had set about casting devil’s balls, with an old upland hunter; devil’s balls, you understand, never miss; and because he failed in something that he should have done, the devil had handled him so roughly, that what must pay for it but his precious life?
“What was it then that he failed in,?” asked William falteringly: “is it always the devil that is at work in such dealings?”
“Why, who should it be?” rejoined the forester: “the devil, to be sure, who else? Some people I’ve heard talk of hidden powers of nature, and of the virtue of the stars. I know not: every man’s free to think what he likes: but it’s my opinion, and I stick to it, that it’s all the devil’s handicraft.”
William drew his breath more freely. “But did George not relate what it was that brought such rough treatment upon him?”
“Aye, sure enough, before the magistrates he confessed all. As it drew towards midnight, it seems, he had gone with the old hunter to a cross-road: there they made a circle with a bloody sword; and in this circle they laid a
