The distracted creature pointed to a bundle, which she had previously deposited at the foot of the gallows. In the bundle was the form of a male child, lately dead.
“Dead too, like its father,” said the witch. “How did it die?”
“It died of want and of grief. Grief poisoned my milk, and the child drank of it and died.”
“Does anyone know ’tis dead?”
“No one but me—its mother.”
The witch looked intently at the eyes of the mother, as though she would read her very soul.
“And thou would’st have revenge?” she asked at length.
“Would I not,” answered the woman; “Oh, would I not. ’Tis all I live for now. Give me vengeance and I will become thy slave.”
“Then listen to me.” And the hag whispered something in the ears of her young companion which appeared to satisfy her, for in a little while the two left the gibbet, carrying the dead child in a bundle between them.
The next day, one who passed the gibbet noticed that the corpse hanging thereon had only one hand.