“I hope he may have his wish,” said Mother Chattox.
“Ay, but he declared that his next step should be to arrest you, mistress,” observed Fancy, with a laugh.
“Arrest me!” cried the hag. “Marry, let him touch me, if he dares. My term is not out yet, and, with thee to defend me, my brave Fancy, I have no fear.”
“Right!” replied the familiar; “but to go on with my story. Sir Thomas Metcalfe was next brought forward; and after some warm altercation, peace was at length established between him and the squire, and hands were shaken all round. Wine was then called for by Nicholas, who, at the same time, directed that the two Alsatian captains should be brought up from the cellar, where they had been placed for safety. The first part of the order was obeyed, but the second was found impracticable, inasmuch as the two heroes had found their way to the inner cellar, and had emptied so many flasks that they were utterly incapable of moving. While the wine was being discussed, an unexpected arrival took place.”
“An arrival! — of whom?” inquired Mistress Nutter, eagerly.
“Sir Ralph Assheton and a large party,” replied Fancy. “Parson Holden, it seems, not content with sending Sir Thomas and his rout to the aid of his friends, had proceeded for the same purpose to Whalley, and the result was the appearance of the new party. A brief explanation from Nicholas and myself served to put Sir Ralph in possession of all that had occurred, and he declared his readiness to accompany the expedition to Pendle Hill, and to take all his followers with him. Sir Thomas Metcalfe expressed an equally strong desire to go with him, and of course it was acceded to. I am bound to tell you, madam,” added Fancy to Mistress Nutter, “that your conduct is viewed in a most suspicious light by every one of these persons, except Nicholas, who made an effort to defend you.”
“I care not what happens to me, if I succeed in rescuing my child,” said the lady. “But have they set out on the expedition?”
“By this time, no doubt they have,” replied Fancy. “I got off by saying I would ride on to Pendle Hill, and, stationing myself on its summit, give them a signal when they should advance upon their prey. And now, good mistress, I pray you dismiss me. I want to cast off this shape, which I find an incumbrance, and resume my own. I will return when it is time for you to set out.”
The hag waved her hand, and the familiar was gone.
Half an hour elapsed, and he returned not. Mistress Nutter became fearfully impatient. Three-quarters, and even the old hag was uneasy. An hour, and he stood before them — dwarfish, fiendish, monstrous.
“It is time,” he said, in a harsh voice; but the tones were music in the wretched mother’s ears.
“Come, then,” she cried, rushing wildly forth.
“Ay, ay, I come,” replied the hag, following her. “Not so fast. You cannot go without me.”
“Nor either of you without me,” added Fancy. “Here, good mistress, is your broomstick.”
“Away for Pendle Hill!” screamed the hag.
“Ay, for Pendle Hill!” echoed Fancy.
And there was a whirling of dark figures through the air as before.
Presently they alighted on the summit of Pendle Hill, which seemed to be wrapped in a dense cloud, for Mistress Nutter could scarcely see a yard before her. Fancy’s eyes, however, were powerful enough to penetrate the gloom, for stepping back a few yards, he said —
“The expedition is at the foot of the hill, where they have made a halt. We must wait a few moments, till I can ascertain what they mean to do. Ah! I see. They are dividing into three parties. One detachment, headed by Nicholas Assheton, with whom are Potts and Nowell, is about to make the ascent from the spot where they now stand; another, commanded by Sir Ralph Assheton, is moving towards the but-end of the hill; and the third, headed by Sir Thomas Metcalfe, is proceeding to the right. These are goodly preparations — ha! ha! But, what do I behold? The first detachment have a prisoner with them. It is Jem Device, whom they have captured on the way, I suppose. I can tell from the rascal’s looks that he is planning an escape. Patience, madam, I must see how he executes his design. There is no hurry. They are all scrambling up the hill-sides. Some one slips, and rolls down, and bruises himself severely against the loose stones. Ho! ho! it is Master Potts. He is picked up by James Device, who takes him on his shoulders. What means the knave by such attention? We shall see anon. They continue to fight their way upward, and have now reached the narrow path among the rocks. Take heed, or your necks will be broken. Ho! ho! Well done, Jem, — bravo! lad. Thy scheme is out now — ho! ho!”
