The woman shuddered, and her dull eyes lit up with a sudden terror.
"It is the witch's charm!" she muttered thickly, while her pale face
grew yet paler. "Burn it, sir!--burn it, and the power will leave her."
Mr. Dyceworthy laughed indulgently. "My good woman, you mistake," he
said suavely. "Your zeal for the true gospel leads you into error. There
are thousands of misguided persons who worship such a thing as this. It
is often all of our dear Lord they know. Sad, very sad! But still,
though they, alas! are not of the elect, and are plainly doomed to
perdition,--they are not precisely what are termed witches, Ulrika."
"_She_ is," replied the woman with a sort of ferocity; "and, if I had my
way, I would tell her so to her face, and see what would happen to her
then!"
"Tut, tut!" remarked Mr. Dyceworthy amiably. "The days of witchcraft are
past. You show some little ignorance, Ulrika. You are not acquainted
with the great advancement of recent learning."
"Maybe, maybe," and Ulrika turned to go; but she muttered sullenly as
she went, "There be them that know and could tell, and them that will
have her yet.
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