“I wonder where your brother, the reeve of the forest, can be, Master Potts!” observed Nicholas.  “I did not see either him or his horse at the stables.”

“Perhaps the arch impostor has taken himself off altogether,” said Potts; “and if so, I shall be sorry, for I have not done with him.”

The sack was now set before them, and pronounced excellent, and while they were engaged in discussing it, together with a fresh supply of eggs and bacon, fried by the kitchen wench, Roger Nowell came out of the inner room, accompanied by Richard and the chirurgeon.

“Well, Master Sudall, how goes on your patient?” inquired Nicholas of the latter.

“Much more favourably than I expected, squire,” replied the chirurgeon.  “He will be better left alone for awhile, and, as I shall not quit the village till evening, I shall be able to look well after him.”

“You think the attack occasioned by witchcraft of course, sir?” said Potts.

“The poor fellow affirms it to be so, but I can give no opinion,” replied Sudall, evasively.

“You must make up your mind as to the matter, for I think it right to tell you your evidence will be required,” said Potts.  “Perhaps, you may have seen poor Mary Baldwyn, the miller’s daughter of Rough Lee, and can speak more positively as to her case.”

“I can, sir,” replied the chirurgeon, seating himself beside Potts, while Roger Nowell and Richard placed themselves on the opposite side of the table.  “This is the case I referred to a short time ago, when answering your inquiries on the same subject, Master Richard, and a most afflicting one it is.  But you shall have the particulars.  Six months ago, Mary Baldwyn was as lovely and blooming a lass as could be seen, the joy of her widowed father’s heart.  A hot-headed, obstinate man is Richard Baldwyn, and he was unwise enough to incur the displeasure of Mother Demdike, by favouring her rival, old Chattox, to whom he gave flour and meal, while he refused the same tribute to the other.  The first time Mother Demdike was dismissed without the customary dole, one of his millstones broke, and, instead of taking this as a warning, he became more obstinate.  She came a second time, and he sent her away with curses.  Then all his flour grew damp and musty, and no one would buy it.  Still he remained obstinate, and, when she appeared again, he would have laid hands upon her.  But she raised her staff, and the blows fell short.  ‘I have given thee two warnings, Richard,’ she said, ’and thou hast paid no heed to them.  Now I will make thee smart, lad, in right earnest.  That which thou lovest best thou shalt lose.’  Upon this, bethinking him that the dearest thing he had in the world was his daughter Mary, and afraid of harm happening to her, Richard would fain have made up his quarrel with the old witch; but it had now gone too far, and she would not listen to him, but uttering some words, with which the name of the girl was mingled, shook