ferent shapes and
sizes,--one specially bright patch of radiance illumining the stately
form, and strongly marked, though withered features of the elder woman,
whose eyes, deeply sunken in her head, glittered with a hawk-like and
evil lustre, as they rested on the prostrate figure before her. When she
spoke, her accents were harsh and commanding.

"How long?" she said, "how long must I wait? How long must I watch the
work of Satan in the land? The fields are barren and will not bring
forth; the curse of bitter poverty is upon us all: and only he, the
pagan Gueldmar, prospers and gathers in harvest, while all around him
starve! Do I not know the devil's work when I see it,--I, the chosen
servant of the Lord?" And she struck a tall staff she held violently
into the ground to emphasize her words. "Am I not left deserted in my
age? The child Britta,--sole daughter of my sole daughter,--is she not
stolen, and kept from me? Has not her heart been utterly turned away
from mine? All through that vile witch,--accursed of God and man! She it
is who casts the blight on our land; she it is who makes the hands and
hearts of our men heavy and careless, so that even luck has left the
fishing; and yet you hesitate,--you delay, you will not fulfill your
promise! I tell you, there are those in Bosekop who, at my bidding,
would cast her naked into the Fjord, leave her there, to sink or swim
according to her nature!"

"I know," murmured Ulrika humbly, raising herself slightly from her
kneeling posture; "I know it well! . . . . but, good Lovisa, be patient!
I work for the best! Mr. Dyceworthy will do more for us than we can do
for ourselves; he is wise and cautious--"

Lovisa interrupted her with a fierce gesture. "Fool!" she cried. "What
need of caution? A witch is a witch, burn her, drown her! There is no
other remedy! But two days since, the child of my neighbor Engla passed
her on the Fjord; and now the boy has sickened of some strange disease,
and 'tis said he will die. Again, the drove of cattle owned by Hildmar
Bjorn were herded home when she passed by. Now they are seized by the
murrain plague! Tell your good saint Dyceworthy these things; if he can
find no cure, _I_ can,--and _will_!"

Ulrika shuddered slightly as she rose from the ground and stood erect,
drawing her shawl closely about her.

"You hate her so much, Lovisa?" she asked, almost timidly.

Lovisa's face darkened, and her yellow, claw-like hand closed round her
st