"Aroint thee! no spells! I be a good Christian.
Ask my man Tom, else."
"Nay, but this is white magic," said Dick. "It doth naught with
the devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets."
"Ay, ay," said Pirret; "'tis but white magic, gossip. There is no
sin therein, I do assure you. But proceed, good youth. This
spell--in what should it consist?"
"Nay, that I will incontinently show you," answered Dick. "Have ye
there the ring ye took from my finger? Good! Now hold it forth
before you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm's-length, and
over against the shining of these embers. 'Tis so exactly. Thus,
then, is the spell."
With a haggard glance, Dick saw the coast was clear between him and
the door. He put up an internal prayer. Then whipping forth his
arm, he made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant,
levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman Tom.
He, poor soul, went down bawling under the ruins; and before
Arblaster understood that anything was wrong, or Pirret could
collect his dazzled wits, Dick had run to the door and escaped into
the moonlit night.
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