“Mount, water, to the skies! 
Bid the sudden storm arise. 
Bid the pitchy clouds advance,
Bid the forked lightnings glance,
Bid the angry thunder growl,
Bid the wild wind fiercely howl! 
Bid the tempest come amain,
Thunder, lightning, wind, and rain!”

[Illustration:  THE INCANTATION.]

As she concluded, clouds gathered thickly overhead, obscuring the stars that had hitherto shone down from the heavens.  The wind suddenly arose, but in lieu of dispersing the vapours it seemed only to condense them.  A flash of forked lightning cut through the air, and a loud peal of thunder rolled overhead.

Then the whole troop sang together—­

“Beat the water, Demdike’s daughter! 
See the tempests gathers o’er us,
Lightning flashes—­thunder crashes,
Wild winds sing in lusty chorus!”

For a brief space the storm raged fearfully, and recalled the terror of that previously witnessed by Alizon, which she now began to think might have originated in a similar manner.  The wind raved around the ruined pile, but its breath was not felt within it, and the rain was heard descending in deluging showers without, though no drop came through the open roof.  The thunder shook the walls and pillars of the old fabric, and threatened to topple them down from their foundations, but they resisted the shocks.  The lightning played around the tall spire springing from this part of the fane, and ran down from its shattered summit to its base, without doing any damage.  The red bolts struck the ground innocuously, though they fell at the very feet of the weird assemblage, who laughed wildly at the awful tumult.

Whilst the storm was at its worst, while the lightning was flashing fiercely, and the thunder rattling loudly, Mother Chattox, with a chafing-dish in her hand, advanced towards the fire, and placing the pan upon it, threw certain herbs and roots into it, chanting thus:—­

“Here is juice of poppy bruised,
With black hellebore infused;
Here is mandrake’s bleeding root,
Mixed with moonshade’s deadly fruit;
Viper’s bag with venom fill’d,
Taken ere the beast was kill’d;
Adder’s skin and raven’s feather,
With shell of beetle blent together;
Dragonwort and barbatus,
Hemlock black and poisonous;
Horn of hart, and storax red,
Lapwing’s blood, at midnight shed. 
In the heated pan they burn,
And to pungent vapours turn. 
By this strong suffumigation,
By this potent invocation,
Spirits!  I compel you here! 
All who list may call appear!”

After a moment’s pause, she resumed as follows:—­

“White-robed brethren, who of old,
Nightly paced yon cloisters cold,
Sleeping now beneath the mould! 

                                      I bid ye rise.

“Abbots! by the weakling fear’d,
By the credulous revered,
Who this mighty fabric rear’d! 

                                      I bid ye rise!