“Callista a Christian!” answered Juba, “ha! ha! She and Agellius are going to make a match of it, of some sort or other. They’re thinking of other things than paradise.”

“She and the old priest, more likely, more likely,” said Gurta. “He’s in prison with her—in the pit, as I trust.”

“Your master has cheated you for once, old woman,” said Juba.

Gurta looked at him fiercely, and seemed waiting for his explanation. He began singing,—

“She wheedled and coaxed, but he was no fool;

He’d be his own master, he’d not be her tool;

Not the little black moor should send him to school.

“She foamed and she cursed—’twas the same thing to him;

She laid well her trap; but he carried his whim;—

The priest scuffled off, safe in life and in limb.”

Gurta was almost suffocated with passion. “Cyprianus has not escaped, boy?” she asked at length.

“I got him off,” said Juba, undauntedly.

A shade, as of Erebus, passed over the witch’s face; but she remained quite silent.

“Mother, I am my own master,” he continued, “I must break your assumption of superiority. I’m not a boy, though you call me so. I’ll have my own way. Yes, I saved Cyprianus. You’re a bloodthirsty old hag! Yes, I’ve seen your secret doings. Did not I catch you the other day, practising on that little child? You had nailed him up by hands and feet against the tree, and were cutting him to pieces at your leisure, as he quivered and shrieked the while. You were examining or using his liver for some of your black purposes. It’s not in my line; but you gloated over it; and when he wailed, you wailed in mimicry. You were panting with pleasure.”

Gurta was still silent, and had an expression on her face, awful from the intensity of its malignity. She had uttered a low piercing whistle.

“Yes!” continued Juba, “you revelled in it. You chattered to the poor babe when it screamed, as a nurse to an infant. You called it pretty names, and squeaked out your satisfaction each time you stuck it. You old hag! I’m not of your breed, though they call us of kin. I don’t fear you,” he said, observing the expression of her countenance, “I don’t fear the immortal devil!” And he continued his song—

“She beckoned the moon, and the moon came down;

The green earth shrivelled beneath her frown;

But a man’s strong will can keep his own.”