and long fasting, the evil
possessor had been driven forth with howling and many cries from the
body which it had come to inhabit; he spoke of those strange New
England cases which had happened not so long before; of Mr. Defoe, who
had written a book, wherein he had named many modes of subduing
apparitions, and sending them back whence they came; and, lastly, he
spoke low of dreadful ways of compelling witches to undo their
witchcraft. But I could not endure to hear of those tortures and
burnings. I said that Bridget was rather a wild and savage woman than a
malignant witch; and, above all, that Lucy was of her kith and kin; and
that, in putting her to the trial, by water or by fire, we should be
torturing--it might be to the death--the ancestress of her we sought to
redeem.

My uncle thought awhile, and then said, that in this last matter I was
right--at any rate, it should not be tried, with his consent, till all
other modes of remedy had failed; and he assented to my proposal that I
should go myself and see Bridget, and tell her all.

In accordance with this, I went down once more to the wayside inn near
Coldholme. It was late at night when I arrived there; and, while I
supped, I inquired of the landlord more particulars as to Bridget's
ways. Solitary and savage had been her life for many years. Wild and
despotic were her words and manner to those few people who came across
her path. The country-folk did her imperious bidding, because they
feared to disobey. If they pleased her, they prospered; if, on the
contrary, they neglected or traversed her behests, misfortune, small or
great, fell on them and theirs. It was not detestation so much as an
indefinable terror that she excited.

In the morning I went to see her. She was standing on the green outside
her cottage, and received me with the sullen grandeur of a throneless
queen. I read in her face that she recognised me, and that I was not
unwelcome; but she stood silent till I had opened my errand.

'I have news of your daughter,' said I, resolved to speak straight to
all that I knew she felt of love, and not to spare her. 'She is dead!'

The stern figure scarcely trembled, but her hand sought the support of
the door-post.

'I knew that she was dead,' said she, deep and low, and then was silent
for an instant. 'My tears that should have flowed for her were burnt up
long years ago. Young man, tell me about her.'

'Not yet,' said I, having a strange power given