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. "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?"