“What has he done?” asked Mother Chattox.
“Run off with the attorney — with Master Potts,” replied Fancy; “disappeared in the gloom, so that it is impossible Nicholas can follow him — ho! ho!”
“But my child! — where is my child?” cried Mistress Nutter, in agitated impatience.
“Come with me, and I will lead you to her,” replied Fancy, taking her hand; “and do you keep close to us, mistress,” he added to Mother Chattox.
Moving quickly along the heathy plain, they soon reached a small dry hollow, about a hundred paces from the beacon, in the midst of which, as in a grave, was deposited the inanimate form of Alizon. When the spot was indicated to her by Fancy, the miserable mother flew to it, and, with indescribable delight, clasped her child to her breast. But the next moment, a new fear seized her, for the limbs were stiff and cold, and the heart had apparently ceased to beat.
“She is dead!” exclaimed Mistress Nutter, frantically.
“No; she is only in a magical trance,” said Fancy; “my mistress can instantly revive her.”
“Prithee do so, then, good Chattox,” implored the lady.
“Better defer it till we have taken her hence,” rejoined the hag.
“Oh! no, now — now! Let me be assured she lives!” cried Mistress Nutter.
Mother Chattox reluctantly assented, and, touching Alizon with her skinny finger, first upon the heart and then upon the brow, the poor girl began to show symptoms of life.
“My child — my child!” cried Mistress Nutter, straining her to her breast; “I am come to save thee!”
“You will scarce succeed, if you tarry here longer,” said Fancy. “Away!”
“Ay, come away!” shrieked the hag, seizing Alizon’s arm.
“Where are you about to take her?” asked Mistress Nutter.
“To my hut,” replied Mother Chattox.
“No, no — she shall not go there,” returned the lady.
“And wherefore not?” screamed the hag. “She is mine now, and I say she shall go.”
“Right, mistress,” said Fancy; “and leave the lady here if she objects to accompany her. But be quick.”
“You shall not take her from me!” shrieked Mistress Nutter, holding her daughter fast. “I see through your diabolical purpose. You have the same dark design as Mother Demdike, and would sacrifice her; but she shall not go with you, neither will I.”
“Tut!” exclaimed the hag, “you have lost your senses on a sudden. I do not want your daughter. But come away, or Mother Demdike will surprise us.”
“Do not trifle with her longer,” whispered Fancy to the hag; “drag the girl away, or you will lose her. A few moments, and it will be too late.”
Mother Chattox made an attempt to obey him, but Mistress Nutter resisted her.
“Curses on her!” she muttered, “she is too strong for me. Do thou help me,” she added, appealing to Fancy.
“I cannot,” he replied; “I have done all I dare to help you. You must accomplish the rest yourself.”
“But, my sweet imp, recollect—”
“I recollect I have a master,” interrupted the familiar.
“And a mistress, too,” cried the hag; “and she will chastise thee if thou art disobedient. I command thee to carry off this girl.”
“I have already told you I dare not, and I now say I will not,” replied Fancy.
“Will not!” shrieked the hag. �
�Thou shalt smart for this. I will bury thee in the heart of this mountain, and make thee labour within it like a gnome. I will set thee to count the sands on the river’s bed, and the leaves on the forest trees. Thou shalt know neither rest nor respite.”
“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed Fancy, mockingly.
“Dost deride me?” cried the hag. “I will do it, thou saucy jackanapes. For the last time, wilt obey me?”
“No,” replied Fancy, “and for this reason — your term is out. It expired at midnight.”
“It is false!” shrieked the hag, in accents of mixed terror and rage. “I have months to run, and will renew it.”
“Before midnight, you might have done so; but it is now too late — your reign is over,” rejoined Fancy. “Farewell, sweet mistress. We shall meet once again, though scarcely under such pleasant circumstances as heretofore.”
