“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed the voice.

“Do you not hear that laughter?” cried Mistress Nutter, with a haggard look.  “Go!”

“Never, without Jennet,” replied Alizon, firmly.

“My child—­my child—­on my knees I implore you to depart,” cried Mistress Nutter, throwing herself before her—­“You know not your danger—­oh, fly—­fly!”

But Alizon continued inflexible.

“Yo are caught i’ your own snare, madam,” cried Elizabeth Device, with a taunting laugh.  “Sin Jennet mun be a witch, Alizon con be bapteesed os weel.  Your consent is not required—­and age matters not—­ha! ha!”

“Curses upon thy malice,” cried Mistress Nutter, rising.  “What can be done in this extremity?”

“Nothing,” replied the voice.  “Jennet is mine already.  If not brought hither by thee, or by her mother, she would have come of her own accord.  I have watched her, and marked her for my own.  Besides, she is fated.  The curse of Paslew clings to her.”

As the words were uttered, the shade of the abbot glided forwards, and, touching the shuddering child upon the brow with its finger, vanished with a lamentable cry.

“Kneel, Jennet,” cried Alizon; “kneel, and pray!”

“To me,” rejoined the voice; “she can bend to no other power.  Alice Nutter, thou hast sought to deceive me, but in vain.  I bade thee bring thy daughter here, and in place of her thou offerest me the child of another, who is mine already.  I am not to be thus trifled with.  Thou knowest my will.  Sprinkle water over her head, and devote her to me.”

Alizon would fain have thrown herself on her knees, but extremity of horror, or some overmastering influence, held her fast; and she remained with her gaze fixed upon her mother, who seemed torn by conflicting emotions.

“Is there no way to avoid this?” cried Mistress Nutter.

“No way but one,” replied the voice.  “I have been offered a new devotee, and I claim fulfilment of the promise.  Thy daughter or another, it matters not—­but not Jennet.”

“I embrace the alternative,” cried Mistress Nutter.

“It must be done upon the instant,” said the voice.

“It shall be,” replied Mistress Nutter.  And, stretching her arm in the direction of the mansion, she called in a loud imperious voice, “Dorothy Assheton, come hither!”

A minute elapsed, but no one appeared, and, with a look of disappointment, Mistress Nutter repeated the gesture and the words.

Still no one came.

“Baffled!” she exclaimed, “what can it mean?”

“There is a maiden within the south transept, who is not one of my servants,” cried the voice.  “Call her.”

“’Tis she!” cried Mistress Nutter, stretching her arm towards the transept.  “This time I am answered,” she added, as with a wild laugh Dorothy obeyed the summons.

“I have anointed myself with the unguent, and drank of the potion, ha! ha! ha!” cried Dorothy, with a wild gesture, and wilder laughter.