[Illustration:  MOTHER CHATTOX, ALIZON, AND DOROTHY.]

“What of him, in Heaven’s name?” almost shrieked Alizon.

“How’s this?” exclaimed Mother Chattox, placing her hand on the beating heart of the girl.

“What of Richard Assheton?” repeated Alizon.

“You love him, I feel you do, wench,” cried the old crone with fierce exultation.

“Release me, wicked woman,” cried Alizon.

“Wicked, am I? ha! ha!” rejoined Mother Chattox, chuckling maliciously, “because, forsooth, I read thy heart, and betray its secrets.  Wicked, eh!  I tell thee wench again, Richard Assheton is lord and master here.  Every pulse in thy bosom beats for him—­for him alone.  But beware of his love.  Beware of it, I say.  It shall bring thee ruin and despair.”

“For pity’s sake, release me,” implored Alizon.

“Not yet,” replied the inexorable old woman, “not yet.  My tale is not half told.  My curse fell on Richard’s head, as it did on Nicholas’s.  And then the hell-hounds thought to catch me; but they were at fault.  I tricked them nicely—­ha! ha!  However, they took my Nance—­my pretty Nance—­they seized her, bound her, bore her to the Calder—­and there swam her.  Curses light on them all!—­all!—­but chief on him who did it!”

“Who was he?” inquired Alizon, tremblingly.

“Jem Device,” replied the old woman—­“it was he who bound her—­he who plunged her in the river, he who swam her.  But I will pinch and plague him for it, I will strew his couch with nettles, and all wholesome food shall be poison to him.  His blood shall be as water, and his flesh shrink from his bones.  He shall waste away slowly—­slowly—­slowly—­till he drops like a skeleton into the grave ready digged for him.  All connected with him shall feel my fury.  I would kill thee now, if thou wert aught of his.”

“Aught of his!  What mean you, old woman?” demanded Alizon.

“Why, this,” rejoined Mother Chattox, “and let the knowledge work in thee, to the confusion of Bess Device.  Thou art not her daughter.”

“It is as I thought,” cried Dorothy Assheton, roused by the intelligence from her terror.

“I tell thee not this secret to pleasure thee,” continued Mother Chattox, “but to confound Elizabeth Device.  I have no other motive.  She hath provoked my vengeance, and she shall feel it.  Thou art not her child, I say.  The secret of thy birth is known to me, but the time is not yet come for its disclosure.  It shall out, one day, to the confusion of those who offend me.  When thou goest home tell thy reputed mother what I have said, and mark how she takes the information.  Ha! who comes here?”

The hag’s last exclamation was occasioned by the sudden appearance of Mistress Nutter, who opened the door of the chapel, and, staring in astonishment at the group, came quickly forward.

“What makes you here, Mother Chattox?” she cried.

“I came here to avoid pursuit,” replied the old hag, with a cowed manner, and in accents sounding strangely submissive after her late infuriated tone.