaley Knab and the river. The furniture of the apartment was grand but gloomy, and consisted of antique chairs and tables belonging to the Abbey. Some curious ecclesiastical sculptures, wood carvings, and saintly images were placed at intervals near the walls, and on the upper panels were hung a row of family portraits. Quitting the rest of the company, and proceeding to the southern window, Dorothy invited Alison and her brother to place themselves beside her on the cushioned seats of the deep embrasure. Little conversation, however, ensued, Alison's heart being too full for utterance, and recent occurrences engrossing Dorothy's thought to the exclusion of everything else. Having made one or two unsuccessful efforts to engage them in talk, Richard likewise lapsed into silence, and gazed out on the lovely scenery before him. The evening has been described as beautiful, and the swift cauldre as it hurried by was tinged with rays of the declining sun, whilst the woody heights of Whaley Knab were steeped in the same rosy light. But the view failed to interest Richard in his present mood, and after a brief survey he stole a look at Alison, and was surprised to find her in tears. "'What saddening thoughts cross you, fair girl?' he inquired, with deep interest. "'I can hardly account for my sudden despondency,' she replied. "'But I have heard that great happiness is the precursor of dejection, and the saying I suppose must be true, for I have been happier to-day than I ever was before in my life. But the feeling of sadness is now past,' she added, smiling. "'I'm glad of it,' said Richard. "'May I not know what has occurred to you?' "'Not present,' interposed Dorothy, but I'm sure you will be pleased when you are made acquaintance with the circumstance. I would tell you now if I might.' "'May I guess?' said Richard. "'I don't know,' rejoined Dorothy, who was dying to tell him. "'May he?' "'Oh, no, no,' cried Alison. "'You are very perverse,' said Richard, with a look of disappointment. "'There can be no harm in guessing, and you can please yourself as to giving me an answer. I fancy, then, that Alison has made some discovery.' Dorothy nodded. "'Relative to her parentage,' pursued Richard. "'Another nod.' "'She has found out that she is not Elizabeth's device's daughter,' said Richard. "'Some witch must have told you this,' exclaimed Dorothy. "'Have I indeed guessed rightly?' cried Richard, with an eagerness that startled his sister. "'Do not keep me in suspense. Speak plainly.' "'How am I to answer him, Alison?' said Dorothy. "'Nay, do not appeal to me, dear young lady,' she answered, blushing. "'I have gone too far to retreat,' rejoined Dorothy, and therefore, despite Mr. Snutter's interdiction, the truth shall be said. "'You have guessed shrewdly, Richard. A discovery has been made, a very great discovery. Alison is not the daughter of Elizabeth's device. The intelligence delights me, though it scarcely surprises me,' cried Richard, gazing with heartfelt pleasure at the blushing girl, for I was sure of the fact from the first. Nothing so good and so charming as Alison could spring from so foul a source. "'How, and by what means you have derived this information, as well as whose daughter you are, I shall wait patiently to learn. Enough for me that you are not the sister of James's device. Enough that you are not the grandchild of Mother Demdike.' "'You know all I know in knowing thus much,' replied Alison timidly, and secret has been enjoined by Mr. Snutter in order that the rest may be found out. "'But, oh, should the hopes I have, perhaps too hastily indulge, prove fallacious?' "'They cannot be fallacious, Alison,' interrupted Richard eagerly. "'On that score rest easy. All connection with that wretched family is for ever broken, but I can see the necessity of caution and shall observe it. And so Mr. Snutter takes an interest in you. The strongest,' replied Dorothy, but see she comes this way.' But we must now go back for a short space. While Mr. Snutter and Nicholas were seated at a table, examining a plan of the roughly estates, the latter was greatly astonished to see the door open and give admittance to Master Potts, who he fancied snugly lying between a couple of blankets at the dragon. The attorney was clad in a riding-dress, which he had exchanged for his wet herb-illiments, and was accompanied by Sir Ralph Asherton and Master Roger Knowle. On seeing Nicholas he instantly stepped up to him. "'A-ha!' "'Squire!' he cried. "'You did not expect to see me again so soon, eh? A bottle of hot-sac put my blood into circulation, and having luckily a change of raiment in my valise, I am all right again. So, not so easily got rid of, you see!' So it appears,' replied Nicholas, laughing. "'We have a trifling account to settle together, sir,' said the attorney, putting on a serious look. "'Whenever you please, sir,' replied Nicholas, good-humourily tapping the hilt of his sword. "'No, not in that way,' cried Pots, darting quickly back. "'Ain't never fighting with those weapons? Never! Our dispute must be settled in a court of law, sir, in a court of law. You understand, Master