“What have you been saying to these girls?” demanded Mistress Nutter, authoritatively.

“Ask them,” the hag replied.

“She declares that Alizon is not the daughter of Elizabeth Device,” cried Dorothy Assheton.

“Indeed!” exclaimed Mistress Nutter quickly, and as if a spring of extraordinary interest had been suddenly touched.  “What reason hast thou for this assertion?”

“No good reason,” replied the old woman evasively, yet with evident apprehension of her questioner.

“Good reason or bad, I will have it,” cried Mistress Nutter.

“What you, too, take an interest in the wench, like the rest!” returned Mother Chattox.  “Is she so very winning?”

“That is no answer to my question,” said the lady.  “Whose child is she?”

“Ask Bess Device, or Mother Demdike,” replied Mother Chattox; “they know more about the matter than me.”

“I will have thee speak, and to the purpose,” cried the lady, angrily.

“Many an one has lost a child who would gladly have it back again,” said the old hag, mysteriously.

“Who has lost one?” asked Mistress Nutter.

“Nay, it passeth me to tell,” replied the old woman with affected ignorance.  “Question those who stole her.  I have set you on the track.  If you fail in pursuing it, come to me.  You know where to find me.”

“You shall not go thus,” said Mistress Nutter.  “I will have a direct answer now.”

And as she spoke she waved her hands twice or thrice over the old woman.  In doing this her figure seemed to dilate, and her countenance underwent a marked and fearful change.  All her beauty vanished, her eyes blazed, and terror sat on her wrinkled brow.  The hag, on the contrary, crouched lower down, and seemed to dwindle less than her ordinary size.  Writhing as from heavy blows, and with a mixture of malice and fear in her countenance, she cried, “Were I to speak, you would not thank me.  Let me go.”

“Answer,” vociferated Mistress Nutter, disregarding the caution, and speaking in a sharp piercing voice, strangely contrasting with her ordinary utterance.  “Answer, I say, or I will beat thee to the dust.”

And she continued her gestures, while the sufferings of the old hag evidently increased, and she crouched nearer and nearer to the ground, moaning out the words, “Do not force me to speak.  You will repent it!—­you will repent it!”

“Do not torment her thus, madam,” cried Alizon, who with Dorothy looked at the strange scene with mingled apprehension and wonderment.  “Much as I desire to know the secret of my birth, I would not obtain it thus.”

As she uttered these words, the old woman contrived to shuffle off, and disappeared behind the tomb.

“Why did you interpose, Alizon,” cried Mistress Nutter, somewhat angrily, and dropping her hands.  “You broke the power I had over her.  I would have compelled her to speak.”