Scarcely had the last notes died away, when a light shone through the dark red curtains hanging before a casement in the upper part of the tower.  The next moment these were drawn aside, and a face appeared, so frightful, so charged with infernal wickedness and malice, that Richard’s blood grew chill at the sight.  Was it man or woman?  The white beard, and the large, broad, masculine character of the countenance, seemed to denote the, former, but the garb was that of a female.  The face was at once hideous and fantastic—­the eyes set across—­the mouth awry—­the right cheek marked by a mole shining with black hair, and horrible from its contrast to the rest of the visage, and the brow branded as if by a streak of blood.  A black thrum cap constituted the old witch’s head-gear, and from beneath it her hoary hair escaped in long elf-locks.  The lower part of her person was hidden from view, but she appeared to be as broad-shouldered as a man, and her bulky person was wrapped in a tawny-coloured robe.  Throwing open the window, she looked forth, and demanded in harsh imperious tones—­

“Who dares to summon Mother Demdike?”

“A messenger from Mistress Nutter,” replied Richard.  “I am come in her name to demand the restitution of Alizon Device, whom thou hast forcibly and wrongfully taken from her.”

“Alizon Device is my grand-daughter, and, as such, belongs to me, and not to Mistress Nutter,” rejoined Mother Demdike.

“Thou knowest thou speakest false, foul hag!” cried Richard.  “Alizon is no blood of thine.  Open the door and cast down the ladder, or I will find other means of entrance.”

“Try them, then,” rejoined Mother Demdike.  And she closed the casement sharply, and drew the curtains over it.

After reconnoitring the building for a moment, Richard moved quickly to the left, and counting ten paces, as directed by Mistress Nutter, began to search among the thick grass growing near the base of the tower for the concealed entrance.  It was too dark to distinguish any difference in the colour of the masonry, but he was sure he could not be far wrong, and presently his hand came in contact with a knob of iron.  He pressed it, but it did not yield to the touch.  Again more forcibly, but with like ill success.  Could he be mistaken?  He tried the next stone, and discovered another knob upon it, but this was as immovable as the first.  He went on, and then found that each stone was alike, and that if amongst the number he had chanced upon the one worked by the secret spring, it had refused to act.  On examining the structure so far as he was able to do in the gloom, he found he had described the whole circle of the tower, and was about to commence the search anew, when a creaking sound was heard above, and a light streamed suddenly down upon him.  The door had been opened by the old witch, and she stood there with a lamp in her hand, its yellow flame illumining her hideous visage, and short, square, powerfully built frame.  Her throat was like that of a bull; her hands of extraordinary size; and her arms, which were bare to the shoulder, brawny and muscular.