Nicholas?' There is a shrewd maxim, Master Pots, that he who is his own lawyer has a fool for his client,' observed Nicholas dryly. "'Would it not be better to stick for the defence of others rather than practice on your own behalf?' "'You have expressed my opinion, Master Nicholas,' observed Roger Knowle, and I hope Master Pots will not commence any action on his own account till he has finished my business.' "'A-surely not, sir, since you had his harrit,' replied the attorney, obsequiously, "'but my motives must not be mistaken. I have a clear case of assault and battery against Master Nicholas Ascherton, for I may proceed against him criminally for an attempt on my life.' "'Have you given him no provocation, sir?' demanded Sir Ralph sternly. "'No provocation can justify the treatment I have experienced, Sir Ralph,' replied Pots. "'However, to show I am a man of peace, and to harbour no resentment, however just grounds I may have for such a feeling, I am willing to make up the matter with Master Nicholas, provided—' "'He offers you a handsome consideration, eh?' said the squire. "'Provided he offers me a handsome apology, such as a gentleman may accept,' rejoined Pots consequentially. "'And which he will not refuse, I am sure,' said Sir Ralph, glancing at his cousin. "'I should certainly be sorry to have drowned you,' said the squire. "'Very sorry.' "'Enough, enough, I am content,' cried Pots, holding out his hand, which Nicholas grasped with an energy that brought tears into the little man's eyes. "'I am glad the matter is amicably adjusted,' observed Roger Knowle, for I suspect both parties have been to blame. "'And I must now request you, Master Pots, to forgo your search and inquiries after witches, till such time as you have settled this question of the boundary line for me. One matter at a time, my good sir.' "'But, Master Knowle,' cried Pots, "'my much esteemed and single good client, I will have no nay,' interrupted Knowle, preromptorily. "'Hm,' muttered Pots, "'I shall lose the best chance of distinction ever thrown in my way.' "'I care not,' said Knowle. "'Just as you came up, Master Knowle,' observed Nicholas, "'I was examining a plan at the disputed estates in Pendle Forest. It differs from yours, and if correct, certainly substantiates Mistress Nutters' claim. "'I am mine with me,' replied Knowle, producing a plan and opening it. "'We can compare the two, if you please.' The line runs thus. From the foot of Pendle Hill, beginning with Barley Booth, the boundary is marked by a stone wall as far as certain fields in the occupation of John Ogden. Is it not so?' "'It is,' replied Nicholas, comparing the statement with the other plan. He then runs on in the northerly direction, pursued Knowle, towards Burnt Clough, and here the landmarks of certain stones placed in the moor one hundred yards apart, and giving me twenty acres of this land and Mistress Nutter ten.' "'Ah, on the contrary,' replied Nicholas, this plan gives Mistress Nutter twenty acres and you ten.' "'If the plan is wrong,' cried Knowle sharply, "'it has been carefully prepared,' said Mistress Nutter, who had approached the table. "'Row matter? It is wrong,' I say,' cried Knowle angrily. "'You see where the landmarks have placed, Master Knowle?' said Nicholas, pointing to the measurement. "'I merely go by them. The landmarks are improperly placed in that plan,' cried Knowle. "'I will examine them myself to-morrow,' said Potts, taking out a large memorandum-book. There cannot be an error of ten acres—ten perches, or ten feet, possibly, but acres. Laugh as you please, but go on,' said Mistress Nutter. "'Well, then,' pursued Nicholas, the land approaches the bank of a rivulet called Mossbrook, a rare place for woodcocks and snipes at Mossbrook, if I may remark. The land on the left consisting of five acres of wasteland, marked by a sheepfold, and two posts set up in a line with it belonging to Mistress Nutter.' "'To Mistress Nutter?' exclaimed Knowle indignantly. "'To me, you mean?' "'It is a year set down to Mistress Nutter,' cried Nicholas. "'Then it is set down wrongfully,' cried Knowle. "'That plan is altogether incorrect.' "'On which side of the field does the rivulet flow?' inquired Potts. "'On the right,' replied Nicholas. "'On the left,' cried Knowle. "'There must be some extraordinary mistake,' said Potts. "'I shall make a note of that and examine it to-morrow. In the wasteland, sheepfold, a rivulet called Mossbrook flowing on the left. "'On the right,' cried Mistress Nutter. "'There remains to be seen,' rejoined Potts. "'I have made the entry as on the left.' "'Go on, Master Nicholas,' said Knowle. "'I should like to see how many other errors that plan contains.' "'Massing the rivulet,' pursued the squire, "'we come to a footpath leading to the limestone quarry "'about which there can be no mistake. "'Then by cat-gallow's wood and swallow-hole, "'and then by another path to Worstonmore, skirting a hut "'in the occupation of James' device. "'Master James, are you here? "'I thought you'd dwelt with your grandmother at Malkentower. "'Excuse me, Master Knowle, "'but one must relieve the dullness