Читать книгу The Lancashire Witches (Historical Novel) - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 19

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The quarrel between Nicholas Assheton and Sir Thomas Metcalfe had already been made known to Sir Ralph by the officious Master Potts, and though it occasioned the knight much displeasure; as interfering with the amicable arrangement he hoped to effect with Sir Thomas for his relatives the Robinsons, still he felt sure that he had sufficient influence with his hot-headed cousin, the squire, to prevent the dispute from being carried further, and he only waited the conclusion of the sports on the green, to take him to task. What was the knight’s surprise and annoyance, therefore, to find that a new brawl had sprung up, and, ignorant of its precise cause, he laid it entirely at the door of the turbulent Nicholas. Indeed, on the commencement of the fray he imagined that the squire was personally concerned in it, and full of wroth, flew to the scene of action; but before he got there, the affair, which, as has been seen, was of short duration, was fully settled, and he only heard the jeers addressed to the retreating combatant by Nicholas. It was not Sir Ralph’s way to vent his choler in words, but the squire knew in an instant, from the expression of his countenance, that he was greatly incensed, and therefore hastened to explain.

“What means this unseemly disturbance, Nicholas?” cried Sir Ralph, not allowing the other to speak. “You are ever brawling like an Alsatian squire. Independently of the ill example set to these good folk, who have met here for tranquil amusement, you have counteracted all my plans for the adjustment of the differences between Sir Thomas Metcalfe and our aunt of Raydale. If you forget what is due to yourself, sir, do not forget what is due to me, and to the name you bear.”

“No one but yourself should say as much to me, Sir Ralph,” rejoined Nicholas somewhat haughtily; “but you are under a misapprehension. It is not I who have been fighting, though I should have acted in precisely the same manner as our cousin Dick, if I had received the same affront, and so I make bold to say would you. Our name shall suffer no discredit from me; and as a gentleman, I assert, that Sir Thomas Metcalfe has only received due chastisement, as you yourself will admit, cousin, when you know all.”

“I know him to be overbearing,” observed Sir Ralph.

“Overbearing is not the word, cousin,” interrupted Nicholas; “he is as proud as a peacock, and would trample upon us all, and gore us too, like one of the wild bulls of Bowland, if we would let him have his way. But I would treat him as I would the bull aforesaid, a wild boar, or any other savage and intractable beast, hunt him down, and poll his horns, or pluck out his tusks.”

“Come, come, Nicholas, this is no very gentle language,” remarked Sir Ralph.

“Why, to speak truth, cousin, I do not feel in any very gentle frame of mind,” rejoined the squire; “my ire has been roused by this insolent braggart, my blood is up, and I long to be doing.”

“Unchristian feelings, Nicholas,” said Sir Ralph, severely, “and should be overcome. Turn the other cheek to the smiter. I trust you bear no malice to Sir Thomas.”

“I bear him no malice, for I hope malice is not in my nature, cousin,” replied Nicholas, “but I owe him a grudge, and when a fitting opportunity occurs—”

“No more of this, unless you would really incur my displeasure,” rejoined Sir Ralph; “the matter has gone far enough, too far, perhaps for amendment, and if you know it not, I can tell you that Sir Thomas’s claims to Raydale will be difficult to dispute, and so our uncle Robinson has found since he hath taken counsel on the case.”

“Have a care, Sir Ralph,” said Nicholas, noticing that Master Potts was approaching them, with his ears evidently wide open, “there is that little London lawyer hovering about. But I’ll give the cunning fox a double. I’m glad to hear you say so, Sir Ralph,” he added, in a tone calculated to reach Potts, “and since our uncle Robinson is so sure of his cause, it may be better to let this blustering knight be. Perchance, it is the certainty of failure that makes him so insensate.”

