it: even natural curiosity has forsaken thee. What is the matter?
VIOLET.
Nothing is the matter: tell me whatever you please, and I will listen to it. Were witches on the moor?
DUNGARREN.
Yes, witches were there, but that is not my story. There was a form seen on the moor most unlike any thing that could be evil. Thou art pale and disturbed; hast thou a guess of my meaning?
VIOLET.
The moor is wide, and benighted wanderers might be upon it of different forms and degrees.
DUNGARREN.
But none who could look like one, whom, nevertheless, 'tis said, it did resemble.
VIOLET (endeavouring to recover herself).
Nay, nay, Dungarren! do not amuse yourself with me: if the devil has power to assume what form he pleases, that will account for your story at once. If he has not, you have only to suppose that some silly girl, with her plaid over her head, was bewildered by the storm at her trysting place, and that will explain it sufficiently.
