“I can, and I will,” cried the girl, stamping her foot. “I have been a fool to listen to thee, and thou hast taken advantage of me to get my money, and laughed at my weakness because I was sick with love; but I’m not such a fool as to be unable to get revenge. Mother Goodhugh, I’d come to see thee burnt.”
“Nay, nay,” cried the old woman, grovelling on the floor before her; “don’t talk so, dearie, it be too horrible.”
“A great stake and a chain, and faggots piled round thee, and the fire blazing, and Mother Goodhugh roasting. Ha, ha, ha! it would be a gay revenge on an old witch.”
“Nay, child, nay, but I be not a witch,” cried the old woman, who seemed palsied with dread.
“Then why did’st profess to me that thou wast?” cried Anne, striking her again and again, the old woman only cowering down as she received the blows, and piteously begging her tormentor not to denounce her. “Thou deceived’st me scores of times, and I, fool that I was, listened, and was befooled more and more. Now, hark ye, Mother Goodhugh, I have thee tight. Thou canst not win their love for me, but thou can’st get me revenge. Look here: stop that wedding.”
“I will, child; I will, dearie.”
“You shall!” cried Anne. “Mind this: I warn you. If that wedding takes place, and Mace Cobbe becomes Dame Leslie—”
“Yes, yes, yes!” cried the old woman.
“I’ll denounce thee as a witch, and laugh to scorn any accusations or railings against me; and I’ll come and spit at thee as thou burnest at the stake.”
“Oh!” half shrieked the old woman, tearing at her bosom as she heard the other’s words, and felt their power. Then, recovering herself, she began to fawn upon her visitor.