“This is meant to blind me, but it shall not serve your turn, cautelous squire,” muttered Potts; “I caught enough of what fell just now from Sir Ralph to satisfy me that he hath strong misgivings. But it is best not to appear too secure.—Ah, Sir Ralph,” he added, coming forward, “I was right, you see, in my caution. I am a man of peace, and strive to prevent quarrels and bloodshed. Quarrel if you please—and unfortunately men are prone to anger—but always settle your disputes in a court of law; always in a court of law, Sir Ralph. That is the only arena where a sensible man should ever fight. Take good advice, fee your counsel well, and the chances are ten to one in your favour. That is what I say to my worthy and singular good client, Sir Thomas; but he is somewhat headstrong and vehement, and will not listen to me. He is for settling matters by the sword, for making forcible entries and detainers, and ousting the tenants in possession, whereby he would render himself liable to arrest, fine, ransom, and forfeiture; instead of proceeding cautiously and decorously as the law directs, and as I advise, Sir Ralph, by writ of ejectione firmæ or action of trespass, the which would assuredly establish his title, and restore him the house and lands. Or he may proceed by writ of right, which perhaps, in his case, considering the long absence of possession, and the doubts supposed to perplex the title—though I myself have no doubts about it—would be the most efficacious. These are your only true weapons, Sir Ralph—your writs of entry, assise, and right—your pleas of novel disseisin, post-disseisin, and re-disseisin—your remitters, your præcipes, your pones, and your recordari faciases. These are the sword, shield, and armour of proof of a wise man.”

“Zounds! you take away one’s breath with this hail-storm of writs and pleas, master lawyer!” cried Nicholas. “But in one respect I am of your ‘worthy and singular good’ client’s, opinion, and would rather trust to my own hand for the defence of my property than to the law to keep it for me.”

“Then you would do wrong, good Master Nicholas,” rejoined Potts, with a smile of supreme contempt; “for the law is the better guardian and the stronger adversary of the two, and so Sir Thomas will find if he takes my advice, and obtains, as he can and will do, a perfect title juris et seisinæ conjunctionem.”

“Sir Thomas is still willing to refer the case to my arbitrament, I believe, sir?” demanded Sir Ralph, uneasily.

“He was so, Sir Ralph,” rejoined Potts, “unless the assaults and batteries, with intent to do him grievous corporeal hurt, which he hath sustained from your relatives, have induced a change of mind in him. But as I premised, Sir Ralph, I am a man of peace, and willing to intermediate.”

“Provided you get your fee, master lawyer,” observed Nicholas, sarcastically.

“Certainly, I object not to the quiddam honorarium, Master Nicholas,” rejoined Potts; “and if my client hath the quid pro quo, and gaineth his point, he cannot complain.—But what is this? Some fresh disturbance!”

“Something hath happened to the May Queen,” cried Nicholas.

“I trust not,” said Sir Ralph, with real concern. “Ha! she has fainted. They are bringing her this way. Poor maid! what can have occasioned this sudden seizure?”

“I think I could give a guess,” muttered Nicholas. “Better remove her to the Abbey,” he added aloud to the knight.

“You are right,” said Sir Ralph. “Our cousin Dick is near her, I observe. He shall see her conveyed there at once.”

At this moment Lady Assheton and Mrs. Nutter, with some of the other ladies, came up.

“Just in time, Nell,” cried the knight. “Have you your smelling-bottle about you? The May Queen has fainted.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Lady Assheton, springing towards Alizon, who was now sustained by young Richard Assheton; the forester having surrendered her to him. “How has this happened?” she inquired, giving her to breathe at a small phial.

“That I cannot tell you, cousin,” replied Richard Assheton, “unless from some sudden fright.”

“That was it, Master Richard,” cried Robin Hood; “she cried out on hearing the clashing of swords just now, and, I think, pronounced your name, on finding you engaged with Sir Thomas, and immediately after turned pale, and would have fallen if I had not caught her.”

“Ah, indeed!” exclaimed Lady Assheton, glancing at Richard, whose eyes fell before her inquiring gaze. “But see, she revives,” pursued the lady. “Let me support her head.”

As she spoke Alizon opened her eyes, and perceiving Richard Assheton, who had relinquished her to his relative, standing beside her, she exclaimed, “Oh! you are safe! I feared”—And then she stopped, greatly embarrassed.

“You feared he might be in danger from his fierce adversary,” supplied Lady Assheton; “but no. The conflict is happily over, and he is unhurt.”

“I am glad of it,” said Alizon, earnestly.

“She had better be taken to the Abbey,” remarked Sir Ralph, coming up.

“Nay, she will be more at ease at home,” observed Lady Assheton with a significant look, which, however, failed in reaching her husband.

“Yes, truly shall I, gracious lady,” replied Alizon, “far more so. I have given you trouble enough already.”

“No trouble at all,” said Sir Ralph, kindly; “her ladyship is too happy to be of service in a case like this. Are you not, Nell? The faintness will pass off presently. But let her go to the Abbey at once, and remain there till the evening’s festivities, in which she takes part, commence. Give her your arm, Dick.”

