192 WHISPERS FROM FAIRVLAND. ftv.

 

 

Molly had sat listening with terror-stricken ears
to the whole of this song, marvelling greatly at the
whole proceeding. But the latter words changed the
whole current of her ideas, and, for a time at least,
banished terror from her soul. The idea of her hus-
band—her own brave John, who, whatever might be
his faults, had been her first and only love, and a’
faithful husband to her from their first days of mar-
riage—the idea, I say, of her own man being the
obedient slave of four old women—and such ugly old
women, too, into the bargain—left no room in her
mind for anything but rage and indignation. Spring-
ing from her seat by the window she hastened to the
door, unfastened it as quickly as she could, and rushed
frantically out on the beach, shouting as she did so
at the top of her voice, ‘John! John! I say, John!
Come to I directly! ’Tis your own Molly ! Come to
I, John, and drat them witches !’

Now in all. probability Mrs. Goodchild could not
possibly have selected a form of address better calcu-
lated to defeat its own object. Had she sallied forth
with good words in her mouth, or even a good book
in her hands, it is impossible to say what the result
might have been, or how the witches might have
been affected. But the use of the words she uttered,
disrespectful to the witches themselves, and scarcely
elegant or becoming in the mouth of a female, if
indeed in that of anybody else, was indeed but little
likely to have any influence over the evil powers of
magic. As soon as Molly had got outside the cottage
the fire on the beach seemed to go out at once, and

the darkness became more dense than ever, and she