'No, dear, no—she's not—she's gone, my dear, indeed she's gone,' replied Mrs. Mack, herself very much appalled.
'Oh! is she gone—is she—is she gone?' cried Mrs. Nutter, staring all round the room, like a child after a frightful dream.
'She's gone, Ma'am, dear—she isn't here—by this crass, she's gone!' said Betty, assisting Mrs. Mack, and equally frightened and incensed.
'Oh! oh! Betty, where is he gone? Oh! Mrs. Mack—oh! no—no—never! It can't be—it couldn't. It is not he—he never did it.'
'I declare to you, Ma'am, she's not right in her head!' cried poor Betty, at her wits' ends.
'There—there now, Sally, darling—there,' said frightened Mrs. Mack, patting her on the back.
'There—there—there—I see him,' she cried again. 'Oh! Charley,—Charley, sure—sure I didn't see it aright—it was not real.'
'There now, don't be frettin' yourself, Ma'am dear,' said Betty.
But Mrs. Mack glanced over her shoulder in the direction in which Mrs. Nutter was looking, and with a sort of shock, not knowing whether it was a bodily presence or a simulacrum raised by the incantations of Mary Matchwell, she beheld the dark features and white eye-balls of Nutter himself looking full on them from the open door.
'Sally—what ails you, sweetheart?' said he, coming close up to her with two swift steps.