Sir Ralph’s word was law, and therefore Lady Assheton made no remonstrance. But she said quickly, “I will take care of her myself.”

“I require no assistance, madam,” replied Alizon, “since Sir Ralph will have me go. Nay, you are too kind, too condescending,” she added, reluctantly taking Lady Assheton’s proffered arm.

And in this way they proceeded slowly towards the Abbey, escorted by Richard Assheton, and attended by Mistress Braddyll and some others of the ladies.

Amongst those who had watched the progress of the May Queen’s restoration with most interest was Mistress Nutter, though she had not interfered; and as Alizon departed with Lady Assheton, she observed to Nicholas, who was standing near,

“Can this be the daughter of Elizabeth Device, and grand-daughter of—”

“Your old Pendle witch, Mother Demdike,” supplied Nicholas; “the very same, I assure you, Mistress Nutter.”

“She is wholly unlike the family,” observed the lady, “and her features resemble some I have seen before.”

“She does not resemble her mother, undoubtedly,” replied Nicholas, “though what her grand-dame may have been some sixty years ago, when she was Alizon’s age, it would be difficult to say.—She is no beauty now.”

“Those finely modelled features, that graceful figure, and those delicate hands, cannot surely belong to one lowly born and bred?” said Mistress Nutter.

“They differ from the ordinary peasant mould, truly,” replied Nicholas. “If you ask me for the lineage of a steed, I can give a guess at it on sight of the animal, but as regards our own race I’m at fault, Mistress Nutter.”

“I must question Elizabeth Device about her,” observed Alice. “Strange, I should never have seen her before, though I know the family so well.”

“I wish you did not know Mother Demdike quite so well, Mistress Nutter,” remarked Nicholas—“a mischievous and malignant old witch, who deserves the tar barrel. The only marvel is, that she has not been burned long ago. I am of opinion, with many others, that it was she who bewitched your poor husband, Richard Nutter.”

“I do not think it,” replied Mistress Nutter, with a mournful shake of the head. “Alas, poor man! he died from hard riding, after hard drinking. That was the only witchcraft in his case. Be warned by his fate yourself, Nicholas.”

“Hard riding after drinking was more likely to sober him than to kill him,” rejoined the squire. “But, as I said just now, I like not this Mother Demdike, nor her rival in iniquity, old Mother Chattox. The devil only knows which of the two is worst. But if the former hag did not bewitch your husband to death, as I shrewdly suspect, it is certain that the latter mumbling old miscreant killed my elder brother, Richard, by her sorceries.”

“Mother Chattox did you a good turn then, Nicholas,” observed Mistress Nutter, “in making you master of the fair estates of Downham.”

“So far, perhaps, she might,” rejoined Nicholas, “but I do not like the manner of it, and would gladly see her burned; nay, I would fire the fagots myself.”

“You are superstitious as the rest, Nicholas,” said Mistress Nutter. “For my part I do not believe in the existence of witches.”

“Not believe in witches, with these two living proofs to the contrary!” cried Nicholas, in amazement. “Why, Pendle Forest swarms with witches. They burrow in the hill-side like rabbits in a warren. They are the terror of the whole country. No man’s cattle, goods, nor even life, are safe from them; and the only reason why these two old hags, who hold sovereign sway over the others, have ‘scaped justice so long, is because every one is afraid to go near them. Their solitary habitations are more strongly guarded than fortresses. Not believe in witches! Why I should as soon misdoubt the Holy Scriptures.”

“It may be because I reside near them that I have so little apprehension, or rather no apprehension at all,” replied Mistress Nutter; “but to me Mother Demdike and Mother Chattox appear two harmless old women.”

“They’re a couple of dangerous and damnable old hags, and deserve the stake,” cried Nicholas, emphatically.

All this discourse had been swallowed with greedy ears by the ever-vigilant Master Potts, who had approached the speakers unperceived; and he now threw in a word.

“So there are suspected witches in Pendle Forest, I find,” he said. “I shall make it my business to institute inquiries concerning them, when I visit the place to-morrow. Even if merely ill-reputed, they must be examined, and if found innocent cleared; if not, punished according to the statute. Our sovereign lord the king holdeth witches in especial abhorrence, and would gladly see all such noxious vermin extirpated from the land, and it will rejoice me to promote his laudable designs. I must pray you to afford me all the assistance you can in the discovery of these dreadful delinquents, good Master Nicholas, and I will care that your services are duly represented in the proper quarter. As I have just said, the king taketh singular interest in witchcraft, as you may judge if the learned tractate he hath put forth, in form of a dialogue, intituled ”Dæmonologie“ hath ever met your eye; and he is never so well pleased as when the truth of his tenets are proved by such secret offenders being brought to light, and duly punished.”

