"You are mistaken, dear Dorothy. She means you no harm," said Richard.
"Heaven knows how much I grieve for her, and how fondly I love her!" exclaimed Alizon, tearfully.
"It is false!" cried Dorothy. "She will tell a different tale when you are gone. She is a witch, and you shall never marry her, Richard—never!—never!"
Mistress Nutter, who stood at a little distance, anxiously observing what was passing, waved her hand several times towards the sufferer, but without effect.
"I have no influence over her," she muttered. "She is really bewitched. I must find other means to quieten her."
Though both greatly distressed, Alizon and Richard redoubled their attentions to the poor sufferer. For a few moments she remained quiet, but with her eyes constantly fixed on Alizon, and then said, quickly and fiercely, "I have been told, if you scratch one who has bewitched you till you draw blood, you will be cured. I will plunge my nails in her flesh."
"I will not oppose you," replied Alizon, gently; "tear my flesh if you will. You should have my life's blood if it would cure you; but if the success of the experiment depends on my having bewitched you, it will assuredly fail."
"This is dreadful," interposed Richard. "Leave her, Alizon, I entreat of you. She will do you an injury."
"I care not," replied the young maid. "I will stay by her till she voluntarily releases me."
The almost tigress fury with which Dorothy had seized upon the unresisting girl here suddenly deserted her, and, sobbing hysterically, she fell upon her neck. Oh, with what delight Alizon pressed her to her bosom!