of this plan "'by an exclamation or so. "'And here, being wasteland again, the landmarks "'of certain stones set at intervals towards Hook Cliff, "'and giving Mistress Nutter two-thirds of the whole moor, "'and Master Rodder Knowle one-third.' "'False again,' cried Knowle furiously. "'The two-thirds are mine, and the one-third, "'Mrs. Nutters.' "'Something must be very wrong,' cried Nicholas. "'Very wrong indeed,' added Potts, "'and I suspect that that somebody is. "'Master Knowle,' said Mistress Nutter. "'Mrs. Nutter,' cried Master Knowle. "'Built it wrong, and both right, according to your own showing,' said Nicholas, laughing. "'Tomorrow we'll decide the question,' said Potts. "'A better wait till then,' interposed Sir Ralph. "'Take both plans with you, "'and you will then ascertain which is correct.' "'A grade,' cried Knowle. "'Here is mine, and here is mine,' said Mistress Nutter. "'I will abide by the investigation, "'and Master Potts and I will verify the statements,' said Nicholas. "'We will, sir,' replied the attorney, "'putting his memorandum book in his pocket. "'We will.' The plans were then delivered to the custody of Sir Ralph, who promised to hand them over to Potts and Nicholas on the morrow. The party then separated. Mistress Nutter shaping her course towards the window where Allison and the two other young people were seated, while Potts, blacking at the squire's sleeve, said with a very mysterious look that he desired a word with him in private. Wondering what could be the nature of the communication the attorney desired to make, Nicholas withdrew with him into a corner, and Knowle, who saw them retire and could not help watching them with some curiosity, remarked that the squire's hilarious countenance fell as he listened to the attorney, while on the contrary the features of the latter gleamed with malicious satisfaction. Meanwhile Mistress Nutter approached Allison, and beckoning towards her they quitted the room together. As the young girl went forth, she cast a wistful look at Dorothy and her brother. "'Do you think with me that that lovely girl is well-born?' said Dorothy as Allison disappeared. "'It were heresy to doubt it,' answered Richard. "'Shall I tell you another secret?' She continued, regarding him fixedly, "'if indeed it is a secret. For you must be sadly wanting in discernment if you have not found it out ere this. She loves you.' "'Dorothy,' exclaimed Richard. "'I'm sure of it,' she rejoined. "'But I would not tell you this if I were not equally sure that you love her in return.' "'On my faith, Dorothy, you give yourself credit for wonderful penetration,' cried Richard. "'Not a witt more than I am entitled to,' she answered. "'Nay, it will not do to attempt concealment with me. If I had not been certain of the matter before, your manner now would convince me. I am very glad of it. She will make a charming sister, and I shall be very fond of her.' "'How you do run on, madcap!' cried her brother, trying to look displeased, but totally failing in assuming the expression. "'Strange things have come to pass,' said Dorothy, and one reads in story-books of young nobles marrying village maidens in spite of parental opposition. "'I dare say you will get nobody's consent to the marriage but mine, Richard.' "'I dare say not,' he replied, rather blankly. "'That is, if she should not turn out to be somebody's daughter,' pursued Dorothy. "'Somebody I mean quite as great as the heir of Middleton, which I make no doubt she will.' "'I hope she may,' replied Richard. "'Why, you don't mean to say you wouldn't marry her if she didn't?' cried Dorothy. "'I am ashamed of you, Richard.' "'It would remove all opposition at all events,' said her brother. "'So it would,' said Dorothy. "'And now I'll tell you another notion of mine, Richard. Somehow or other it has come into my head that Alison is the daughter of—' "'Whom do you think?' "'Whom?' he cried. "'Guess,' she rejoined. "'I can't,' he exclaimed impatiently. "'Well, then I'll tell you without more ado,' she answered. "'Mind, it's only my notion, and I have no precise grounds for it. "'But in my opinion, she is the daughter of the lady who has just left the room. "'Of Mistress Nutter,' ejaculated Richard, starting, "'what makes you think so?' "'The extraordinary and otherwise unaccountable interest she takes in her,' replied Dorothy. "'And if you recollect, Mr. Nutter had an infant daughter who was lost in a strange manner.' "'I thought the child died,' replied Richard. "'But it may be, as you say. I hope it is so. "'Time will show,' said Dorothy. "'But I have made up my mind about the matter.' "'At this moment Nicholas Asherton came up to them, looking grave and uneasy. "'What has happened?' asked Richard anxiously. "'I have just received some very unpleasant intelligence,' replied Nicholas. "'I told you of a menace uttered by that confounded pots on quitting me after his ducking. He has now spoken out quite plainly, and declares he overheard part of a conversation between Mistress Nutter and Elizabeth Device, which took place in the ruins of the convent church this morning. And he is satisfied