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There are many accounts still extant of the various doings at East Molesey Fair on this 2nd of October in the year of our Lord 1553, and several chroniclers—Renard is conspicuous among the latter—make mention of the events which very nearly turned the gay and varying comedies of that day into weird and tragic drama.

Certainly the witch’s tent was a mistake.

But what would you? No doubt the worthy individual, who for purposes of mystification called himself “Abra,” had tried many means of earning a livelihood before he and his associate in business took to the lucrative, yet dangerous trade of necromancy.

He was tall and gaunt, with hooked nose and deep-sunk eyes; he had cultivated a long, grey beard, and could call forth the powers of Mirrab the Witch with a remarkably solemn and guttural voice.

As for Mirrab herself, no one was allowed to see her. That was part of the business. She was a witch, a dealer in magic potions, charms and philters, a reader of the stars, and—softly be it spoken—a friend and companion of the devil! She only appeared enveloped in a thick veil, with divining wand held lightly in her hand, the ends of her gold tresses alone visible below the heavy covering which swathed her head.

It was the mystery of it all—cheap devices at best—which from the first had irritated the country-folk who thronged the Fair.

The tent itself was unlike any other ever seen at East Molesey. It stood high upon a raised wooden platform, to which a few rough steps gave access. On the right was a tall flagstaff, with black flag emblazoned with white skull and cross-bones, fluttering lazily in the breeze.

On the left a huge elm tree, with great heavy branches overshadowing the tent, had been utilized to support a placard bearing the words—

Perched on the platform, and assisted by a humbler henchman, armed with big drum and cymbals, the worthy Abra, in high-peaked cap and flowing mantle covered with strange devices, had all day long invited customers to his booth by uttering strange, mysterious promises.

“This way, this way, my masters,” he would say with imposing solemnity; “the world-famous necromancer, Mirrab, will evoke for you the spirits of Mars, of Saturn, or of the moon.”

“She will show you the Grand Grimorium. . . !”

Now what was the Grand Grimorium? The very sound of the words suggested some agency of the devil; no Christian man had ever heard or spoken of the Grand Grimorium.

“She will show you the use of the blasting rod and the divining wand. She will call forth the elementary spirits. . . .”

Some people would try to laugh. Who had ever heard of the elementary spirits? Perhaps if some of the more enlightened town worthies happened to be nigh the booth, one or two of them would begin to chaff the necromancer.

“And prithee, friend wizard,” a solemn burgher would suggest, “prithee what are the elementary spirits?”

But Abra was nothing if not ready-witted.

“The elementary spirits,” he would explain with imperturbable gravity, “are the green butterfly, the black pullet, the queen of the hairy flies, and the screech owl.”

The weird nomenclature was enough to make any one’s hair stand on end. Even the sedate burgesses would shake their heads and silently edge away, whilst their womenkind would run swiftly past the booth, muttering a quick Ave to the blessed Virgin or kissing the Holy Scapulary hung beneath their kerchiefs, as their terrified glances met the cabalistic signs on the black flag.

The humbler country-folk frankly spat upon the ground three times whenever they caught sight of the flag, and that is a sure way of sending the devil about his business.

The shadows now were beginning to lengthen.

The towers and cupolas of Hampton Court Palace were studded with gold and gems by the slanting rays of the setting sun.

It had been a glorious afternoon and, except in the open space immediately in front of the witch’s tent, the fun of the fair had lost none of its zest.

The witch’s booth alone was solitary—weird-looking beneath the spreading branches of the overhanging elm.

The tent seemed lighted from within, for as the evening breeze stirred its hangings, gleams of brilliant red, more glowing than the sunset, appeared in zigzag streaks between its folds.

Behind, and to the right and left of it, the gentle murmur of the sister streams sounded like ghostly whisperings of evening sprites, busy spreading their grey mantles over the distant landscape.

As the afternoon wore on, the crowd in the other parts of the Fair had grown more and more dense, and now, among the plainer garb of the burgesses and townsfolk, and the jerkins and worsted hose of the yokels, could be seen quite frequently a silken doublet or velvet trunk, a masked face perhaps beneath a plumed bonnet, or the point of a sword gleaming beneath the long, dark mantle, denoting the Court gallant.

Now and then, too, hooded and closely swathed forms would flit quickly through the crowd, followed by the inquisitive glances of the humbler folk, as the dainty tip of a broidered shoe or the richly wrought hem of a silken kirtle, protruding below the cloak, betrayed the lady of rank and fashion on gay adventure bent.

Most of these veiled figures had found their way up the rough wooden steps which led to the witch’s tent. The fame of Mirrab, the Soothsayer, had reached the purlieus of the palace, and Abra, the magician, had more than once seen his lean palm crossed with gold.

“This way, noble lords! this way!”

He was even now trying to draw the attention of two cloaked figures, who had just emerged in sight of the booth.

Two gentlemen of the Court evidently, for Abra’s quick eye had caught a glimpse of richly chased sword-hilts, as the wind blew the heavy, dark mantles to one side.

But these gentlemen were paying little heed to the worthy magician’s blandishments. They were whispering excitedly to one another, whilst eagerly scanning the crowd all round them.

“They were ladies from the Court, I feel sure,” said the taller man of the two; “I swear I have seen the hem of that kirtle before.”

“Carramba!” replied the other, “it promised well, but methinks we’ve lost track of them now.”

He spoke English very fluently, yet with a strong, guttural intonation, whilst the well-known Spanish oath which he uttered betrayed his nationality.

“Pardi!” he added impatiently, “I could have sworn that the damsels were bent on consulting the witch.”

“Nay, only on seeing the fun of the Fair apparently,” rejoined the other; “we’ve lain in wait here now for nigh on half an hour.”

“Mirrab the Soothsayer will evoke for you the spirits of the moon, oh noble lords!” urged Abra, with ever-increasing persuasiveness. “She will give you the complaisance of the entire female sex.”

“What say you, my lord,” said the Englishman after a while, “shall we give up the quest after those elusive damsels and woo these obliging spirits of the moon? They say the witch has marvellous powers.”

“Bah, milor!” rejoined the Spaniard gaily, “a veiled female! Think on it! Those who have entered yon mysterious tent declare that scarce an outline of that soothsayer could they glean, beneath the folds of thick draperies which hide her from view. What is a shapeless woman? I ask you, milor. And in England, too,” he added with affected gallantry which had more than a touch of sarcasm in it, “where all women are shapely.”

“Mirrab, the world-famous necromancer, will bring to your arms the lady of your choice, oh most noble lords!” continued the persistent Abra, “even if she were hidden beyond the outermost corners of the earth.”

“By my halidame! this decides me,” quoth the Englishman merrily. “I pray you come, my lord. This adventure promises better than the other. And, who knows?” he added in his turn with thinly-veiled, pleasant irony, “you Spaniards are so persuasive—the witch, if she be young and fair, might lift her veil for you.”

“Allons!” responded the other, “since ’tis your wish, milor, let us consult the spirits.”

And, standing aside with the courtly grace peculiar to those of his nationality, he allowed his companion to precede him up the steps which led to Mirrab’s tent.

Then he too followed, and laughing and chattering the two men disappeared behind the gaudily painted draperies.

Not, however, without tossing a couple of gold pieces into the hands of the wizard. Abra, obsequious, smiling, thoroughly contented, sat himself down to rest awhile beside his patient, hard-worked henchman.