The magistrate here paused for a moment to regard his audience, and reading in their terrified looks that his address had produced the desired impression, he continued with increased severity—­

“These wicked women shall trouble the land no longer.  They shall be arrested and brought to judgment; and if you do not heartily bestir yourselves in their capture, and undertake to appear in evidence against them, you shall be held and dealt with as accessories in their crimes.”

Upon this, the hinds, who were greatly alarmed, declared with one accord their willingness to act as the magistrate should direct.

“You do wisely,” cried Potts, who by this time had made his way back to the assemblage, covered from head to foot with ooze, as on his former misadventure.  “Mistress Nutter and the two old hags who hold you in thrall would lead you to destruction.  For understand it is the firm determination of my respected client, Master Roger Nowell, as well as of myself, not to relax in our exertions till the whole of these pestilent witches who trouble the country be swept away, and to spare none who assist and uphold them.”

The hinds stared aghast, for so grim was the appearance of the attorney, that they almost thought Hobthurst, the lubber-fiend, was addressing them.

At this moment old Henry Mitton came up.  He had partially recovered from the stunning effects of the blow dealt him by James Device, but his head was cut open, and his white locks were dabbled in blood.  Pushing his way through the assemblage, he stood before the magistrate.

“If yo want a witness agen that foul murtheress and witch, Alice Nutter, ca’ me, Master Roger Nowell,” he said.  “Ey con tay my Bible oath that the whole feace o’ this keawntry has been chaunged sin yester neet, by her hondywark.  Ca’ me also to speak to her former life—­to her intimacy wi’ Mother Demdike an owd Chattox.  Ca’ me to prove her constant attendance at devils’ sabbaths on Pendle Hill, and elsewhere, wi’ other black and damning offences—­an among ’em the murder, by witchcraft, o’ her husband, Ruchot Nutter.”

A thrill of horror pervaded the assemblage at this denunciation; and Master Potts, who was being cleansed from his sable stains by one of the grooms, cried out—­

“This is the very man for us, my excellent client.  Your name and abode, friend?”

“Harry Mitton o’ Rough Lee,” replied the old man.  “Ey ha’ dwelt there seventy year an uppards, an ha’ known the feyther and granfeyther o’ Ruchot Nutter, an also Alice Nutter, when hoo war Alice Assheton.  Ca’ me, sir, an aw’ ye want to knoa ye shan larn.”

“We will call you, my good friend,” said Potts; “and, if you have sustained any private wrongs from Mistress Nutter, they shall be amply redressed.”

“Ey ha’ endured much ot her honts,” rejoined Mitton; “boh ey dunna speak o’ mysel’.  It be high time that Owd Scrat should ha’ his claws clipt, an honest folk be allowed to live in peace.”