"But this is the worst of all—this is Mother Demdike," cried Mistress Nutter. "She would take your life. If we can but conceal ourselves for a short while, we are safe."
"I am too weak to move," said Alizon; "besides, I dare not trust you. I have been deceived already. You may be an evil spirit in the likeness of my mother."
"Oh! no, I am indeed your own—own mother," rejoined Mistress Nutter. "Ask this old woman if it is not so."
"She is a witch herself," replied Alizon. "I will not trust either of you. You are both in league with Mother Demdike."
"We are in league to save thee from her, foolish wench!" cried Mother Chattox, "but thy perverseness will defeat all our schemes."
"Since you will not fly, my child," cried Mistress Nutter, "kneel down, and pray earnestly for deliverance. Pray, while there is yet time."
As she spoke, a growl like thunder was heard in the air, and the earth trembled beneath their feet.
"Nay, now I am sure you are my mother!" cried Alizon, flinging herself into Mistress Nutter's arms; "and I will go with you."
But before they could move, several dusky figures were seen rushing towards them.
"Be on your guard!" cried Mother Chattox; "here comes old Demdike with her troop. I will aid you all I can."