“It cannot be, my darling Fancy; thou art jesting with me,” whimpered the hag; “thou wouldst not delude thy doating mistress thus.”
“I have done with thee, foul hag,” rejoined the familiar, “and am right glad my service is ended. I could have saved thee, but would not, and delayed my return for that very purpose. Thy soul was forfeited when I came back to thy hut.”
“Then curses on thee for thy treachery,” cried the hag, “and on thy master, who deceived me in the bond he placed before me.”
The familiar laughed hoarsely.
“But what of Mother Demdike?” pursued the hag. “Hast thou no comfort for me? Tell me her hour is likewise come, and I will forgive thee. But do not let her triumph over me.”
The familiar made no answer, but, laughing derisively, stamped upon the ground, and it opened to receive him.
“Alizon!” cried Mistress Nutter, who in the mean time had vainly endeavoured to rouse her daughter to full consciousness, “fly with me, my child. The enemy is at hand.”
“What enemy?” asked Alizon, faintly. “I have so many, that I know not whom you mean.”
“But this is the worst of all — this is Mother Demdike,” cried Mistress Nutter. “She would take your life. If we can but conceal ourselves for a short while, we are safe.”
“I am too weak to move,” said Alizon; “besides, I dare not trust you. I have been deceived already. You may be an evil spirit in the likeness of my mother.”
“Oh! no, I am indeed your own — own mother,” rejoined Mistress Nutter. “Ask this old woman if it is not so.”
“She is a witch herself,” replied Alizon. “I will not trust either of you. You are both in league with Mother Demdike.”
“We are in league to save thee from her, foolish wench!” cried Mother Chattox, “but thy perverseness will defeat all our schemes.”
“Since you will not fly, my child,” cried Mistress Nutter, “kneel down, and pray earnestly for deliverance. Pray, while there is yet time.”
As she spoke, a growl like thunder was heard in the air, and the earth trembled beneath their feet.
“Nay, now I am sure you are my mother!” cried Alizon, flinging herself into Mistress Nutter’s arms; “and I will go with you.”
But before they could move, several dusky figures were seen rushing towards them.
“Be on your guard!” cried Mother Chattox; “here comes old Demdike with her troop. I will aid you all I can.”
“Down on your knees!” exclaimed Mistress Nutter.
Alizon obeyed, but ere a word could pass her lips, the infuriated hag, attended by her beldame band, stood beside them.
“Ha! who is here?” she cried. “Let me see who dares interrupt my mystic rites.”
And raising her hand, the black cloud hanging over the hill was rent asunder, and the moon shone down upon them, revealing the old witch, armed with the sacrificial knife, her limbs shaking with fury, and her eyes flashing with preternatural light. It revealed, also, her weird attendants, as well as the group before her, consisting of the kneeling figure of Alizon, protected by the outstretched arms of her mother, and further defended by Mother Chattox, who planted herself in front of them.
Mother Demdike eyed the group for a moment as if she would, annihilate them.
“Out of my way, Chattox!” she vociferated— “out of my way, or I will drive my knife to thy heart.” And as her old antagonist maintained her ground, she unhesitatingly advanced upon her, smote her with the weapon, and, as she fell to the ground, stepped over her bleeding body.
“Now what dost thou here, Alice Nutter?” she cried, menacing her with the reeking blade.
“I am come for my child, whom thou hast stolen from me,” replied the lady.
“Thou art come to witness her slaughter,” replied the witch, fiercely. “Begone, or I will serve thee as I have just served old Chattox.”
“I am not sped yet,” cried the wounded hag; “I shall live to see thee bound hand and foot by the officers of justice, and, certain thou wilt perish miserably, I shall die content.”
“Spit out thy last drops of venom, black viper,” rejoined Mother Demdike; “when I have done with the others, I will return and finish thee. Alice Nutter, thou knowest it is vain to struggle with me. Give me up the girl.”
“Wilt thou accept my life for hers?” said Mistress Nutter.
“Of what account would thy life be to me?” rejoined Mother Demdike, disdainfully. “If it would profit me to take it, I would do so without thy consent, but I am about to make an oblation to our master, and thou art his already. Snatch her child from her — we waste time,” she added, to her attendants.
