The mill went merrily on no more, and the miller’s song was still.  He looked a heavy and a doomed man.  Strange suspicions haunted him.  His wife’s ill-humour he could have borne; but her very laugh now made him tremble:  it was as if the functions of mind and body were animated by a being distinct from herself.  Her countenance showed not that her thoughts mingled in either mirth or misery, except at times, when terrible convulsions seemed to pass over like the sudden roll of the sea, tossed by some unseen and subterraneous tempest.  The neighbours began to shun his dwelling.  His presence was the signal for stolen looks and portentous whispers.  To church his wife never came; but the bench, her usual sitting-place, was deserted.  At the church-doors, after sermon, when the price of grain, the weather, and other marketable commodities were discussed and settled, Giles was evidently an object of avoidance, and left to trudge home alone to his own cheerless and gloomy hearth.

Dick Hargreave’s only cow was bewitched.  The most effectual and approved method of ascertaining under whose spell she laboured was as follows:—­

The next Friday, a pair of breeches was thrown over the cow’s horns; she was then driven from the shippen with a stout cudgel.  The place to which she directed her flight was carefully watched, for there assuredly must dwell the witch.  To the great horror and dismay of Giles Dickisson, the cow came bellowing down the lane, tail up, in great terror—­telling, as plain as beast could speak, of her distress, until she came to a full pause, middle deep in his own mill-dam.  This was a direct confirmation to his suspicions; but the following was a more undeniable proof, if need were, of his wife’s dishonest confederacy with the powers of darkness.

One morning, ere his servant-man Robin had taken the grey mare from the stable, Giles awoke early, and found his wife had not lain by his side.  He had beforetime felt half roused in the night from a deep but uneasy slumber; but he was too heavy and bewildered to recollect himself, and sleep again overcame him ere he could satisfy his doubts.  He had either dreamt, or fancied he had dreamt, that his wife was, at some seasons, away for a whole night together, and he was rendered insensible by her spells.  This morning, however, he awoke before the usual time, probably from some failure in the charm, and he met her as she was ascending the stairs.  Something like alarm or confusion was manifest.  She had been to look after the cattle, she stammered out, scolding Robin for an idle lout to lie a-bed so long.  The stable-door was open.  With an aching heart, he went in.  The grey mare was in a bath of foam, panting and distressed as though from some recent journey.  Whilst pondering on this strange occurrence, Robin came in.  His master taxed him with dishonesty.  After much ado, he confessed that his mistress had many times of late borrowed the mare for a night, always returning before the good man awoke.  Giles was too full of trouble to rate Robin as he deserved, contenting himself with many admonitions and instructions how to act in the next emergency.