“Yes, certainly, if it will oblige you; but I have no faith in fortune-tellers.”
She quickly dressed, and we set out. After ascending the steep hill of the Castle of San Elmo, we took the shady road—bordered on each side by linden trees—which led to the pretty village of Posillippo. I had been told that old Acte inhabited, sybil-like, a cavern in the rock of a steep hill, about half way to the village. We examined all the rocks as we went along; but no traces of fairies’ haunts, or witches’ caverns did we see. After walking on some distance, we reached the brow of a rising hill, and as I gazed staringly up its steep sides, endeavoring to discover the celebrated abode of the prophetess, I saw a deep cavity in the rock—the opening half overgrown with ivy and wild flowers; a small foot-path wound up to it amid the grass. It had a wild, mysterious appearance, and conjecturing that must be the place, we ascended to it.
“Dear Genevra!” cried Blanche, tremblingly, as I stooped at the small aperture on entering, “pray be careful. Are you sure this is old woman’s abode? you may be mistaken;—this may be a wild beast’s den.”
“This is the place, I know, from description. Don’t be afraid: give me your hand; I will assist you in.” Grasping my hand from fear, Blanche was dragged by me through the opening. When fairly through, we rose upright upon our feet, and looked at our localities.
We stood in a large chamber, excavated from the solid rock;—no light of day penetrated this haunted dungeon home; but in the far corner, opposite me, an immense chimney and fire-place illumined with a blaze of fire light the singular apartment; and, sitting before the fire, her back toward us, was a strange form crouching on the floor of the cavern: its gray hair was matted, and hung straggling down its back,—and it wore a long black garment, something like the gown of a priest; every instant one of its thin, skeleton-like hands, or rather claws, was projected from its lap, depositing something (I could not tell what) in a large vessel hanging over the flame,—so gathered up and misshapen was the form, I could not distinguish whether it was man, woman, or beast;—the appearance of the place, and this outré figure, forcibly reminded me of my childhood, and the old woman I called Granny. Blanche had turned pale as a ghost from fear, and I regretted having come.
The figure did not at first perceive us; and we had stood some minutes unobserved spectators of its singular operations, when, pausing, it turned its head, and I beheld a human face,—but so wild, so wizard-like, it scarcely resembled a woman’s countenance. She rose to her feet, and confronted us. She was tall in stature, and the long, straight robe added to her height. She regarded us with a piercing glance, and then beckoned our approach.
“Be seated,” said she, pointing to two stools near her; “you have come to consult me. I knew I should have visiters this evening; the signs said it.”
“We had some difficulty in finding you,” I observed; “your home is so secluded.”
“So much the better,—it keeps fools from troubling me,” was the sharp reply. As she spoke, she stepped toward a dark corner of the cave, and after stooping, and apparently feeling about a moment, came back with a bottle, filled with water, in her hand. She resumed her position on the floor before the fire, and then abruptly demanded,—