that—' "'Well?' cried Richard, breathlessly. "'That Mistress Nutter is a witch and in league with witches,' continued Nicholas. "'Oh!' exclaimed Richard, turning deathly pale. "'I suspect the rascals invented the charge,' said Nicholas. "'But it is quite unscrupulous enough to make it. And if made, it will be fatal to our relative's reputation, if not to her life. "'It is false, I'm sure of it,' cried Richard, torn by conflicting emotions. "'Would I could think so?' cried Dorothy, suddenly recollecting Mistress Nutter's strange demeanour in the little chapel, and the unaccountable influence she seemed to exercise over the old crone. "'But something has occurred today that leads me to a contrary conviction.' "'What is it? Speak!' cried Richard. "'Not now, no, not now,' replied Dorothy. "'Whatever suspicions you may enter then, keep silence, or you will destroy Mistress Nutter,' said Nicholas. "'Fear me not,' rejoined Dorothy. "'Oh, well, listen!' she murmured, that this unhappy question should arise at such a moment. "'Do you indeed believe the charge, Dorothy?' asked Richard in a low voice. "'I do,' she answered in the same tone. "'If Alice and be her daughter, she can never be your wife.' "'How?' cried Richard. "'Never, never,' repeated Dorothy emphatically. "'The daughter of a witch be that witch named Elizabeth Device or Alice Nutter is no mate for you. "'You'll prejudge Mistress Nutter, Dorothy,' he cried. "'Alas, Richard, I have too good reason for what I say.' She answered sadly. Richard uttered an exclamation of despair, and on this instant the lively sounds of table and pipe mixed with the jingling of bells arose from the courtyard, and presently afterwards an attendant entered to announce that the May Day revelers were without, and directions were given by Sir Ralph that they should be shown into the great banqueting hall below the gallery, which had been prepared for their reception. End of Chapter 7 Book 1 Chapter 8 of The Lancashire Witches This Librebox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Andy Minter The Lancashire Witches A Romance of Pendle Forest by William Harrison Ainsworth Book 1 Alice and Device Chapter 8 The Revelation On quitting the long gallery, Mistress Nutter and Allison ascended a wide staircase, and traversing a corridor came to an antique tapestry chamber, richly but cumbersome furnished, having a carved oak bedstead with somber hangings, a few highback chairs of the same material, and a massive wardrobe, with shrine work at top and two finely sculptured figures of the size of life in the habits of Cistercian monks, placed as supporters at either extremity. At one side of the bed, the tapestry was drawn aside, showing the entrance to a closet or inner room, and opposite it there was a great yawning fireplace, with a lofty mantelpiece and chimney projecting beyond the walls. The windows were narrow, and darkened by heavy truncambars and small diamond panes, while the view without, looking upon Whaley Nab, was obstructed by the contiguity of a tall cypress, whose funereal branches added to the general gloom. The room was one of those formerly allotted to their guests by the hospitable abbots, and had undergone little change since their time, except in regard to furniture, and even that appeared old and jaded now. What with the gloomy Alice, the shrouded bedstead and the gothic wardrobe with its mysterious figures, the chamber had a grim ghostly air, and so the young girl thought on entering it. I have brought you hither, Alice, and said Mistress Nutter, motioning her to her seat, that we may converse without chance of interruption, for I have much to say. On first seeing you to-day, your appearance, so superior to the rest of the Mayday Mamas, struck me forcibly, and I resolved to question Elizabeth's device about you. Accordingly, I but her join me in the Abbey Gardens. She did so, and had not long left me when I accidentally met you and the others in the Lacy Chapel. When questioned, Elizabeth affected great surprise, and denied positively that there was any foundation for the idea that you were any other than her child. But notwithstanding her asservations, I could see her from her confused manner that there was more in the notion than she chose to admit, and I determined to have recourse to other means of arriving at the truth. Little expecting my suspicions would be so soon confirmed by Mother Chattox. To my interrogation of that old woman you were yourself a party, and I am now rejoiced that you interfered to prevent me from prosecuting my inquiries to the utmost. There was one present from whom the secret of your birth must be strictly kept, at least for a while, and my impatience carried me too far. I only obeyed a natural impulse, madam, said Alison, but I am at a loss to conceive what claim I can possibly have to the consideration you show me. Listen to me, and you shall learn, replied Mistress Nutter. It is a sad tale, and its recital will tear open old wounds, but it must not be withheld on that account. I do not ask you to bury the secrets I am about in part in the recesses of your bosom. You will do so when you learn them