And always the old witch jabbered overhead, with her
cantrips, pointing, mumming, praying for the storm; while all above, the
sky was cloudless blue.
And always on the mound opposite, while darts and quarrels whistled round
her head, stood Torfrida, pointing with outstretched scornful finger at
the stragglers in the river, and chanting loudly, what the Frenchmen could
not tell; but it made their hearts, as it was meant to do, melt like wax
within them.
"They have a counter witch to yours, Ivo, it seems; and a fairer one. I am
afraid the devils, especially if Asmodeus be at hand, are more likely to
listen to her than to that old broomstick-rider aloft."
"Fair is, that fair cause has, Sir King."
"A good argument for honest men, but none for fiends. What is the fair
fiend pointing at so earnestly there?"
"Somewhat among the reeds. Hark to her now! She is singing, somewhat more
like an angel than a fiend, I will say for her."
And Torfrida's bold song, coming clear and sweet across the water, rose
louder and shriller till it almost drowned the jabbering of the witch.
"She sees more there than we do."
"I see it!" cried William, smiting his hand upon his thigh. "Par le
splendeur Dex! She has been showing them where to fire the reeds; and they
have done it!"
A puff of smoke; a wisp of flame; and then another and another; and a
canoe shot out from the reeds on the French shore, and glided into the
reeds of the island.
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