“The king’s known superstitious dread of witches makes men seek them out to win his favour,” observed Mistress Nutter. “They have wonderfully increased since the publication of that baneful book!”

“Not so, madam,” replied Potts. “Our sovereign lord the king hath a wholesome and just hatred of such evil-doers and traitors to himself and heaven, and it may be dread of them, as indeed all good men must have; but he would protect his subjects from them, and therefore, in the first year of his reign, which I trust will be long and prosperous, he hath passed a statute, whereby it is enacted ‘that all persons invoking any evil spirit, or consulting, covenanting with, entertaining, employing, feeding, or rewarding any evil spirit; or taking up dead bodies from their graves to be used in any witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment; or killing or otherwise hurting any person by such infernal arts, shall be guilty of felony without benefit of clergy, and suffer death.’ This statute, madam, was intended to check the crimes of necromancy, sorcery, and witchcraft, and not to increase them. And I maintain that it has checked them, and will continue to check them.”

“It is a wicked and bloody statute,” observed Mrs. Nutter, in a deep tone, “and many an innocent life will be sacrificed thereby.”

“How, madam!” cried Master Potts, staring aghast. “Do you mean to impugn the sagacity and justice of our high and mighty king, the head of the law, and defender of the faith?”

“I affirm that this is a sanguinary enactment,” replied Mistress Nutter, “and will put power into hands that will abuse it, and destroy many guiltless persons. It will make more witches than it will find.”

“Some are ready made, methinks,” muttered Potts, “and we need not go far to find them. You are a zealous advocate for witches, I must say, madam,” he added aloud, “and I shall not forget your arguments in their favour.”

“To my prejudice, I doubt not,” she rejoined, bitterly.

“No, to the credit of your humanity,” he answered, bowing, with pretended conviction.

“Well, I will aid you in your search for witches, Master Potts,” observed Nicholas; “for I would gladly see the country rid of these pests. But I warn you the quest will be attended with risk, and you will get few to accompany you, for all the folk hereabouts are mortally afraid of these terrible old hags.”

“I fear nothing in the discharge of my duty,” replied Master Potts, courageously, “for as our high and mighty sovereign hath well and learnedly observed—‘if witches be but apprehended and detained by any private person, upon other private respects, their power, no doubt, either in escaping, or in doing hurt, is no less than ever it was before. But if, on the other part, their apprehending and detention be by the lawful magistrate upon the just respect of their guiltiness in that craft, their power is then no greater than before that ever they meddled with their master. For where God begins justly to strike by his lawful lieutenants, it is not in the devil’s power to defraud or bereave him of the office or effect of his powerful and revenging sceptre.’ Thus I am safe; and I shall take care to go armed with a proper warrant, which I shall obtain from a magistrate, my honoured friend and singular good client, Master Roger Newell. This will obtain me such assistance as I may require, and for due observance of my authority. I shall likewise take with me a peace-officer, or constable.”

“You will do well, Master Potts,” said Nicholas; “still you must not put faith in all the idle tales told you, for the common folk hereabouts are blindly and foolishly superstitious, and fancy they discern witchcraft in every mischance, however slight, that befalls them. If ale turn sour after a thunder-storm, the witch hath done it; and if the butter cometh not quickly, she hindereth it. If the meat roast ill the witch hath turned the spit; and if the lumber pie taste ill she hath had a finger in it. If your sheep have the foot-rot—your horses the staggers or string-halt—your swine the measles—your hounds a surfeit—or your cow slippeth her calf—the witch is at the bottom of it all. If your maid hath a fit of the sullens, or doeth her work amiss, or your man breaketh a dish, the witch is in fault, and her shoulders can bear the blame. On this very day of the year—namely, May Day,—the foolish folk hold any aged crone who fetcheth fire to be a witch, and if they catch a hedge-hog among their cattle, they will instantly beat it to death with sticks, concluding it to be an old hag in that form come to dry up the milk of their kine.”

“These are what Master Potts’s royal authority would style ‘mere old wives’ trattles about the fire,’” observed Mistress Nutter, scornfully.

