'I never could have conceived anything like it,' said he. 'I come across witch tales here, there, everywhere; and the marvellous thing is, some of the people really seem to believe them.'
The younger members of the Torrance family fixed their eyes upon him with apprehensive stare.
'You can't imagine anything more degrading,' continued the student, who came from afar.
'Degrading, of course.' Mr. Torrance sipped his tea hastily. 'The Cape Breton people are superstitious, I believe.'
An expression that might have betokened a new resolution appeared upon the fine face of the eldest daughter.
'We are Cape Breton people, father,' she said, with dignified reproach. 'I hope'—here a timid glance, as if imploring support—'I hope we know better than to place any real faith in these degrading superstitions.'
Howitt observed nothing but the fine face and the words that appeared to him natural.
Torrance looked at them both with the air of an honest man who was still made somewhat cowardly by new-fashioned propriety.
'I never put much o' my faith in these things myself,' he said at last in broad accents, 'still,'—an honest shake of the head—'there's queer things happens.'
'It is like going back to the Middle Ages'—Howitt was still impervious—'to hear some of these poor creatures talk. I never thought it would be my lot to come across anything so delightfully absurd.'