The people in the church heard the voice, but no one knew who had spoken the words. The rector was indignant that the service should be interrupted and would have had the party, then and there, up before the gentlemen at the court if he could have found him. The supposition was that some jealous suitor had spoken, and the thing was soon forgotten by everyone but Duffy, or Lady Lovell, as we must now call her. She knew and was nigh to fainting had not the squire supported her with his sturdy arm. They were happy in their married life, for the squire loved his wife and Duffy had always a secret regard for him, but there was a dread in her mind that the words of the little man in black must soon come true. The year was nigh up and she had tried all plans to discover his name, but of little avail. She was nigh in despair when a person whom she had befriended relieved her of much of her anxiety. That person was old Betty of the mill, who was commonly supposed to be something of a witch. She carefully inquired of Lady Lovell when the squire went on his next hunting trip, and having ascertained the time to the very hour, she obtained from her a jack of the squire's best beer. That day the squire went hunting far from home and even at nightfall returned not to Lovell Hall. As the hours of nightfall came on, the dogs, one by one, came back all lathered in foam, but no Squire Lovell. At ten o'clock came the squire and he was visibly excited and seemed bubbling over with laughter. "Duffy," said he, "I have had as great a lark as I have ever had in my life. I hunted all day over all the moors and downs, Trove, Trevider, Lemorna and Brene, and didn't catch a thing. The mare was tired out and so was I, when up jumped as fine a hare as I had ever seen, from a hedge along the road-side. She was away and so were the dogs instantly, and I followed. What a chase! This way and that way she doubled, and at length entered the mouth of Fugoe's dark cave." In went the dogs and in follow'd I, water dripping, Mud flying, dogs yelping in full cry, Owls wheeling, bats flapping, the place was nigh sick'ning And black as the night, but the pace was now quickening, When a singular sight caught my eye. We had gone nigh a mile when the dogs turn'd to flight, For Alack! On the farthermost shore Of a lake was a light of a fire. What a sight! There was old Nick a-dancing with all his might With witches; there was more than a score. "And there was old Bet of the mill a-thumping and a-beating her crowd, giving music for the dance, and, as I live, by her side was my best jack of beer, and each time old Nick would come around he would take a drink. The old witches sang as they danced, "Here's to the devil, With wooden pick and shovel, Digging tin by the bushel With his tail cocked up."