“Better be over-credulous than over-sceptical,” replied Potts. “Even at my lodging in Chancery Lane I have a horseshoe nailed against the door. One cannot be too cautious when one has to fight against the devil, or those in league with him. Your witch should be put to every ordeal. She should be scratched with pins to draw blood from her; weighed against the church bible, though this is not always proof; forced to weep, for a witch can only shed three tears, and those only from the left eye; or, as our sovereign lord the king truly observeth—no offence to you, Mistress Nutter—‘Not so much as their eyes are able to shed tears, albeit the womenkind especially be able otherwise to shed tears at every light occasion when they will, yea, although it were dissemblingly like the crocodile;’ and set on a stool for twenty-four hours, with her legs tied across, and suffered neither to eat, drink, nor sleep during the time. This is the surest Way to make her confess her guilt next to swimming. If it fails, then cast her with her thumbs and toes tied across into a pond, and if she sink not then is she certainly a witch. Other trials there are, as that by scalding water—sticking knives across—heating of the horseshoe—tying of knots—the sieve and the shears; but the only ordeals safely to be relied on, are the swimming and the stool before mentioned, and from these your witch shall rarely escape. Above all, be sure and search carefully for the witch-mark. I doubt not we shall find it fairly and legibly writ in the devil’s characters on Mother Demdike and Mother Chattox. They shall undergo the stool and the pool, and other trials, if required. These old hags shall no longer vex you, good Master Nicholas. Leave them to me, and doubt not I will bring them to condign punishment.”

“You will do us good service then, Master Potts,” replied Nicholas. “But since you are so learned in the matter of witchcraft, resolve me, I pray you, how it is, that women are so much more addicted to the practice of the black art than our own sex.”

“The answer to the inquiry hath been given by our British Solomon,” replied Potts, “and I will deliver it to you in his own words. ‘The reason is easy,’ he saith; ‘for as that sex is frailer than man is, so it is easier to be entrapped in those gross snares of the devil, as was overwell proved to be true, by the serpent’s deceiving of Eva at the beginning, which makes him the homelier with that sex sensine.’”

“A good and sufficient reason, Master Potts,” said Nicholas, laughing; “is it not so, Mistress Nutter?”

“Ay, marry, if it satisfies you,” she answered, drily. “It is of a piece with the rest of the reasoning of the royal pedant, whom Master Potts styles the British Solomon.”

“I only give the learned monarch the title by which he is recognised throughout Christendom,” rejoined Potts, sharply.

“Well, there is comfort in the thought, that I shall never be taken for a wizard,” said the squire.

“Be not too sure of that, good Master Nicholas,” returned Potts. “Our present prince seems to have had you in his eye when he penned his description of a wizard, for, he saith, ‘A great number of them that ever have been convict or confessors of witchcraft, as may be presently seen by many that have at this time confessed, are some of them rich and worldly-wise; some of them fat or corpulent in their bodies; and most part of them altogether given over to the pleasures of the flesh, continual haunting of company, and all kinds of merriness, lawful and unlawful.’ This hitteth you exactly, Master Nicholas.”

“Zounds!” exclaimed the squire, “if this be exact, it toucheth me too nearly to be altogether agreeable.”

“The passage is truly quoted, Nicholas,” observed Mistress Nutter, with a cold smile. “I perfectly remember it. Master Potts seems to have the ‘Dæmonologie’ at his fingers’ ends.”

“I have made it my study, madam,” replied the lawyer, somewhat mollified by the remark, “as I have the statute on witchcraft, and indeed most other statutes.”

“We have wasted time enough in this unprofitable talk,” said Mistress Nutter, abruptly quitting them without bestowing the slightest salutation on Potts.

“I was but jesting in what I said just now, good Master Nicholas,” observed the little lawyer, nowise disconcerted at the slight “though they were the king’s exact words I quoted. No one would suspect you of being a wizard—ha!—ha! But I am resolved to prosecute the search, and I calculate upon your aid, and that of Master Richard Assheton, who goes with us.”

“You shall have mine, at all events, Master Potts,” replied Nicholas; “and I doubt not, my cousin Dick’s, too.”

“Our May Queen, Alizon Device, is Mother Demdike’s grand-daughter, is she not?” asked Potts, after a moment’s reflection.

“Ay, why do you ask?” demanded Nicholas.

