"I'll tell you what it is, Madge," said he, "there is more witchcraft in
this countercharm, whatever it is, than in all your skill. There must
be, as you say, some contrary influence at work. How else should it be
possible for me to fail every time, as if I were smitten with the palsy? Let us go out and see if anyone is lurking near the hut." So leaving the image on the table, he strode towards the opposite door,
which he opened wide, followed by the beldam. Not a moment was to be lost. The instant their backs were turned I
cautiously opened the window, and introducing my arm until it touched
the table beneath, I secured the image, re-closed the window
noiselessly, and flew as fast as my feet could carry me through the
pelting rain with the image under my shawl. I had hardly reached home, quite out of breath, when Claribel came
running to me, pale and trembling, and wringing her hands. "Oh! Molly, dear," she cried, sobbing, "what do you think has happened
to that poor young man John Archer?" "What is it?" I asked, anxiously. "Anything in connection with Richard
de Chevron?" "I cannot exactly say that," she replied. "It seems to have been purely
an accident. This is how it was. His gun suddenly burst in a most
unaccountable manner whilst he was carrying it over his arm, and carried
off one of his thumbs. No surgeon could be procured at the time, and the
wound appears to have gangrened and to have infected the whole arm. The
surgeon, who has only just arrived, says that it will be necessary to
remove the arm to save his life." "Not for worlds!" cried I, with animation. "I'll be responsible for his
life. There," said I, producing the waxen image and hastily withdrawing
the two pins still sticking in the arm of the figure, and which in my
hurry I had omitted to extract till now. "There, now the mortification
in the arm will have stopped. Send directly to the surgeon that the
operation will be no longer necessary. Nay, I will go myself." "What does all this mean?" asked Claribel, astonished beyond measure. "No matter now," I answered. "I am off at once. If you like you may come
with me; but first let me lock up this image in a place where it will
not be touched." So saying, I put on my bonnet and shawl again, and dragging Claribel
after me, we ran with all our might and main to the cottage where poor
John lay stretched on a pallet, the surgeon with his knife ready
sharpened for the operation, standing over him, about to commence. Another second would have been too late. "Hold your hand, doctor!" I cried, suddenly. "The mortification has
ceased, and the operation will be no longer necessary. I will be
answerable for this young man's life without his losing his arm." I spoke with an authority that completely astonished the doctor, for he
looked bewilderingly first at me and then at my friend; but at length
said, "I understand nothing of all this. I have been called here by this
young man's family to give my professional opinion, and I say that
unless he submits to lose his arm, his life will be endangered." "But the mortification has ceased. Would you amputate a limb without
necessity for so doing?" "Certainly not." "Well, then, look for yourself. Where is the mortification?" Here the surgeon glanced at the arm, and looked wondrous wise. "The mortification has ceased beyond a doubt," he said at length. "Well,
I never saw such a thing in all my life. What! am I dreaming," he
muttered. "I do not understand all this. How came you, Miss Molly,
to--to----"

"Hush!" said I. Then lowering my mouth to his ear, I whispered a few words, and put my
finger to my lip, to enjoin silence. The doctor arched his eyebrows till
they nearly touched the roots of his hair, screwed up his mouth to the
size of a buttonhole, and gave vent to a prolonged "wh-e-w!" He soon after left the house, and we were left alone for a while to
comfort the sufferer. During the few moments that we were left alone
together I recounted briefly the whole of my adventure. Both John and Claribel were completely thunder-struck at my recital, and
Claribel muttered half to herself and half to me, "And to think that it
should be Richard de Chevron, after all. I knew he was a villain." John speedily recovered. He had received no further injury than the loss
of his thumb. He often called at our house afterwards, and upon seeing
the waxen image immediately recognised it as a likeness of himself. It
being now beyond a doubt that Richard de Chevron, out of jealousy, had
conspired against the life of John Archer and being equally certain in
my own mind, from a knowledge of De Chevron's character, that he would
not let his victim slip so easily through his fingers, but, foiled in
his first attempt, would lose no time in employing some other means of
removing his rival from his path, I began to rack my brains in search of
some scheme to thwart the machinations of this villain. "What if he should make another waxed image, and shutting himself up in
his own house, carry out his infernal spells without interruption?" I
said to myself. If so, what could I do? John Archer should have our constant prayers; beyond this there was no
impediment to De Chevron's evil designs. The law would give us no
redress. I was very sure of that. Witchcraft had ceased to be believed
in, and the case would be dismissed. One thought, indeed, crossed my
mind for a moment, which I mentioned to Claribel, and this was to pay
back De Chevron in his own coin by converting the image of John Archer
into a likeness of De Chevron and experimenting upon the villain from
afar in the same manner as he had designed to practise against John
Archer. It was but a momentary thought and a sinful, and the proposal was
rejected by Claribel instantly and with horror. "Should we," said she, "put ourselves on a level with a murderous
villain, using against him the same unhallowed means that he himself had
not hesitated to use against his victim?" But besides the light in which my friend had put my proposition, there
was another argument against the scheme that perhaps had more weight
with me. In order to change the image from the likeness of John Archer
into a likeness of De Chevron it would be necessary to destroy the image
altogether first, and this, for what I knew, might put John Archer's
life in peril. This last argument decided me, and I resolved to guard
the image as jealously as possible, and to proceed against De Chevron by
natural means solely. An idea flashed across me that there might be some
countercharm against evil spells if we could only find it out. Indeed, I
remembered to have heard that there was, and musing thus within myself,
I suddenly recollected to have heard a couplet in my childhood that ran
thus:

    "Vervain and Dill
    Keep witches from their will." These two herbs, then, were countercharms.