“I admire your sentiments, though I do not admit the justice of your reasoning,” rejoined Dorothy.  “It is not on your own account merely, though that is much, that the secret of your birth—­if there be one—­ought to be cleared up; but, for the sake of those with whom you may be connected.  There may be a mother, like mine, weeping for you as lost—­a brother, like Richard, mourning you as dead.  Think of the sad hearts your restoration will make joyful.  As to Elizabeth Device, no consideration should be shown her.  If she has stolen you from your parents, as I suspect, she deserves no pity.”

“All this is mere surmise, dear young lady,” replied Alizon.

At this juncture they were startled, by seeing an old woman come from behind the monument and plant herself before them.  Both uttered a cry, and would have fled, but a gesture from the crone detained them.  Very old was she, and of strange and sinister aspect, almost blind, bent double, with frosted brows and chin, and shaking with palsy.

“Stay where you are,” cried the hag, in an imperious tone.  “I want to speak to you.  Come nearer to me, my pretty wheans; nearer—­nearer.”

And as they complied, drawn towards her by an impulse they could not resist, the old woman caught hold of Alizon’s arm, and said with a chuckle.  “So you are the wench they call Alizon Device, eh!”

“Ay,” replied Alizon, trembling like a dove in the talons of a hawk.

“Do you know who I am?” cried the hag, grasping her yet more tightly.  “Do you know who I am, I say?  If not, I will tell you.  I am Mother Chattox of Pendle Forest, the rival of Mother Demdike, and the enemy of all her accursed brood.  Now, do you know me, wench?  Men call me witch.  Whether I am so or not, I have some power, as they and you shall find.  Mother Demdike has often defied me—­often injured me, but I will have my revenge upon her—­ha! ha!”

“Let me go,” cried Alizon, greatly terrified.

“I will run and bring assistance,” cried Dorothy.  And she flew to the door, but it resisted her attempts to open it.

“Come back,” screamed the hag.  “You strive in vain.  The door is fast shut—­fast shut.  Come back, I say.  Who are you?” she added, as the maid drew near, ready to sink with terror.  “Your voice is an Assheton’s voice.  I know you now.  You are Dorothy Assheton—­whey-skinned, blue-eyed Dorothy.  Listen to me, Dorothy.  I owe your family a grudge, and, if you provoke me, I will pay it off in part on you.  Stir not, as you value your life.”

The poor girl did not dare to move, and Alizon remained as if fascinated by the terrible old woman.

“I will tell you what has happened, Dorothy,” pursued Mother Chattox.  “I came hither to Whalley on business of my own; meddling with no one; harming no one.  Tread upon the adder and it will bite; and, when molested, I bite like the adder.  Your cousin, Nick Assheton, came in my way, called me ‘witch,’ and menaced me.  I cursed him—­ha! ha!  And then your brother, Richard—­”