“If Aubrey be brought down to that, he must have learned a good lesson,” said his grandmother. “Not that I could behold it myself entirely without a pang.”
Edith, who had hitherto been silent, now put in a suggestion.
“Our Charity is true as steel,” she said. “Why not let Aubrey lie close with her kindred, where none should think to look for him?”
“In Pendle?—what, amid all the witches!” said Temperance.
“Edith, I’m amazed at you! I could never lie quiet in my bed!” wailed Mrs Louvaine. “Only to think of the poor boy being bewitched by those wicked creatures! Why, they spend Sunday nights dancing round the churchyard with the devil.”
“And the place is choke-full of ’em, Charity says,” added Temperance. “She once met Mother Demdike her own self, muttering under her breath, and she gave her the evillest look as she passed her that the maid ever saw.”
“Ay, saying the Lord’s Prayer backwards, of course.”
“Well, I can’t say,” said Temperance, dubiously: “it did not seem to do Charity any ill. I shouldn’t wonder, truly—”
“For mercy’s sake, stop her!” cried Mrs Louvaine. “She’s going to say something wicked—I know she is! She’ll say there are no witches, or no devil, or something horrible.”
“Nay, I’ll say nought o’ the sort,” responded Temperance. “Whether there be witches or no, the Lord knows, and there I leave it; but that there is a devil I’m very sure, for he has tempted me over and over again. All I say is, if Charity could meet a witch, and get no ill, why should not Aubrey too?”