without my telling you. When, little more than your age, I was wedded, but not to him I would have chosen if choice had been permitted me. The union I need scarcely say was unhappy, most unhappy, though my discomforts were scrupulously concealed, and I was looked upon as a devoted wife, and my husband as a model of conjugal affection. But this was merely the surface. Internally all was strife and misery. Air long my disnike of my husband increased to absolute hate, while on his part, though he still regarded me with as much passion as heretofore, he became frantically jealous. And above all of Edward Bradill of Portfield, who, as his bosom friend and my distant relative, was a frequent visitor at the house, to relate the numerous exhibitions of jealousy that occurred would answer little purpose, and it will be enough to say that not a word or look passed between Edward and myself, but it was misconstrued. I took care never to be alone with our guest, nor to give any just ground for suspicion, but my caution availed nothing. An easy remedy would have been to forbid Edward the house, but this my husband's pride rejected. He preferred to endure the jealous torment occasioned by the presence of his wife's fancy lover, and inflict needless anguish on her rather than brook the cheers of a few indifferent acquaintances. The same feeling made him desire to keep up an apparent good understanding with me, and so far I sickened his views, for I shared in his pride, if in nothing else. Our quarrels were all in private, when no I could see us, no ear listen. Yours is a melancholy history, madame," remarked Allison, in a tone of profound interest. You will think so ere I have done," returned the lady, sadly. The only person in my confidence, and a word of my secret sorrows, was Elizabeth Device, who, with her husband John Device, then lived at Rough Lee, serving me in the quality of tire-woman and personal assistant, she could not be kept in ignorance of what took place. And the poor soul offered me all the sympathy in her power. Much was it needed, for I had no other sympathy. After a while I knew not from what cause, unless some imprudence on the part of Edward Bradil, who was wild and reckless, my husband conceived worse suspicions than ever of me, and began to treat me with such harshness and cruelty that, unable longer to endure his violence, I appealed to my father. But he was of a stern and arbitrary nature, and having forced me into the match would not listen to my complaints, but bad me submit. It was my duty to do so, he said, and he added some cutting expressions to the effect that I deserved the treatment I experienced, and dismissed me. Driven to desperation, I sought counsel and assistance from one I should most have avoided, from Edward Bradil, and he proposed flight from my husband's roof, flight with him. But you were saved, madam, cried Allison, greatly shot by the narration. You were saved. Hear me out, rejoined Mistress Nutter. Outraged as my feelings were, and loathsome as my husband was to me, I spurned the base proposal, and instantly quitted my false friend. Nor would I have seen him more if permitted, but that secret interview with him was my first and last, for it had been witnessed by my husband. Ha! exclaimed Allison. Concealed behind the aris, Richard Nutter heard enough to confirm his worst suspicions. Pursued the lady. But he did not hear my justification. He saw Edward Bradil at my feet. He heard him urge me to fly, but he did not wait to learn if I consented, and looking upon me as guilty, left his hiding place to take measures for frustrating the plan he supposed conserted between us. That night I was made prisoner in my room and endured treatment the most inhuman, but the proposal was made by my husband, but promised some alleviation of my suffering. Henceforth we were to meet only in public when the semblance of affection was to be maintained on both sides. This was done, he said, to save my character and preserve his own name unspotted in the eyes of others, however tarnished it might be in his own. I willingly consented to the arrangement, and thus for a brief space I became tranquil, if not happy, but another and severer trial awaited me. Alas, madam, exclaimed Allison sympathizingly. My cup of sorrow I thought was full, pursued Mistress Nutter, but the drop was wanting to make it overflow. It came soon enough. Amidst my griefs I expected to be a mother, and with that thought how many fond and cheering anticipations mingled. In my child I hoped to find a balm for my woes. In its smiles and innocent endearments a compensation for the harshness and injustice I had experienced. How little did I foresee that it was to be a new instrument of torture to me, and that I should be cruelly robbed of the only blessing ever vouchsafed me. Did the child die, madam? asked Allison. You shall hear, replied Mistress Nutter. A daughter was born to me. I was made happy by its birth. A new existence, bright and unclouded, seemed dawning upon me. But it was like a sunburst on a stormy day. Some two months before this event, Elizabeth device had given birth to a