Chapter 31 - Page 2

guilt of witchcraft.

Such was Aislie Gourlay, whom, in order to attain the absolute
subjugation of Lucy Ashton's mind, her mother thought it fitting to
place near her person. A woman of less consequence than Lady Ashton
had not dared to take such a step; but her high rank and strength of
character set her above the censure of the world, and she was allowed to
have selected for her daughter's attendant the best and most experienced
sick-nurse and "mediciner" in the neighbourhood, where an inferior
person would have fallen under the reproach of calling in the assistance
of a partner and ally of the great Enemy of mankind.

The beldam caught her cue readily and by innuendo, without giving
Lady Ashton the pain of distinct explanation. She was in many respects
qualified for the part she played, which indeed could not be efficiently
assumed without some knowledge of the human heart and passions. Dame
Gourlay perceived that Lucy shuddered at her external appearance, which
we have already described when we found her in the death-chamber of
blind Alice; and while internally she hated the poor girl for the
involuntary horror with which she saw she was regarded, she commenced
her operations by endeavouring to efface or overcome those prejudices
which, in her heart, she resented as mortal offences. This was easily
done, for the hag's external ugliness was soon balanced by a show of
kindness and interest, to which Lucy had of late been little accustomed;
her attentive services and real skill gained her the ear, if not the
confidence, of her patient; and under pretence of diverting the solitude
of a sick-room, she soon led her attention captive by the legends in
which she was well skilled, and to which Lucy's habit of reading and
reflection induced her to "lend an attentive ear." Dame Gourlay's tales
were at first of a mild and interesting character--

Of fays that nightly dance upon the wold,
And lovers doom'd to wander and to weep,
And castles high, where wicked wizards keep
Their captive thralls.

Gradually, however, they assumed a darker and more mysterious character,
and became such as, told by the midnight lamp, and enforced by the
tremulous tone, the quivering and livid lip, the uplifted skinny
forefinger, and the shaking head of the blue-eyed hag, might have
appalled a less credulous imagination in an age more hard of belief. The
old Sycorax saw her advantage, and gradually narrowed her magic circle
around the devoted victim on whose spirit she practised. Her legends
began to relate to the fortunes of the Ravenswood family, whose ancient
grandeur and portentous authority credulity had graced with so many
superstitious attributes. The story of the fatal fountain was narrated