It is often all of our dear Lord they know.

Sad, very sad! But still, though they, alas! are not of the elect, and are plainly doomed to perdition,--they are not precisely what are termed witches, Ulrika." "_She_ is," replied the woman with a sort of ferocity; "and, if I had my way, I would tell her so to her face, and see what would happen to her then!" "Tut, tut!" remarked Mr.Dyceworthy amiably.

"The days of witchcraft are past.

You show some little ignorance, Ulrika.

You are not acquainted with the great advancement of recent learning." "Maybe, maybe," and Ulrika turned to go; but she muttered sullenly as she went, "There be them that know and could tell, and them that will have her yet." She shut the door behind her with a sharp clang, and, left to himself, Mr.Dyceworthy again smiled--such a benignant, fatherly smile! He then walked to the window and looked out.