daughter, and she now took my child under her fostering care. For a weakness prevented me from affording it the support it is a mother's blessed privilege to bestow. She seemed as fond of it as myself, and never was Babe more calculated to win love than my little Millicent. Oh, how shall I go on? The retrospect I am compelled to take is frightful, but I cannot shun it. The foul and false suspicions entertained by my husband began to settle on the child. He would not believe it to be his own. With violent oaths and threats he first announced his odious suspicions to Elizabeth device, and she, full of terror, communicated them to me. The tidings filled me with an expressible alarm, for I knew if the dread idea had once taken possession of him it would never be removed, while what he threatened would be executed. I would have fled at once with my poor Babe if I had known where to go, but I had no place of shelter. It would be vain to seek refuge with my father, and I had no other relative or friend whom I could trust. Where then should I fly? At last I bethought me of a retreat, and arranged a plan of escape with Elizabeth device. Vane were my precautions. On that very night I was startled from slumber by a sudden cry from the nurse who was seated by the fire with the child on her knees. It was long past midnight, and all the household were at rest. Two persons had entered the room. One was my ruthless husband Richard Nutter. The other was John Device, a powerful ruffianly fellow who planted himself near the door. Marching quickly towards Elizabeth, who had arisen on seeing him, my husband snatched the child from her before I could see it, and with a violent blow on the chest felled me to the ground when I lay helpless, speechless. With reeling senses I heard Elizabeth cry out that it was her own child and call upon her husband to save it. Richard Nutter paused, but reassured by a laugh of disbelief from his ruffianly follower. He told Elizabeth the pitiful excuse would not avail to save the brat. Then I saw a weapon gleam. It was a feeble, piteous cry, a cry that might have moved a demon, but it did not move him. With wicked words and bloody, brewed hands he cast the body on the fire. A hollered sight was too much for me, and I became senseless. A dreadful tale indeed, madam, cried Allison, frozen with horror. The crime was hidden. Hidden from the eyes of men had marked the retribution that followed, said Mistress Nutter, her eyes sparkling with vindictive joy. Of the two murderers, both perished miserably. John device was drowned in a moss pool. Richard Nutter's end was terrible, sharpened by the pangs of remorse and marked by frightful suffering. But another dark event preceded his death, which may have laid a crime the more on his heavily burdened soul. Edward Braddill, the object of his jealousy and hate, suddenly sickened of a malady, so strange and fearful that all who saw him affirmed it was the result of witchcraft. None thought of my husband's agency and the dark affair except myself, but knowing he had held many secret conferences about the time with Mother Chateauks, I more than suspected him. The sick man died, and from that hour Richard Nutter knew no rest, ever on horseback or fiercely carousing he sought in vain to stifle remorse. Vision scared him by night and fake fears pursued him by day. He would start at shadows and talk wildly. To me his hold in Mina was altered, and he strove by every means in his power to win my love, but he could not give me back the treasure he had taken. He could not bring to life my murdered babe. Like his victim he fell ill on a sudden, and there was strange and terrible sickness, and I saw he could not recover, and therefore tended him carefully. He died, and I shed no tear. Alas! exclaimed Alison, though guilty I cannot but compassionate him. You are right to do so, Alison, said Mistress Nutter, rising while the young girl rose to, for he was your father. My father, she exclaimed in amazement, then you are my mother. I am, replied Mistress Nutter, straining her to her bosom. Oh, my child, my dear child, she cried, the voice of nature from the first pleaded delicately in your behalf, and I should have been deaf to all impulses of affection if I had not listened to the call. I now trace in every feature the lineaments of the babe I thought was lost for ever. All is clear to me. The exclamation of Elizabeth's device, which, like my ruthless husband, I looked upon as an artifice to save the infant's life, I now find to be the truth. Her child perished instead of mine. How or why she exchanged the infants on that night remains to be explained, but that she did so is certain, while that she should afterwards conceal the circumstances easily comprehended from a natural dread of her own husband as well as of mine. It is possible that from some cause she may still deny the truth, but I can make it her interest to speak plainly. The main difficulty will lie in my public acknowledgment of you, but at whatever cost it shall be made. Oh, consider it well, said Alison, I will be your daughter in love in duty in all but name, but certainly not