each of different import, throng upon me.  Independently of the pleasure and natural pride I must feel in being acknowledged by you as a daughter, it is a source of the deepest satisfaction to me to know that I am not, in any way, connected with Elizabeth Device—­not from her humble station—­for poverty weighs little with me in comparison with virtue and goodness—­but from her sinfulness.  You know the dark offence laid to her charge?”

“I do,” replied Mistress Nutter, in a low deep tone, “but I do not believe it.”

“Nor I,” returned Alizon.  “Still, she acts as if she were the wicked thing she is called; avoids all religious offices; shuns all places of worship; and derides the Holy Scriptures.  Oh, mother! you will comprehend the frequent conflict of feelings I must have endured.  You will understand my horror when I have sometimes thought myself the daughter of a witch.”

“Why did you not leave her if you thought so?” said Mistress Nutter, frowning.

“I could not leave her,” replied Alizon, “for I then thought her my mother.”

Mistress Nutter fell upon her daughter’s neck, and wept aloud.  “You have an excellent heart, my child,” she said at length, checking her emotion.

“I have nothing to complain of in Elizabeth Device, dear mother,” she replied.  “What she denied herself, she did not refuse me; and though I have necessarily many and great deficiencies, you will find in me, I trust, no evil principles.  And, oh! shall we not strive to rescue that poor benighted creature from the pit?  We may yet save her.”

“It is too late,” replied Mistress Nutter in a sombre tone.

“It cannot be too late,” said Alizon, confidently.  “She cannot be beyond redemption.  But even if she should prove intractable, poor little Jennet may be preserved.  She is yet a child, with some good—­though, alas! much evil, also—­in her nature.  Let our united efforts be exerted in this good work, and we must succeed.  The weeds extirpated, the flowers will spring up freely, and bloom in beauty.”

“I can have nothing to do with her,” said Mistress Nutter, in a freezing tone—­“nor must you.”

“Oh! say not so, mother,” cried Alizon.  “You rob me of half the happiness I feel in being restored to you.  When I was Jennets sister, I devoted myself to the task of reclaiming her.  I hoped to be her guardian angel—­to step between her and the assaults of evil—­and I cannot, will not, now abandon her.  If no longer my sister, she is still dear to me.  And recollect that I owe a deep debt of gratitude to her mother—­a debt I can never pay.”

“How so?” cried Mistress Nutter.  “You owe her nothing—­but the contrary.”

“I owe her a life,” said Alizon.  “Was not her infant’s blood poured out for mine!  And shall I not save the child left her, if I can?”

“I shall not oppose your inclinations,” replied Mistress Nutter, with reluctant assent; “but Elizabeth, I suspect, will thank you little for your interference.”