At length, a few months previous to the arrival of Lord Bellamont to assume the government of New-York, he, with large treasures, came into Long Island Sound; and, after burying them on Gardiner's Island, beneath a certain triangular rock which, it is said, seventy of his men rolled upon the spot, he came through Hell Gate into East River, where he anchored. As he sailed past her rock the witch recognised him, though she had not seen him since they separated at Hurtel's Tower, and at midnight paid him a visit in her skiff. She recovered her former influence over him, crime, as it ever does, having made him superstitious. From her he learned that the Earl of Bellamont was to succeed Governor Fletcher, and that his daughter would probably accompany him to America. Probing his feelings in relation to her, she discovered that he was still attached to her; and to her joy she found, on feeling his moral pulse, that she had less to fear than on a former occasion. From the moment Lester had cast away his title and fled the country, she had given her whole mind to one single object, if she should ever again meet him: viz., to bring about his restoration to his title and estates. She rightly calculated that time and the lawless school in which he had placed himself would lead to a revolution in his feelings. She now found him ripe for her purpose. Learning from him that he was bound on a cruise to intercept a fleet from Barbadoes, and was to sail the following day, by his return she expected, as it turned out, that the Earl of Bellamont would have reached his new government. Therefore, before she left his cabin, she drew from him a promise that he would visit her at her hut the ensuing night; and there, amid the solemnities of her art, take the oath to lay claim to the title of Lester, and woo for the hand of the heiress of Bellamont: in fine, resume the position, notwithstanding all that had passed in the long interim, that he had held before the fatal field of archery at Castle Cor. Ere the next night, however, two frigates from Newport, learning his presence in the waters of Long Island, appeared in sight sailing up the Sound, when, weighing anchor, he sailed down the East River, passed boldly between Brooklyn and the town, exchanged shots with the Rondeel, and, steering down the bay, put to sea. His second appearance, and the events that followed it up to the time when he is approaching the Witch's Island, have already been narrated.
"Give way, men—pull for your lives!" shouted the coxswain, as at length they entered the boiling waters of Hell Gate.
With great exertion and skill, the tide now setting strongly through the gut, they avoided the dangers that beset them on every side, and at length reached the island. Giving orders for his men to remain in the boat and preserve silence, Kyd stepped on shore in a secluded cove at the western extremity of the island most remote from the abode of the sorceress. He passed through a dark ravine, that led with many a rugged step to the top, and, looking round as he reached it, at length discovered the hut he sought. It was calculated, combined with the roar of the sea and the lateness of the hour, and a knowledge of the fearful character of the occupant and of his own evil purposes in seeking it, to affect his mind with gloom and superstitious fears. He cautiously, and not without superstitious awe, approached the door and struck it with the hilt of his sword.
He was answered by the deep growl of the bloodhound, and the moment afterward the sorceress chanted, in a wild, supernatural strain, an Irish weird hymn, the only part of which he could comprehend were the last two lines:
"Enter, mortal, if thou bear Priest nor Bible, cross nor prayer!"
With his drawn sword held firmly in his grasp, he opened the door. Instantly the place was filled with a blue flame, by the light of which the various supernatural paraphernalia of the sorceress's abode were made visible with the most appalling distinctness, while sounds infernal and terrific assailed his ears. He stood a moment filled with alarm, and overpowered by what he saw and heard. The sorceress, clothed in a garment apparently of flame, covered with strange and unearthly figures, her features wrought up to a supernatural degree of excitement and wild enthusiasm, stood before the caldron in a commanding attitude, her hair dishevelled, her long white wand held towards the intruder, and every sinew of her arms and neck distinctly brought into light. A serpent was bound about her temples, and one was entwined around each of her naked arms, while a fourth encircled her waist. Beside her stood a spindle, with a crimson thread upon it. She fixed her eyes on his with an unearthly expression as she extended her wand towards him, and, in a voice that became a priestess of rites so unholy as she performed, addressed him:
"Welcome, mortal! I have waited for thee. Kneel."
"Wherefore?" he asked, as if addressing a supernatural being, his imagination affected by the circumstances and situation in which he was placed, and scarcely recognising, in the fearful appearance and aspect of the sorceress, her whom he had seen and conversed with but a few hours before. "Wherefore should I kneel?"
"To swear."
"The oath?"