my poor father's honour, which even at the peril of his soul he sought to maintain. How can I be owned as your daughter without involving the discovery of this tragic history? You are right, Alison, rejoined Mistress Nutter thoughtfully. It will bring the dark deed to light, but you shall never return to Elizabeth's device. You shall go with me to roughly and take up your abode in the house where I was once so wretched, but where I shall now be full of happiness with you. You shall see the dark spots on the hearth which I took to be your blood. If not mine, it was blood spilt by my father, said Alison, with a shudder. Was it fancy, or did a low groan break upon her ear? It must be imaginary, for Mistress Nutter seemed unconscious of the dismal sound. It was now growing rapidly dark, and the more distant objects in the room were wrapped in obscurity. But Alison's gaze rested on the two monkish figures supporting the wardrobe. Look there, mother, she said to Mistress Nutter. Where? cried the lady, turning round quickly. I see. You alarm yourself needlessly, my child. Those are only carved figures of the two brethren of the abbey. They are said, I know not with what truth, to be statues of John Passlew and Bollet's Alvitum. I thought they stirred, said Alison. It was mere fancy, replied Mistress Nutter. Calm yourself, sweet child. Let us think about the things of our newly discovered relationships. Henceforth to me you are Millicent Nutter. Though to others you must still be Alison's device. My sweet Millicent, she cried, embracing her again and again. Ah, little, little did I think to see you more. Alison's fears were speedily chased away. Forgive me, dear mother, she cried, if I have failed to express the full delight I experience in my restitution to you. The shock of your sad tale at first deadened my joy, while the suddenness of the information respecting myself so overwhelmed me, that like one chancing upon a hidden treasure and gazing at it confounded, I was unable to credit my own good fortune. Even now I am quite bewildered and no wonder, for many thoughts each of different import throng upon me. Independently of the pleasure and natural pride I must feel in being acknowledged by you as a daughter, it is a source of the deepest satisfaction to me to know that I am not in any way connected with Elizabeth's device. Not from her humble station, for poverty weighs little with me in comparison with virtue and goodness, but from her sinfulness. You know the dark offence laid to her charge. I do, replied Mistress Nutter in low, deep tone, but I do not believe it. Nor I, returned Alison. Still, she acts as if she were the wicked thing she has called, avoids all religious offices, shuns all places of worship, and derides the holy scriptures. Oh, mother, you will comprehend the frequent conflict of feelings I must have endured. You will understand my horror when I have sometimes thought myself the daughter of a witch. Why did you not leave her if you thought so? said Mistress Nutter, frowning. I could not leave her, replied Alison, for I then thought her my mother. Mistress Nutter fell upon her daughter's neck and wept aloud. You have an excellent heart, my child. She said at length, checking her emotion. I have nothing to complain of in Elizabeth's device, dear mother, she replied, what she denied herself she did not refuse me, and though I have necessarily many and great deficiencies, you will find in me I trust no evil principles. And oh, should we not strive to rescue that poor benighted creature from the pit, we may yet save her. It is too late, replied Mistress Nutter in a somber tone. It cannot be too late, said Alison confidently. She cannot be beyond redemption, but even if she should prove intractable, poor little Janet may be preserved, she is yet a child with some good, though alas much evil also in her nature. Let our united efforts be exerted in this good work, and we must succeed. The weeds extirpated, the flowers will spring up freely and bloom in beauty. I can have nothing to do with her. said Mistress Nutter in a freezing tone. Nor must you. Oh, say not so, mother, cried Alison. You rogued me of half the happiness I feel in being restored to you. When I was Janet's sister, I devoted myself to the task of reclaiming her. I hoped to be her guardian angel, to step between her and the assaults of evil, and I cannot, will not, now abandon her. If no longer my sister she is still dear to me, and recollect that I owe a deep debt of gratitude to her mother, a debt I can never pay. Oh, so, cried Mistress Nutter, you owe her nothing, but the contrary. I owe her a life, said Alison. Was not her infant's blood poured out for mine? And shall I not save the child left her, if I can? I shall not oppose your inclinations, replied Mistress Nutter, with reluctant assent, but Elizabeth, I suspect, will thank you little for your interference. Not now, perhaps, returned Alison, but a time will come when she will do so. While this conversation took place, it had been rapidly growing dark, and the gloom at length increased so much that the speakers could scarcely see each other's