CHAPTER EIGHT.
IN THE WHITE WITCH'S HUT.
"But all my years have seemed so long; And toil like mine is wondrous dreary; And every body thinks me strong: And I'm aweary."
M.A. Chaplin.
"Heigh-Ho! It's a weary life, Gib--a weary life!"
The words came from an old woman, and were addressed to a cat. Neitherof them was an attractive-looking object. The old woman was very old,having a face all over minute wrinkles, a pair of red eyes much sunken,and the semblance of a beard under her chin. The cat, a dark tabby,looked as if he had been in the wars, and had played his part valiantly.His coat, however, was less dilapidated than the old woman's garments,which seemed to be composed mainly of disconnected rags of all coloursand shapes. She sat on a three-legged stool, beside a tiny hearth, onwhich burned a small fire of sticks.
"Nobody cares for us, Gib: nobody! They call me a witch--the saintsknow why, save that I am old and poor. I never did hurt to any, andI've given good herb medicines to the women about; and if I do mutter afew outlandish words over them, what harm does it do? They meannothing; and they make the foolish girls fancy I know something morethan they do, and so I get a silver penny here, or a handful of eggsthere, and we make shift to live."
She spoke aloud, though in a low voice, as those often do who livealone; and the cat rose and rubbed himself against her, with a soft"Me-ew!"
"Well, Gib! Didst thou want to remind me that so long as thou artalive, I shall have one friend left? Poor puss!" and she stroked heruncomely companion.
"How the wind whistles! Well, it is cold to-night! There'll be nobodycoming now to consult the Wise Woman. We may as well lie down, Gib--it's the only warm place, bed is. Holy saints! what's that?"
She listened intently for a moment, and Gib, with erect tail, went tothe door and smelt under it. Then he looked back at his mistress, andsaid once more,--"Me-ew!"
"Somebody there, is there? A bit frightened, I shouldn't wonder. Comein, then--there's nought to fear,"--and she opened the crazy door of herhut. "Well, can't you come in--must I lift you up? Why, what--Mary,Mother!"
Half lifting, half dragging, for very little strength was left her, theold woman managed to pull her visitor inside. Then she bolted the door,and stooping down, with hands so gentle that they might have been aninfant's, softly drew away from a young scarred face the snow-saturatedhair.
"Ay, I see, my dear, I see! Don't you try to speak. I can guess whatyou are, and whence you come. I heard tell what had happened. Don'tyou stir, now, but just drink a drop of this warm mallow tea--the finestthing going for one in your condition. I can't give you raiment, forI've none for myself, but we'll see to-morrow if I can't get hold o'somewhat: you've not been used to wear rags. I'll have 'em, if I steal'em. Now, don't look at me so reproachful-like! well, then, I'll beg'em, if it worries you. Oh, you're safe here, my dear! you've no needto look round to see if no villains is a-coming after you. They'll notturn up in these quarters, take my word for it. Not one o' them wouldcome near the witch's hut after nightfall. But I'm no witch, mydearie--only a poor old woman as God and the blessed saints have quiteforgot, and folks are feared of me."
"The Lord never forgets," the parched lips tried to say.
"Don't He? Hasn't He forgot both you and me, now?"
"No--never!"
"Well, well, my dear! Lie still, and you shall tell me any thing youwill presently. Have another sup!--just one at once, and often--you'llsoon come round. I know some'at about herbs and such-like, if I knownought else. See, let me lay this bundle of straw under your head;isn't that more comfortable, now? Poor thing, now what are you a-cryingfor?--does your face pain you bad? I'll lay some herbs to it, and youwon't have so much as a scar there when they've done their work. Ay, Iknow some'at about herbs, I do! Deary me, for sure!--poor thing, poorthing!"
"The Lord bless you!"
"Child, you're the first that has blessed me these forty years! and Inever hear _that_ name. Folks take me for one of Sathanas' servants,and they never speak to me of--that Other. I reckon they fancy I shouldmount the broomstick and fly through the chimney, if they did. Eh me!--and time was I was a comely young maid--as young and well-favoured asyou, my dear: eh dear, dear, to think how long it is since! I would Icould pull you a bit nearer the fire; but I've spent all my strength--and that's nought much--in hauling of you in. But you're safe, at anyrate; and I'll cover you up with straw--I've got plenty of that, if Ihave not much else. Them villains, to use a young maid so!--or a wife,whichever you be. And they say I'm in league with the Devil! I nevergot so near him as they be."
"I am a maid."
"Well, and that's the best thing you can be. Don't you be in a hurry tochange it. Come, now, I'll set on that sup o' broth was given me at thegreen house; you'll be ready to drink it by it's hot. Well, now, it'slike old times and pleasant, having a bit o' company to speak to besideGib here. What's your name, now, I wonder?"
"Ermine."
