“What is the nature of the delusion?” asked Mother Chattox, with some curiosity.  “I am so blind I cannot see the figures on the water.”

“It is an evil spirit in my likeness,” replied Mistress Nutter.

“In your likeness!” exclaimed the hag.  “A cunning device—­and worthy of old Demdike—­ho! ho!”

“I can scarce bear to look on,” cried Mistress Nutter; “but I must, though it tears my heart in pieces to witness such cruelty.  The poor girl has rushed to her false parent—­has thrown her arms around her, and is weeping on her shoulder.  Oh! it is a maddening sight.  But it is nothing to what follows.  The temptress, with the subtlety of the old serpent, is pouring lies into her ear, telling her they both are captives, and both will perish unless she consents to purchase their deliverance at the price of her soul, and she offers her a bond to sign—­such a bond as, alas! thou and I, Chattox, have signed.  But Alizon rejects it with horror, and gazes at her false mother as if she suspected the delusion.  But the temptress is not to be beaten thus.  She renews her entreaties, casts herself on the ground, and clasps my child’s knees in humblest supplication.  Oh! that Alizon would place her foot upon her neck and crush her.  But it is not so the good act.  She raises her, and tells her she will willingly die for her; but her soul was given to her by her Creator, and must be returned to him.  Oh! that I had thought of this.”

“And what answer makes the spirit?” asked the witch.

“It laughs derisively,” replied Mistress Nutter; “and proceeds to use all those sophistical arguments, which we have so often heard, to pervert her mind, and overthrow her principles.  But Alizon is proof against them all.  Religion and virtue support her, and make her more than a match for her opponent.  Equally vain are the spirit’s attempts to seduce her by the offer of a life of sinful enjoyment.  She rejects it with angry scorn.  Failing in argument and entreaty, the spirit now endeavours to work upon her fears, and paints, in appalling colours, the tortures she will have to endure, contrasting them with the delight she is voluntarily abandoning, with the lover she might espouse, with the high worldly position she might fill.  ’What are worldly joys and honours compared with those of heaven!’ exclaims Alizon; ’I would not exchange them.’  The spirit then, in a vision, shows her her lover, Richard, and asks her if she can resist his entreaties.  The trial is very sore, as she gazes on that beloved form, seeming, by its passionate gestures, to implore her to assent, but she is firm, and the vision disappears.  The ordeal is now over.  Alizon has triumphed over all their arts.  The spirit in my likeness resumes its fiendish shape, and, with a dreadful menace against the poor girl, vanishes from her sight.”

“Mother Demdike has not done with her yet,” observed Chattox.

“You are right,” replied Mistress Nutter.  “The old hag descends the staircase leading to the vault, and approaches the miserable captive.  With her there are no supplications—­no arguments; but commands and terrible threats.  She is as unsuccessful as her envoy.  Alizon has gained courage and defies her.”