faces. The sudden and portentous darkness was accounted for by a vivid flash of lightning, followed by a low growl of thunder rumbling over whaley nab. The mother and daughter drew close together, and Mistress Nutter passed her arm round Alison's neck. The storm came quickly on, with forked and dangerous lightning, and loud claps of thunder threatening mischief. Presently all its fury seemed collected over the abbey. The red flashes hissed, and the peals of thunder rolled overhead. But other terrors were added to Alison's natural dread of the elemental warfare. Again she fancied the two monkish figures, which had before excited her alarm moved, and even shook their arms menacingly at her. At first she attributed this wild idea to her overraught imagination, and strove to convince herself of its fallacy by keeping her eyes steadily fixed upon them. But each succeeding flash only served to confirm her superstitious apprehensions. Another circumstance contributed to heighten her alarm. Scared, most probably by the storm, a loud white owl fluttered down the chimney, and after wheeling twice or thrice around the chamber, settled upon the bed, hooting, puffing, ruffling its feathers, and glaring at her with eyes that glowed like fiery coals. Mistress Nutter seemed little moved by the storm, though she kept a profound silence. But when Alison gazed in her face, she was frightened by its expression, which reminded her of the terrible aspect she had worn at the interview with Mother Chattox. All at once, Mistress Nutter arose, and, rapid as the lightning playing around her and revealing her movements, made several passes with extended hands over her daughter, and on this the latter instantly fell back as if fainting, though still retaining her consciousness, and what was stranger still, though her eyes were closed, her power of sight remained. In this condition she fancied invisible forms were moving about her. Strange sounds seemed to salute her ears, like the gibbering of ghosts, and she thought she felt the flapping of unseen wings around her. All at once her attention was drawn, she knew not why, towards the closet, and from out of it she fancied she saw issued the tall, dark figure of a man. She was sure she saw him, for her imagination could not body forth features charged with such a fiendish expression, or eyes of such unearthly lustre, he was clothed in black, but the fashion of his raiment was unlike ought she had ever seen. His stature was gigantic, and a pale, phosphoric light enshrouded him, as he advanced forked lightnings shot into the room, and the thunder split overhead. The owl hooted fearfully, quitted its perch, and flew off by the way it had entered the chamber. The dark shape came on. It stood beside Mistress Nutter, and she prostrated herself before it. The gestures of the figure were angry and imperious. Those of Mistress Nutter, supplicating, their converse was drowned by the rattling of the storm. At last the figure pointed to Allison, and the word Midnight broke in tones louder than thunder from its lips. All consciousness then forsook her. How long she continued in this state she knew not. But the touch of her finger applied to her brow seemed to recall her suddenly to animation. She heaved a deep sigh and looked around. The wondrous change had occurred. The storm had passed off, and the moon was shining brightly over the top of the cypress tree, flooding the chamber with its gentle radiance, while her mother was bending over her with looks of tenderest affection. You are better now, sweet child, said Mistress Nutter. You were overcome by the storm. It was sudden and terrible. Terrible indeed, replied Allison, imperfectly recalling what had passed. But it was not alone the storm that frightened me. This chamber has been invaded by evil things. Me thought I beheld a dark figure come from out young closets and stand before you. You have been thrown into a state of stupor by the influences of the electric fluid, replied Mistress Nutter, and while in that condition visions have passed through your brain, that is all, my child. Oh, I hope so, said Allison. Such ecstasies are a frequent occurrence, replied Mistress Nutter. But since you are quite recovered, we will descend to Lady Ashton, who may wonder at our absence. You will share this room with me tonight, my child, for as I have already said, you cannot return to Elizabeth's device. I will make all needful explanations to Lady Ashton and will see Elizabeth in the morning, perhaps tonight. Reassure yourself, sweet child. There is nothing to fear. I trust not, mother, replied Allison, but it would ease my mind to look into that closet. Do so, then, by all means, replied Mistress Nutter, with a forced smile. Allison peeped timorously into the little room, which was lighted up by the moon's rays. There was a faded white habit, like the robe of a Cistercian monk hanging in one corner, and beneath it an old chest. Allison would feign have opened the chest, but Mistress Nutter called out to her impatiently. You will discover nothing, I am sure. Come, let us go downstairs. And they quitted the room together.