It was midnight, and the skies were inky black; not a single star showed in the heavens, and there was no moon. A cold wind moaned down the gully, and swung the dead man in his chains so that the gibbet rocked and creaked. In the distant farms the timid country folk shivered in their beds, and as the wind shook the casements, they trembled the more, and told each other they could hear the clanking of the chains and the shrieking of the witches at Gallow’s Clough.
It was a night on which few would care to stir out of doors, but for all that there were those who set out through the eerie darkness to wend their way to the gibbet. When night had fallen, the dead man’s wife crept down from the hills and stood beneath the swaying form of her lifeless husband, and with a grim energy cast pebbles, and uttered shrill cries to scare away the birds that came to peck at the carrion that had once been man.
As she kept her vigil, she sang snatches of wild songs, and ever and anon talked to the dead man as though he could understand. It was clear that the woman’s grief had driven her mad.
Towards midnight she slackened in her exertions, and seated herself at the foot of the gibbet, contenting herself with fearful but intermittent screams to scare away the birds. But presently nature gave out, and she fell into a troubled slumber. She was awakened by the sensation that some other mortal was near, and with a wild cry she sprang to her feet to find herself confronted by an old hag who appeared to be sawing at the dead man’s wrist, as though to sever the hand from the arm.
“Malediction,” croaked the hag, “who art thou?”
“I am his wife,” answered the mad woman. “What dost thou want, witch?”
“Ah!” said the hag; “now I know thee. Thou hast need of help and friendship—I will be thy friend.”
“What dost thou here?” said the woman, unheeding the latter part of the sentence.
“I seek a dead man’s hand, and a dead man’s flesh. The hand I would dry and wither in the smoke of the fire, and it will point out the way by which my schemes may achieve success. Of the fat of the dead man I would make candles—witch-lights—and by their glimmer I shall see, and see, and see,—things and secrets that are hidden from mortal eyes.”