“Right!” replied the familiar; “but to go on with my story.  Sir Thomas Metcalfe was next brought forward; and after some warm altercation, peace was at length established between him and the squire, and hands were shaken all round.  Wine was then called for by Nicholas, who, at the same time, directed that the two Alsatian captains should be brought up from the cellar, where they had been placed for safety.  The first part of the order was obeyed, but the second was found impracticable, inasmuch as the two heroes had found their way to the inner cellar, and had emptied so many flasks that they were utterly incapable of moving.  While the wine was being discussed, an unexpected arrival took place.”

“An arrival!—­of whom?” inquired Mistress Nutter, eagerly.

“Sir Ralph Assheton and a large party,” replied Fancy.  “Parson Holden, it seems, not content with sending Sir Thomas and his rout to the aid of his friends, had proceeded for the same purpose to Whalley, and the result was the appearance of the new party.  A brief explanation from Nicholas and myself served to put Sir Ralph in possession of all that had occurred, and he declared his readiness to accompany the expedition to Pendle Hill, and to take all his followers with him.  Sir Thomas Metcalfe expressed an equally strong desire to go with him, and of course it was acceded to.  I am bound to tell you, madam,” added Fancy to Mistress Nutter, “that your conduct is viewed in a most suspicious light by every one of these persons, except Nicholas, who made an effort to defend you.”

“I care not what happens to me, if I succeed in rescuing my child,” said the lady.  “But have they set out on the expedition?”

“By this time, no doubt they have,” replied Fancy.  “I got off by saying I would ride on to Pendle Hill, and, stationing myself on its summit, give them a signal when they should advance upon their prey.  And now, good mistress, I pray you dismiss me.  I want to cast off this shape, which I find an incumbrance, and resume my own.  I will return when it is time for you to set out.”

The hag waved her hand, and the familiar was gone.

Half an hour elapsed, and he returned not.  Mistress Nutter became fearfully impatient.  Three-quarters, and even the old hag was uneasy.  An hour, and he stood before them—­dwarfish, fiendish, monstrous.

“It is time,” he said, in a harsh voice; but the tones were music in the wretched mother’s ears.

“Come, then,” she cried, rushing wildly forth.

“Ay, ay, I come,” replied the hag, following her.  “Not so fast.  You cannot go without me.”

“Nor either of you without me,” added Fancy.  “Here, good mistress, is your broomstick.”

“Away for Pendle Hill!” screamed the hag.

“Ay, for Pendle Hill!” echoed Fancy.

And there was a whirling of dark figures through the air as before.

Presently they alighted on the summit of Pendle Hill, which seemed to be wrapped in a dense cloud, for Mistress Nutter could scarcely see a yard before her.  Fancy’s eyes, however, were powerful enough to penetrate the gloom, for stepping back a few yards, he said—­