then charmed them back again, as she pleased, only to bring her to
misfortune.

_Q_. Why, then, had old Lizzie bewitched her own cow, _item_, suffered her
own pig to die, if it was she that had made all the disturbance in the
village, and could really charm?

_R_. She did not know; but belike there was some one (and here she looked
at the Sheriff) who paid her double for it all.

_Q_. It was in vain that she sought to shift the guilt from off herself;
had she not bewitched old Paasch his crop, nay, even her own father's, and
caused it to be trodden down by the devil, _item_, conjured all the
caterpillars into her father's orchard?

_R_. The question was almost as monstrous as the deed would have been.
There sat her father, and his worship might ask him whether she ever had
shown herself an undutiful child to him. (Hereupon I would have risen to
speak, but _Dom. Consul_ suffered me not to open my mouth, but went on
with his examination; whereupon I remained silent and downcast.)

_Q_. Whether she did likewise deny that it was through her malice that the
woman Witthan had given birth to a devil's imp, which straight-way started
up and flew out at the window, so that when the midwife sought for it it
had disappeared?

_R_. Truly she did; and indeed she had all the days of her life done good
to the people instead of harm, for during the terrible famine she had
often taken the bread out of her own mouth to share it among the others,
especially the little children. To this the whole parish must needs bear