“Alone!”
“Nay, good Witch, most gentle, potent dame, I—though phantom accounted, I love not phantoms, and Thraxby Waste—”
“Come ye there—at midnight!”
“Why, then, good Witch, an come I must, suffer that I bring the valiant Fool and mighty Lob—prithee, now!”
At this the old Witch scowled and mumbled and crackled her finger-bones louder than ever.
“Oho!” cried she at last, “thou great child, afraid-o'-the-dark, bring these an ye will—but none other!”
“Good mother, I thank thee!”
“Tchak!” cried the Witch, and, struggling to her feet, hobbled to Jocelyn and laid bony finger on wrist and brow, nodded, mumbled, and so, bent on her staff, hobbled away; but, reaching the cave-mouth, she paused, and smote stick to earth fiercely.
“To-morrow!” she croaked. “Midnight! Re—member!”