The Poor Clare

cottage, she barred herselfin, and left us without.

  All our endeavours were now directed to get Lucy back to the house whereshe had tarried the night before. Mistress Clarke told me that, nothearing from me (some letter must have miscarried), she had grownimpatient and despairing, and had urged Lucy to the enterprise of comingto seek her grandmother; not telling her, indeed, of the dread reputationshe possessed, or how we suspected her of having so fearfully blightedthat innocent girl; but, at the same time, hoping much from themysterious stirring of blood, which Mistress Clarke trusted in for theremoval of the curse. They had come, by a different route from thatwhich I had taken, to a village inn not far from Coldholme, only thenight before. This was the first interview between ancestress anddescendant.

  All through the sultry noon I wandered along the tangled brush-wood ofthe old neglected forest, thinking where to turn for remedy in a matterso complicated and mysterious. Meeting a countryman, I asked my way tothe nearest clergyman, and went, hoping to obtain some counsel from him.But he proved to be a coarse and common-minded man, giving no time orattention to the intricacies of a case, but dashing out a strong opinioninvolving immediate action. For instance, as soon as I named BridgetFitzgerald, he exclaimed:—

  “The Coldholme witch! the Irish papist! I’d have had her ducked longsince but for that other papist, Sir Philip Tempest. He has had tothreaten honest folk about here over and over again, or they’d have hadher up before the justices for her black doings. And it’s the law of theland that witches should be burnt! Ay, and of Scripture, too, sir! Yetyou see a papist, if he’s a rich squire, can overrule both law andScripture. I’d carry a faggot myself to rid the country of her!”

  Such a one could give me no help. I rather drew back what I had alreadysaid; and tried to make the parson forget it, by treating him to severalpots of beer, in the village inn, to which we had adjourned for ourconference at his suggestion. I left him as soon as I could, andreturned to Coldholme, shaping my way past deserted Starkey Manor-house,and coming upon it by the back. At that side were the oblong remains ofthe old moat, the waters of which lay placid and motionless under thecrimson rays of the setting sun; with the forest-trees lying straightalong each side, and their deep-green foliage mirrored to blackness inthe burnished surface of the moat below—and the broken sun-dial at theend nearest the hall—and the heron, standing on one leg at the water’sedge, lazily looking down for fish—the lonely and desolate house scarceneeded the broken windows, the weeds on the door-sill, the broken shuttersoftly flapping to and fro in the twilight breeze, to fill up the pictureof desertion and decay. I lingered about the place until the growingdarkness warned me on. And then I passed along the path, cut by theorders of the last lady of Starkey Manor-House, that led me to Bridget’scottage. I resolved at once to see her; and, in spite of closed doors—itmight be of resolved will—she should see me. So I knocked at her door,gently, loudly, fiercely. I shook it so vehemently that a length the oldhinges gave way, and with a crash it fell inwards, leaving me suddenlyface to face with Bridget—I, red, heated, agitated with my so longbaffled efforts—she, stiff as any stone, standing right facing me, hereyes dilated with terror, her ashen lips trembling, but her bodymotionless. In her hands she held her crucifix, as if by that holysymbol she sought to oppose my entrance. At sight of me, her whole framerelaxed, and she sank back upon a chair. Some mighty tension had givenway. Still her eyes looked fearfully into the gloom of the outer air,made more opaque by the glimmer of the lamp inside, which she had placedbefore the picture of the Virgin.

  “Is she there?” asked Bridget, hoarsely.

  “No! Who? I am alone. You remember me.”

  “Yes,” replied she, still terror stricken. “But she—that creature—hasbeen looking in upon me through that window all day long. I closed it upwith my shawl; and then I saw her feet below the door, as long as it waslight, and I knew she heard my very breathing—nay, worse, my veryprayers; and I could not pray, for her listening choked the words erethey rose to my lips. Tell me, who is she?—what means that double girl Isaw this morning? One had a look of my dead Mary; but the other curdledmy blood, and yet it was the same!”

  She had taken hold of my arm, as if to secure herself some humancompanionship. She shook all over with the slight, never-ceasing tremorof intense terror. I told her my tale as I have told it you, sparingnone of the details.

  How Mistress Clarke had informed me that the resemblance had driven Lucyforth from her father’s house—how I had disbelieved, until, with mine owneyes, I had seen another Lucy standing behind my Lucy, the same in formand feature, but with the demon-soul looking out of the eyes. I told herall, I say, believing that she—whose curse was working so upon the lifeof her innocent grandchild—was the only person who could find the remedyand the redemption. When I had done, she sat silent for many minutes.

  “You love Mary’s child?” she asked.

  “I do, in spite of the fearful working of the curse—I love her. Yet Ishrink from her ever since that day on the moor-side. And men mustshrink from one so accompanied; friends and lovers must stand afar off.Oh, Bridget Fitzgerald! loosen the curse! Set her free!”

  “Where is she?”

  I eagerly caught at the idea that her presence was needed, in order that,by some strange prayer or exorcism, the spell might be reversed.

  “I will go and bring her to you,” I exclaimed. Bridget tightened herhold upon my arm.

  “Not so,” said she, in a low, hoarse voice. “It would kill me to see heragain as I saw her this morning. And I must live till I have worked mywork. Leave me!” said she, suddenly, and again taking up the cross. “Idefy the demon I have called up. Leave me to wrestle with it!”

  She stood up, as if in an ecstasy of inspiration, from which all fear wasbanished. I lingered—why I can hardly tell—until once more she bade mebegone. As I went along the forest way, I looked back, and saw herplanting the cross in the empty threshold, where the door had been.

  The next morning Lucy and I went to seek her, to bid her join her prayerswith ours. The cottage stood open and wide to our gaze. No human beingwas there: the cross remained on the threshold, but Bridget was gone.