Still, though Alizon thus strove to discredit the evidence of her senses, and to hold all she saw to be delusion, and the work of darkness, she could not entirely convince herself, but imperfectly recalling the fearful vision she had witnessed during her former stupor, began to connect it with the scene now passing before her.  The storm had wholly ceased, and the stars again twinkled down through the shattered roof.  Deep silence prevailed, broken only by the hissing and bubbling of the caldron.

Alizon’s gaze was riveted upon her mother, whose slightest gestures she watched.  After numbering the assemblage thrice, Mistress Nutter majestically arose, and motioning Mother Chattox towards her, the old witch tremblingly advanced, and some words passed between them, the import of which did not reach the listener’s ear.  In conclusion, however, Mistress Nutter exclaimed aloud, in accents of command—­“Go, bring it at once, the sacrifice must be made.”—­And on this, Mother Chattox hobbled off to one of the side chapels.

A mortal terror seized Alizon, and she could scarcely draw breath.  Dark tales had been told her that unbaptised infants were sometimes sacrificed by witches, and their flesh boiled and devoured at their impious banquets, and dreading lest some such atrocity was now about to be practised, she mustered all her resolution, determined, at any risk, to interfere, and, if possible, prevent its accomplishment.

In another moment, Mother Chattox returned bearing some living thing, wrapped in a white cloth, which struggled feebly for liberation, apparently confirming Alizon’s suspicions, and she was about to rush forward, when Mistress Nutter, snatching the bundle from the old witch, opened it, and disclosed a beautiful bird, with plumage white as driven snow, whose legs were tied together, so that it could not escape.  Conjecturing what was to follow, Alizon averted her eyes, and when she looked round again the bird had been slain, while Mother Chattox was in the act of throwing its body into the caldron, muttering a charm as she did so.  Mistress Nutter held the ensanguined knife aloft, and casting some ruddy drops upon the glowing embers, pronounced, as they hissed and smoked, the following adjuration:—­

“Thy aid I seek, infernal Power! 
Be thy word sent to Malkin Tower,
That the beldame old may know
Where I will, thou’dst have her go—­
What I will, thou’dst have her do!”

An immediate response was made by an awful voice issuing apparently from the bowels of the earth.

“Thou who seek’st the Demon’s aid,
Know’st the price that must be paid.”

The queen witch rejoined—­

“I do.  But grant the aid I crave,
And that thou wishest thou shalt have. 
Another worshipper is won,
Thine to be, when all is done.”

Again the deep voice spake, with something of mockery in its accents:—­