“Hear what is said further, sir, by the king,” pursued Potts. “’No man,’ declares that wise prince, ’ought to presume so far as to promise any impunity to himself.’  But further on he gives us courage, for he adds, ’and yet we ought not to be afraid for that, of any thing that the devil and his wicked instruments can do against us, for we daily fight against him in a hundred other ways, and therefore as a valiant captain affrays no more being at the combat, nor stays from his purpose for the rummishing shot of a cannon, nor the small clack of a pistolet; not being certain what may light on him; even so ought we boldly to go forward in fighting against the devil without any greater terror, for these his rarest weapons, than the ordinary, whereof we have daily the proof.’”

“His majesty is quite right,” observed Holden, “and I am glad to hear his convincing words so judiciously cited.  I myself have no fear of these wicked instruments of Satan.”

“In what manner, may I ask, have you proved your courage, sir?” inquired Roger Nowell.  “Have you preached against them, and denounced their wickedness, menacing them with the thunders of the Church?”

“I cannot say I have,” replied Holden, rather abashed, “but I shall henceforth adopt a very different course.—­Ah! here comes the ale!” he added, taking the foaming tankard from Bess; “this is the best cordial wherewith to sustain one’s courage in these trying times.”

“Some remedy must be found for this intolerable grievance,” observed Roger Nowell, after a few moments’ reflection.  “Till this morning I was not aware of the extent of the evil, but supposed that the two malignant hags, who seem to reign supreme here, confined their operations to blighting corn, maiming cattle, turning milk sour; and even these reports I fancied were greatly exaggerated; but I now find, from what I have seen at Sabden and elsewhere, that they fall very far short of the reality.”

“It would be difficult to increase the darkness of the picture,” said the chirurgeon; “but what remedy will you apply?”

“The cautery, sir,” replied Potts,—­“the actual cautery—­we will burn out this plague-spot.  The two old hags and their noxious brood shall be brought to the stake.  That will effect a radical cure.”

“It may when it is accomplished, but I fear it will be long ere that happens,” replied the chirurgeon, shaking his head doubtfully.  “Are you acquainted with Mother Demdike’s history, sir?” he added to Potts.

“In part,” replied the attorney; “but I shall be glad to hear any thing you may have to bring forward on the subject.”

“The peculiarity in her case,” observed Sudall, “and the circumstance distinguishing her dark and dread career from that of all other witches is, that it has been shaped out by destiny.  When an infant, a malediction was pronounced upon her head by the unfortunate Abbot Paslew.  She is also the offspring of a man reputed to have bartered his soul to the Enemy of Mankind, while her mother was a witch.  Both parents perished lamentably, about the time of Paslew’s execution at Whalley.”