“I—I—put anything in?” said the old woman, humbly; “what should I put in?”
“Some one or another of your silly mixtures,” said Mace, sternly. “Why do you attempt to try them upon me?”
“Silly mixtures!” Such a term applied to her philtres in the presence of one whom she wished for her own reasons to impress fully with her potency! A moment before the old woman was shivering and cowed; now her visitor’s words roused up the spirit of opposition within her, and, with her eyes flaming defiance, she called upon her powers of well-matured dissimulation as she half shrieked:—
“I put in mixtures! Go to, white witch that thou art. Did I not see thee cast an evil eye on the drinking water, and turn it black? Look here,” she cried, seizing the cup, throwing out its contents, running to the spring, and returning with it full of clear fluid, “the water be bright and sweet. Nay, nay; thou shalt not touch it,” she cried, as Mace stretched out her hand to take the cup—“I will have no more of thy juggling tricks here. Out upon thee, witch—witch, who triest to win decent maidens’ lovers to thy side. When the time comes that justice overtakes thee for thy wicked enchantments, my voice shall be raised to tell of all I know. Go!—Away with thee!—Witch, witch!”
She stood waving her hands and stick at her who had brought her help, and a malignant look of spite and suppressed glee overspread her face, as she laughingly hugged herself upon the clever way in which she had turned the tables upon her accuser. The girl’s lips parted to speak; but finding her adversary become more voluble and ready, Mace shrank away, staggered by the words of the old woman, who followed her to the door, and stood menacing her and shrieking threats as she hurried away with the words “witch, witch,” ringing in her ears.
There was no lack of common-sense in the founder’s daughter, but for the moment she was startled by Mother Goodhugh’s words. No more superstitious than the educated people of her days, a faint belief in the sin of witchcraft lingered in her mind; and she knew by rumour of the terrible fate that had been reserved for women accused of such dealings. For, from time to time, account of fiery executions had reached the remote hamlet, and she shuddered as these memories came back.
To be accused of witchcraft by some malignant enemy meant placing the accused in a position wherein nothing she said would be believed; and, as she hurried homewards, Mace’s face was pale with anxiety and dread.
This soon passed off, though, and she laughed at her childish terrors.
“Poor old thing, she is half mad,” thought Mace; and even then she began to think about the cup; coming rapidly to the right conclusion that Mother Goodhugh had placed some one or another of her decoctions in the water.
“I’ll go there no more,” she said; “the old woman is dangerous, and to try to ward off her wishes by kindly acts seems to make things worse.”