"I know none I have reason to fear," replied Mother Chattox; "especially thee, Nicholas Assheton. Thy brother was no victim of mine. Thou wert the gainer by his death, not I. Why should I slay him?"
"I will tell thee why, old hag," cried Nicholas; "he was inflamed by the beauty of thy grand-daughter Nancy here, and it was to please Tom Redferne, her sweetheart then, but her spouse since, that thou bewitchedst him to death."
"That reason will not avail thee, Nicholas," rejoined Mother Chattox, with a derisive laugh. "If I had any hand in his death, it was to serve and pleasure thee, and that all men shall know, if I am questioned on the subject—ha! ha! Take me to the crosses, Nance."
"Thou shalt not 'scape thus, thou murtherous hag," cried Nicholas, furiously.
"Nay, let her go her way," said Richard, who had drawn near during the colloquy. "No good will come of meddling with her."
"Who's that?" asked Mother Chattox, quickly.
Nan Redferne and Mother Chattox.
"Master Richard Assheton, o' Middleton," whispered Nan Redferne.
"Another of these accursed Asshetons," cried Mother Chattox. "A plague seize them!"
"Boh he's weel-favourt an kindly," remarked her grand-daughter.
"Well-favoured or not, kindly or cruel, I hate them all," cried Mother Chattox. "To the crosses, I say!"
But Nicholas placed himself in their path.
"Is it to pray to Beelzebub, thy master, that thou wouldst go to the crosses?" he asked.
"Out of my way, pestilent fool!" cried the hag.
"Thou shalt not stir till I have had an answer," rejoined Nicholas. "They say those are Runic obelisks, and not Christian crosses, and that the carvings upon them have a magical signification. The first, it is averred, is written o'er with deadly curses, and the forms in which they are traced, as serpentine, triangular, or round, indicate and rule their swift or slow effect. The second bears charms against diseases, storms, and lightning. And on the third is inscribed a verse which will render him who can read it rightly, invisible to mortal view. Thou shouldst be learned in such lore, old Pythoness. Is it so?"
The hag's chin wagged fearfully, and her frame trembled with passion, but she spoke not.
"Have you been in the church, old woman?" interposed Richard.
"Ay, wherefore?" she rejoined.
"Some one has placed a cypress wreath on Abbot Paslew's grave. Was it you?" he asked.
"What! hast thou found it?" cried the hag. "It shall bring thee rare luck, lad—rare luck. Now let me pass."
"Not yet," cried Nicholas, forcibly grasping her withered arm.
The hag uttered a scream of rage.
"Let me go, Nicholas Assheton," she shrieked, "or thou shalt rue it. Cramps and aches shall wring and rack thy flesh and bones; fever shall consume thee; ague shake thee—shake thee—ha!"
And Nicholas recoiled, appalled by her fearful gestures.
"You carry your malignity too far, old woman," said Richard severely.
"And thou darest tell me so," cried the hag. "Set me before him, Nance, that I may curse him," she added, raising her palsied arm.
"Nah, nah—yo'n cursed ower much already, grandmother," cried Nan Redferne, endeavouring to drag her away. But the old woman resisted.
"I will teach him to cross my path," she vociferated, in accents shrill and jarring as the cry of the goat-sucker.
"Handsome he is, it may be, now, but he shall not be so long. The bloom shall fade from his cheek, the fire be extinguished in his eyes, the strength depart from his limbs. Sorrow shall be her portion who loves him—sorrow and shame!"
"Horrible!" exclaimed Richard, endeavouring to exclude the voice of the crone, which pierced his ears like some sharp instrument.
"Ha! ha! you fear me now," she cried. "By this, and this, the spell shall work," she added, describing a circle in the air with her stick, then crossing it twice, and finally scattering over him a handful of grave dust, snatched from an adjoining hillock.
"Now lead me quickly to the smaller cross, Nance," she added, in a low tone.
Her grand-daughter complied, with a glance of deep commiseration at Richard, who remained stupefied at the ominous proceeding.
"Ah! this must indeed be a witch!" he cried, recovering from the momentary shock.
"So you are convinced at last," rejoined Nicholas. "I can take breath now the old hell-cat is gone. But she shall not escape us. Keep an eye upon her, while I see if Simon Sparshot, the beadle, be within the churchyard, and if so he shall take her into custody, and lock her in the cage."
With this, he ran towards the throng, shouting lustily for the beadle. Presently a big, burly fellow, in a scarlet doublet, laced with gold, a black velvet cap trimmed with red ribands, yellow hose, and shoes with great roses in them, and bearing a long silver-headed staff, answered the summons, and upon being told why his services were required, immediately roared out at the top of a stentorian voice, "A witch, lads!—a witch!"
All was astir in an instant. Robin Hood and his merry men, with the morris-dancers, rushed out of their bowers, and the whole churchyard was in agitation. Above the din was heard the loud voice of Simon Sparshot, still shouting, "A witch!—witch!—Mother Chattox!"
"Where—where?" demanded several voices.
"Yonder," replied Nicholas, pointing to the further cross.
A general movement took place in that direction, the crowd being headed by the squire and the beadle, but when they came up, they found only Nan Redferne standing behind the obelisk.
"Where the devil is the old witch gone, Dick?" cried Nicholas, in dismay.
"I thought I saw her standing there with her grand-daughter," replied Richard; "but in truth I did not watch very closely."
"Search for her—search for her," cried Nicholas.
But neither behind the crosses, nor behind any monument, nor in any hole or corner, nor on the other side of the churchyard wall, nor at the back of the little hermitage or chapel, though all were quickly examined, could the old hag be found.
On being questioned, Nan Redferne refused to say aught concerning her grandmother's flight or place of concealment.
"I begin to think there is some truth in that strange legend of the cross," said Nicholas. "Notwithstanding her blindness, the old hag must have managed to read the magic verse upon it, and so have rendered herself invisible. But we have got the young witch safe."
"Yeigh, squoire!" responded Sparshot, who had seized hold of Nance—"hoo be safe enough."
"Nan Redferne is no witch," said Richard Assheton, authoritatively.
"Neaw witch, Mester Ruchot!" cried the beadle in amazement.
"No more than any of these lasses around us," said Richard. "Release her, Sparshot."
"I forbid him to do so, till she has been examined," cried a sharp voice. And the next moment Master Potts was seen pushing his way through the crowd. "So you have found a witch, my masters. I heard your shouts, and hurried on as fast as I could. Just in time, Master Nicholas—just in time," he added, rubbing his hands gleefully.
"Lemme go, Simon," besought Nance.
"Neaw, neaw, lass, that munnot be," rejoined Sparshot.
"Help—save me, Master Richard!" cried the young woman.
By this time the crowd had gathered round her, yelling, hooting, and shaking their hands at her, as if about to tear her in pieces; but Richard Assheton planted himself resolutely before her, and pushed back the foremost of them.
"Remove