ABSTRACT
The next morning Lady Torrendale, who dearly loved what she called a little mystification, sent for Matilda early to her chamber, and accosted her with ‘How now my little gipsey witch, what have you been doing to cause such a hurly-burly in the middle region of the air! Lionhart swears the candles always burn blue when you are in the room, and I begin to believe it. Yet I warn you, despise not the counsel of a more excellent / witch than yourself; beware of the light wings of Miss Langrish’s eyes, dread the thunder-bolts of Miss Hautenville’s tongue, and as for the Mountain, take care it does not turn out a Vesuvius.’