“For a good and sufficing reason,” replied Potts. “She might be an important witness; for, as King James saith, ‘bairns or wives may, of our law, serve for sufficient witnesses and proofs.’ And he goeth on to say, ‘For who but witches can be proofs, and so witnesses of the doings of witches?’”

“You do not mean to aver that Alizon Device is a witch, sir?” cried Nicholas, sharply.

“I aver nothing,” replied Potts; “but, as a relative of a suspected witch, she will be the best witness against her.”

“If you design to meddle with Alizon Device, expect no assistance from me, Master Potts,” said Nicholas, sternly, “but rather the contrary.”

“Nay, I but threw out the hint, good Master Nicholas,” replied Potts. “Another witness will do equally well. There are other children, no doubt. I rely on you, sir—I rely on you. I shall now go in search of Master Nowell, and obtain the warrant and the constable.”

“And I shall go keep my appointment with Parson Dewhurst, at the Abbey,” said Nicholas, bowing slightly to the attorney, and taking his departure.

“It will not do to alarm him at present,” said Potts, looking after him, “but I’ll have that girl as a witness, and I know how to terrify her into compliance. A singular woman, that Mistress Alice Nutter. I must inquire into her history. Odd, how obstinately she set her face against witchcraft. And yet she lives at Rough Lee, in the very heart of a witch district, for such Master Nicholas Assheton calls this Pendle Forest. I shouldn’t wonder if she has dealings with the old hags she defends—Mother Demdike and Mother Chattox. Chattox! Lord bless us, what a name!—There’s caldron and broomstick in the very sound! And Demdike is little better. Both seem of diabolical invention. If I can unearth a pack of witches, I shall gain much credit from my honourable good lords the judges of assize in these northern parts, besides pleasing the King himself, who is sure to hear of it, and reward my praiseworthy zeal. Look to yourself, Mistress Nutter, and take care you are not caught tripping. And now, for Master Roger Nowell.”

With this, he peered about among the crowd in search of the magistrate, but though he thrust his little turned-up nose in every direction, he could not find him, and therefore set out for the Abbey, concluding he had gone thither.

As Mistress Nutter walked along, she perceived James Device among the crowd, holding Jennet by the hand, and motioned him to come to her. Jem instantly understood the sign, and quitting his little sister, drew near.

“Tell thy mother,” said Mistress Nutter, in a tone calculated only for his hearing, “to come to me, at the Abbey, quickly and secretly. I shall be in the ruins of the old convent church. I have somewhat to say to her, that concerns herself as well as me. Thou wilt have to go to Rough Lee and Malkin Tower to-night.”

Jem nodded, to show his perfect apprehension of what was said and his assent to it, and while Mistress Nutter moved on with a slow and dignified step, he returned to Jennet, and told her she must go home directly, a piece of intelligence which was not received very graciously by the little maiden; but nothing heeding her unwillingness, Jem walked her off quickly in the direction of the cottage; but while on the way to it, they accidentally encountered their mother, Elizabeth Device, and therefore stopped.

“Yo mun go up to th’ Abbey directly, mother,” said Jem, with a wink, “Mistress Nutter wishes to see ye. Yo’n find her i’ t’ ruins o’ t’ owd convent church. Tak kere yo’re neaw seen. Yo onderstond.”

“Yeigh,” replied Elizabeth, nodding her head significantly, “ey’n go at wonst, an see efter Alizon ot t’ same time. Fo ey’m towd hoo has fainted, an been ta’en to th’ Abbey by Lady Assheton.”

“Never heed Alizon,” replied Jem, gruffly. “Hoo’s i’ good hands. Ye munna be seen, ey tell ye. Ey’m going to Malkin Tower to-neet, if yo’n owt to send.”

“To-neet, Jem,” echoed little Jennet.

“Eigh,” rejoined Jem, sharply. “Howd te tongue, wench. Dunna lose time, mother.”

And as he and his little sister pursued their way to the cottage, Elizabeth hobbled off towards the Abbey, muttering, as she went, “I hope Alizon an Mistress Nutter winna meet. Nah that it matters, boh still it’s better not. Strange, the wench should ha’ fainted. Boh she’s always foolish an timmersome, an ey half fear has lost her heart to young Richard Assheton. Ey’n watch her narrowly, an if it turn out to be so, she mun be cured, or be secured—ha! ha!”

And muttering in this way, she passed through the Abbey gateway, the wicket being left open, and proceeded towards the ruinous convent church, taking care as much as possible to avoid observation.