“Nay, you need not fear that,” said the lady, with a forced smile.

“Well, then, leave it to me,” said the squire; “but you will not set out till the storm is over?”

“I must,” replied Mistress Nutter; “there seems no likelihood of its cessation, and each moment is fraught with peril to Alizon.  If aught happens to me, Nicholas—­if I should—­whatever mischance may befall me—­promise me you will stand by her.”

The squire gave the required promise.

“Enough, I hold you to your word,” said Mistress Nutter.  “Take this parchment.  It is a deed of gift, assigning this mansion and all my estates to her.  Under certain circumstances you will produce it.”

“What circumstances?  I am at a loss to understand you, madam,” said the squire.

“Do not question me further, but take especial care of the deed, and produce it, as I have said, at the fitting moment.  You will know when that arrives.  Ha!  I am wanted.”

The latter exclamation had been occasioned by the appearance of an old woman at the further end of the hall, beckoning to her.  On seeing her, Mistress Nutter immediately quitted the squire, and followed her into a small chamber opening from this part of the hall, and into which she retreated.

“What brings you here, Mother Chattox?” exclaimed the lady, closing the door.

“Can you not guess?” replied the hag.  “I am come to help you, not for any love I bear you, but to avenge myself on old Demdike.  Do not interrupt me.  My familiar, Fancy, has told me all.  I know how you are circumstanced.  I know Alizon is in old Demdike’s clutches, and you are unable to extricate her.  But I can, and will; because if the hateful old hag fails in offering up her sacrifice before the first hour of day, her term will be out, and I shall be rid of her, and reign in her stead.  To-morrow she will be on her way to Lancaster Castle.  Ha! ha!  The dungeon is prepared for her—­the stake driven into the ground—­the fagots heaped around it.  The torch has only to be lighted.  Ho!  Ho!”

[Illustration:  THE RIDE THROUGH THE MURKY AIR.]

“Shall we go to Malkin Tower?” asked Mistress Nutter, shuddering.

“No; to the summit of Pendle Hill,” rejoined Mother Chattox; “for there the girl will be taken, and there only can we secure her.  But first we must proceed to my hut, and make some preparations.  I have three scalps and eight teeth, taken from a grave in Goldshaw churchyard this very day.  We can make a charm with them.”

“You must prepare it alone,” said Mistress Nutter; “I can have nought to do with it.”

“True—­true—­I had forgotten,” cried the hag, with a chuckling laugh—­“you are no longer one of us.  Well, then, I will do it alone.  But come with me.  You will not object to mount upon my broomstick.  It is the only safe conveyance in this storm of the devil’s raising.  Come—­away!”

And she threw open the window and sprang forth, followed by Mistress Nutter.