The Lancashire Witches (Historical Novel). William Harrison Ainsworth

since our uncle Robinson is so sure of his cause, it may be better to let this blustering knight be. Perchance, it is the certainty of failure that makes him so insensate.”

      “This is meant to blind me, but it shall not serve your turn, cautelous squire,” muttered Potts; “I caught enough of what fell just now from Sir Ralph to satisfy me that he hath strong misgivings. But it is best not to appear too secure.—Ah, Sir Ralph,” he added, coming forward, “I was right, you see, in my caution. I am a man of peace, and strive to prevent quarrels and bloodshed. Quarrel if you please—and unfortunately men are prone to anger—but always settle your disputes in a court of law; always in a court of law, Sir Ralph. That is the only arena where a sensible man should ever fight. Take good advice, fee your counsel well, and the chances are ten to one in your favour. That is what I say to my worthy and singular good client, Sir Thomas; but he is somewhat headstrong and vehement, and will not listen to me. He is for settling matters by the sword, for making forcible entries and detainers, and ousting the tenants in possession, whereby he would render himself liable to arrest, fine, ransom, and forfeiture; instead of proceeding cautiously and decorously as the law directs, and as I advise, Sir Ralph, by writ of ejectione firmæ or action of trespass, the which would assuredly establish his title, and restore him the house and lands. Or he may proceed by writ of right, which perhaps, in his case, considering the long absence of possession, and the doubts supposed to perplex the title—though I myself have no doubts about it—would be the most efficacious. These are your only true weapons, Sir Ralph—your writs of entry, assise, and right—your pleas of novel disseisin, post-disseisin, and re-disseisin—your remitters, your præcipes, your pones, and your recordari faciases. These are the sword, shield, and armour of proof of a wise man.”

      “Zounds! you take away one’s breath with this hail-storm of writs and pleas, master lawyer!” cried Nicholas. “But in one respect I am of your ‘worthy and singular good’ client’s, opinion, and would rather trust to my own hand for the defence of my property than to the law to keep it for me.”

      “Then you would do wrong, good Master Nicholas,” rejoined Potts, with a smile of supreme contempt; “for the law is the better guardian and the stronger adversary of the two, and so Sir Thomas will find if he takes my advice, and obtains, as he can and will do, a perfect title juris et seisinæ conjunctionem.”

      “Sir Thomas is still willing to refer the case to my arbitrament, I believe, sir?” demanded Sir Ralph, uneasily.

      “He was so, Sir Ralph,” rejoined Potts, “unless the assaults and batteries, with intent to do him grievous corporeal hurt, which he hath sustained from your relatives, have induced a change of mind in him. But as I premised, Sir Ralph, I am a man of peace, and willing to intermediate.”

      “Provided you get your fee, master lawyer,” observed Nicholas, sarcastically.

      “Certainly, I object not to the quiddam honorarium, Master Nicholas,” rejoined Potts; “and if my client hath the quid pro quo, and gaineth his point, he cannot complain.—But what is this? Some fresh disturbance!”

      “Something hath happened to the May Queen,” cried Nicholas.

      “I trust not,” said Sir Ralph, with real concern. “Ha! she has fainted. They are bringing her this way. Poor maid! what can have occasioned this sudden seizure?”

      “I think I could give a guess,” muttered Nicholas. “Better remove her to the Abbey,” he added aloud to the knight.

      “You are right,” said Sir Ralph. “Our cousin Dick is near her, I observe. He shall see her conveyed there at once.”

      At this moment Lady Assheton and Mrs. Nutter, with some of the other ladies, came up.

      “Just in time, Nell,” cried the knight. “Have you your smelling-bottle about you? The May Queen has fainted.”

      “Indeed!” exclaimed Lady Assheton, springing towards Alizon, who was now sustained by young Richard Assheton; the forester having surrendered her to him. “How has this happened?” she inquired, giving her to breathe at a small phial.

      “That I cannot tell you, cousin,” replied Richard Assheton, “unless from some sudden fright.”

      “That was it, Master Richard,” cried Robin Hood; “she cried out on hearing the clashing of swords just now, and, I think, pronounced your name, on finding you engaged with Sir Thomas, and immediately after turned pale, and would have fallen if I had not caught her.”

      “Ah, indeed!” exclaimed Lady Assheton, glancing at Richard, whose eyes fell before her inquiring gaze. “But see, she revives,” pursued the lady. “Let me support her head.”

      As she spoke Alizon opened her eyes, and perceiving Richard Assheton, who had relinquished her to his relative, standing beside her, she exclaimed, “Oh! you are safe! I feared”—And then she stopped, greatly embarrassed.

      “You feared he might be in danger from his fierce adversary,” supplied Lady Assheton; “but no. The conflict is happily over, and he is unhurt.”

      “I am glad of it,” said Alizon, earnestly.

      “She had better be taken to the Abbey,” remarked Sir Ralph, coming up.

      “Nay, she will be more at ease at home,” observed Lady Assheton with a significant look, which, however, failed in reaching her husband.

      “Yes, truly shall I, gracious lady,” replied Alizon, “far more so. I have given you trouble enough already.”

      “No trouble at all,” said Sir Ralph, kindly; “her ladyship is too happy to be of service in a case like this. Are you not, Nell? The faintness will pass off presently. But let her go to the Abbey at once, and remain there till the evening’s festivities, in which she takes part, commence. Give her your arm, Dick.”

      Sir Ralph’s word was law, and therefore Lady Assheton made no remonstrance. But she said quickly, “I will take care of her myself.”

      “I require no assistance, madam,” replied Alizon, “since Sir Ralph will have me go. Nay, you are too kind, too condescending,” she added, reluctantly taking Lady Assheton’s proffered arm.

      And in this way they proceeded slowly towards the Abbey, escorted by Richard Assheton, and attended by Mistress Braddyll and some others of the ladies.

      Amongst those who had watched the progress of the May Queen’s restoration with most interest was Mistress Nutter, though she had not interfered; and as Alizon departed with Lady Assheton, she observed to Nicholas, who was standing near,

      “Can this be the daughter of Elizabeth Device, and grand-daughter of—”

      “Your old Pendle witch, Mother Demdike,” supplied Nicholas; “the very same, I assure you, Mistress Nutter.”

      “She is wholly unlike the family,” observed the lady, “and her features resemble some I have seen before.”

      “She does not resemble her mother, undoubtedly,” replied Nicholas, “though what her grand-dame may have been some sixty years ago, when she was Alizon’s age, it would be difficult to say.—She is no beauty now.”

      “Those finely modelled features, that graceful figure, and those delicate hands, cannot surely belong to one lowly born and bred?” said Mistress Nutter.

      “They differ from the ordinary peasant mould, truly,” replied Nicholas. “If you ask me for the lineage of a steed, I can give a guess at it on sight of the animal, but as regards our own race I’m at fault, Mistress Nutter.”

      “I must question Elizabeth Device about her,” observed Alice. “Strange, I should never have seen her before, though I know the family so well.”

      “I wish you did not know Mother Demdike quite so well, Mistress Nutter,” remarked Nicholas—“a mischievous and malignant old witch, who deserves the tar barrel. The only marvel is, that she has not been burned long ago. I am of opinion, with many others, that it was she who bewitched