It was the only place at hand, and had it not been for the excessive
inclemency of the weather, I might have thought twice before choosing
such a place of refuge, for this was the abode of Madge Mandrake as she
was called--a personage feared by all, far and wide, both young and old. She was renowned in the villages round about for her skill in telling
fortunes, in concocting drugs of every description, from love philtres
to the deadliest poisons, not less than for malice in bringing to pass
all sorts of trouble upon those who had had the misfortune to offend
her. If a cow died, it was Madge's doing; if the milk turned sour, or
the crops were blighted, Madge was accused of it; if a person died
suddenly, or an accident happened to anyone, Madge likewise had the
credit of it. Her dwelling, therefore, was shunned by all, and when she
ventured to walk abroad and to mix in crowded thoroughfares, she had but
to lift her crutch to send the whole populace flying helter-skelter, for
fear of being enchanted into unclean beasts, reptiles, and other
loathsome things. You may imagine then, gentlemen, my feelings; though naturally
courageous at finding myself obliged to seek shelter near the house of
so formidable a personage, I did my utmost to make no stir, so as not to
betray my whereabouts. There was a small window that looked from the cottage into the shed, but
so begrimed with dirt that I should not have been able to take a peep
into the house, had it not been for a pane of glass that was wanting. Through this I was enabled to see the interior of this unhallowed
dwelling without being perceived. Before I ventured to peep through it I
heard two voices conversing together. I held my breath, and listened. The former was the harsh, cracked voice
of the crone herself; the latter was evidently that of a man, and
appeared to belong to a person of culture, for the tones were soft and
modulated. I began to fancy I recognised them; nor was I mistaken, as
you shall hear soon. "Well, Master de Chevron, and how have you been progressing in your work
since I saw you last?" said the crone. "Satisfactorily enough for my purpose, my good Madge," replied the other
voice. "I have brought it with me for your approval." Here the speaker, whom I could now recognise as no other than Richard de
Chevron, drew from under his cloak something carefully wrapt up in
tissue paper. Having unwound the paper, he discovered a small statue of
a man, about a foot in height, apparently in wax. "Why, you have got it as like as could be!" exclaimed the crone. "Yes,
that is John Archer, sure enough; there is no mistaking him." My curiosity began to be roused, and Claribel's apprehensions for John's
safety rushed across my mind. Though I was not near to the figure, I
could see plainly that it was intended for a likeness of John Archer,
and that it carried a gun over one arm. The hag seized the image in one
hand with a sort of fiendish glee, and commenced mumbling some
inarticulate sounds. I trembled from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, for I had
heard of this way of working mischief on one's enemies from afar, and I
feared lest some dreadful harm should happen to poor John, so I offered
up a hasty prayer for his safety. "The charm is said," croaked the witch. "Now let the work begin." Here she set the image upright, and taking a long sharp pin she seemed
about to transfix the waxen image with it; but I noticed that her hand
trembled violently. I still continued to pray fervently, whereupon the
witch was seized with such a fit of sneezing and wheezing that she was
unable to proceed in her work. "Why, Madge," said De Chevron, "what is the matter? How have you managed
to catch such a cold all of a sudden?" "Odds blood! I know not," answered the beldam; "it is as if I was in
church." At the word "church" the wheezing came on again. "Ah! I see," said De Chevron; "It is the wind that is howling through
that broken pane of glass," and he pointed to the very pane through
which I was peeping. I thought my last hour was come, for I was sure to be discovered. However, I ducked down in a corner, whilst De Chevron stopped up the
missing pane with a filthy rag without even catching a sight of me. Rising again to my feet, I managed to open the little window the least
bit ajar, but just enough to see and hear all. My fright was so great
all this time that I had unwittingly slacked a little in my prayer, and
just at that moment Madge made a desperate plunge with the pin, which
appeared aimed at the heart of the image; but as I had now recommenced
my prayers, alas, somewhat too late, the pin missed its mark, but
pierced the barrel of the gun, which, together with the thumb of the
figure, fell upon the table. "Better next time, Madge," said De Chevron. "Try again." She made another essay, and then another, but missed the figure
altogether. "I am not as young as I was," she said, by way of apology, "and neither
my eyesight nor my hand are to be relied upon as of old." However, she aimed again and again at the figure, but with the same
result. "Why, you _are_ getting old, Madge!" said De Chevron, surprised at her
repeated failures. "Come, let me put the pins in." Seizing the image with one hand and a long pin with the other--(here
again my breath failed me through fear, and I omitted to pray)--he first
pierced the arm of the figure that supported the gun in one place, and
then in another higher up. He then took a third pin and seemed about to
pierce the image in the region of the heart, when I, now really alarmed
for the victim, again offered up a short and fervent prayer. De Chevron instantly dropped the pin, as if it had been red hot; but
immediately taking up another, he made a furious thrust at the body of
the image, but his hand went off widely from the mark, leaving the image
unscathed. "Why, how is this?" exclaimed De Chevron, in astonishment. "Ha! ha! Master de Chevron," laughed the witch, "you are no better than
old Madge after all." "Well, this _is_ strange!" muttered De Chevron to himself, after having
tried once or twice more and failed. "Are you quite sure you have repeated the charm aright, Madge?" "Quite sure," replied the crone; "but, beshrew me, if I don't think
there is some hostile element at hand that counteracts the charm. Just
look at the way Grimalkin arches his back and ruffles his fur." I now noticed a huge black tom cat, of a size that I never remember to
have seen before or since, whose luminous eyes flashed red and green by
turns from an obscure corner of the hovel. "There! there! _there_!" cried De Chevron, furiously, accompanying each
word with a thrust, but missing each time. Then, in his rage at being foiled thus, he raised the image in order to
dash it to the ground; but the wax having melted somewhat in his hand,
it stuck to his fingers like pitch, and he was obliged to disengage it
gently and place it on the small table just underneath the window
through which I was peeping.