And immediately the weird crew rushed forward, and in spite of the miserable mother’s efforts tore Alizon from her.
“I told you it was in vain to contend with me,” said Mother Demdike.
“Oh, that I could call down heaven’s vengeance upon thy accursed head!” cried Mistress Nutter; “but I am forsaken alike of God and man, and shall die despairing.”
“Rave on, thou wilt have ample leisure,” replied the hag. “And now bring the girl this way,” she added to the beldames; “the sacrifice must be made near the beacon.”
And as Alizon was borne away, Mistress Nutter uttered a cry of anguish.
“Do not stay here,” said Mother Chattox, raising herself with difficulty. “Go after her; you may yet save your daughter.”
“But how?” cried Mistress Nutter, distractedly. “I have no power now.”
As she spoke a dusky form rose up beside her. It was her familiar.
“Will you return to your duty if I help you in this extremity?” he said.
“Ay, do, do!” cried Mother Chattox. “Anything to avenge yourself upon that murtherous hag.”
“Peace!” cried the familiar, spurning her with his cloven foot.
“I do not want vengeance,” said Mistress Nutter; “I only want to save my child.”
“Then you consent on that condition?” said the familiar.
“No!” replied Mistress Nutter, firmly. “I now perceive I am not utterly lost, since you try to regain me. I have renounced thy master, and will make no new bargain with him. Get hence, tempter!”
“Think not to escape us,” cried the familiar; “no penitence — no absolution can save thee. Thy name is written on the judgment scroll, and cannot be effaced. I would have aided thee, but, since my offer is rejected, I leave thee.”
“You will not let him go!” screamed Mother Chattox. “Oh that the chance were mine!”
“Be silent, or I will beat thy brains out!” said the familiar. “Once more, am I dismissed?”
“Ay, for ever!” replied Mistress Nutter.
And as the familiar disappeared, she flew to the spot where her child had been taken.
About twenty paces from the beacon, a circle had again been formed by the unhallowed crew, in the midst of which stood Mother Demdike, with the gory knife in her hand, muttering spells and incantations, and performing mystical ceremonials.
Every now and then her companions joined in these rites, and chanted a song couched in a wild, unin
telligible jargon. Beside the witch knelt Alizon, with her hands tied behind her back, so that she could not raise them in supplication; her hair unbound, and cast loosely over her person, and a thick bandage fastened over her eyes and mouth.
The initiatory ceremonies over, the old hag approached her victim, when Mistress Nutter forced herself through the circle, and cast herself at her feet.
“Spare her!” she cried, clinging to her knees; “it shall be well for thee if thou dost so.”
“Again interrupted!” cried the witch, furiously. “This time I will show thee no mercy. Take thy fate, meddlesome woman!”
And she raised the knife, but ere the weapon could descend, it was seized by Mistress Nutter, and wrested from her grasp. In another instant, Alizon’s arms were liberated, and the bandage removed from her eyes.
“Now it is my turn to threaten. I have thee in my power, infernal hag!” cried Mistress Nutter, holding the knife to the witch’s throat, and clasping her daughter with the other arm. “Wilt let us go?”
“No!” replied Mother Demdike, springing nimbly backwards. “You shall both die. I will soon disarm thee.”
And making one or two passes with her hands, Mistress Nutter dropped the weapon, and instantly became fixed and motionless, with her daughter, equally rigid, in her arms. They looked as if suddenly turned to marble.
“Now to complete the ceremonial,” cried Mother Demdike, picking up the knife.
And then she began to mutter an impious address preparatory to the sacrifice, when a loud clangour was heard like the stroke of a hammer upon a bell.
“What was that?” exclaimed the witch, in alarm.
“Were there a clock here, I should say it had struck one,” replied Mould-heels.
“It must be our master’s timepiece,” said another witch.
“One o’clock!” exclaimed Mother Demdike, who appeared stupefied with fear, “and the sacrifice not made — then I am lost!”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 416