"Ay, ay. Well, mine's Haldane--old Haldane, the Wise Woman--I'm knownall over Oxfordshire, and Berkshire too. Miles and miles they come toconsult me. Oh, don't look alarmed, my pretty bird! you sha'n't see oneof them if you don't like. There's a sliding screen behind here that Ican draw, and do by times, when I want to fright folks into behavingthemselves; I just draw it out, and speak from behind it, in a hollowvoice, and don't they go as white!--I'll make a cosy straw bed for youbehind it, and never a soul of 'em 'll dare to look in on you--no, notthe justice himself, trust me. I know 'em: Lords, and constables, andforesters, and officers--I can make every mother's son of 'em shiver inhis shoes, till you'd think he had the ague on him. But _you_ sha'n't,my dear: you're as safe as if the angels was rocking you. Maybe they'llwant to come with you: but they'll feel strange here. When you can talka bit without hurting of you, you shall tell me how you got here."
"I lost my way in the snow."
"Well, no wonder! Was there many of you?"
"About thirty."
"And all served like you?"
"Yes, except my brother: he was our leader, and they served him worse.I do not think the children were branded."
"Children!"
"Ay, there were eight children with us."
"One minds one's manners when one has the angels in company, or elsemaybe I should speak my mind a bit straight. And what was it for,child?"
"They said we were heretics."
"I'll be bound they did! But what had you done?"
"My brother and some others had preached the Gospel of Christ in thevillages round, and further away."
"What mean you by that, now?"
"The good news that men are sinners, and that Jesus died for sinners."
"Ah! I used to know all about that once. But now--He's forgotten me."
"No, never, never, Mother Haldane! It is thou who hast forgotten Him.He sent me to thee to-night to tell thee so."
"Gently now, my dear! Keep still. Don't you use up your bit ofstrength for a worthless old woman, no good to any body. There ain'tnobody in the world as cares for me, child. No, there ain't nobody!"
"Mother Haldane, I think Christ cared for you on His cross; and He caresfor you now in Heaven. He wanted somebody to come and tell you so; andnobody did, so he drove me here. You'll let me tell you all about it,won't you?"
"Softly, my dear--you'll harm yourself! Ay, you shall tell me any thingyou will, my snow-bird, when you're fit to do it; but you must rest awhile first."
There was no sleep that night for Mother Haldane. All the long winternight she sat beside Ermine, feeding her at short intervals, laying herherb poultices on the poor brow, covering up the chilled body from whichit seemed as if the shivering would never depart. More and more silentgrew the old woman as time went on, only now and then muttering acompassionate exclamation as she saw more clearly all the ill that hadbeen done. She kept up the fire all night, and made a straw bed, as shehad promised, behind the screen, where
the invalid would be shelteredfrom the draught, and yet warm, the fire being just on the other side ofthe screen. To this safe refuge Ermine was able to drag herself whenthe morning broke.
"You'll be a fine cure, dearie!" said the old woman, looking on her withsatisfaction. "You'll run like a hare yet, and be as rosy asRobin-run-by-the-hedge."
"I wonder why I am saved," said Ermine in a low voice. "I suppose allthe rest are with God now. I thought I should have been there too bythis time. Perhaps He has some work for me to do:--it may be that Hehas chosen you, and I am to tell you of His goodness and mercy."
"You shall tell any thing you want, dearie. You're just like a brightangel to old Mother Haldane. I'm nigh tired of seeing frightened faces.It's good to have one face that'll look at you quiet and kind; andnobody never did that these forty years. Where be your friends, mymaid? You'll want to go to them, of course, when you're fit tojourney."
"I have no friends but One," said the girl softly: "and He is with menow. I shall go to Him some day, when He has done His work in me and byme. As to other earthly friends, I would not harm the few I mightmention, by letting their names be linked with mine, and they would beafraid to own me. For my childhood's friends, _they_ are all over-sea.I have no friend save God and you."
When Ermine said, "He is with me now," the old woman had glanced roundas if afraid of seeing some unearthly presence. At the last sentenceshe rose--for she had been kneeling by the girl--with a shake of herhead, and went outside the screen, muttering to herself.
"Nobody but the snow-bird would ever link them two together! Folksthink I'm Sathanas' thrall."
She put more sticks on the fire, muttering while she did so.
"`Goodness and mercy!' Eh, deary me! There's not been much o' that forthe old witch. Folks are feared of even a white witch, and I ain't ablack 'un. Ay, feared enough. They'll give me things, for fear. Butnobody loves me--no, nobody loves me!"
With a vessel of hot broth in her hands, she came back to the nichebehind the screen.
"Now, my dearie, drink it up. I must leave you alone a while at after.I'm going out to beg a coverlet and a bit more victuals. You're notafeared to be left? There's no need, my dear--never a whit. The worstoutlaw in all the forest would as soon face the Devil himself as lookbehind this screen. But I'll lock you in if you like that better."
"As you will, Mother Haldane. The Lord will take care of me, in the wayHe sees best for me, and most for His glory."
"I'll lock you in. It'll not be so hard for Him then. Some'at new,bain't it, for the like o' me to think o' helping Him?"
Ermine answered only by a smile. Let the old woman learn to come nighto God, she thought, however imperfectly; other items could be put rightin time.
It was nearly three hours before Haldane returned, and she came so wellladen that she had some work to walk. A very old fur coverlet hung overher left arm, while on her right was a basket that had seen hard servicein its day.
"See you here, dearie!" she said, holding them up to the gaze of herguest. "Look you at all I've got for you. I didn't steal a bit of it--I saw from your face you wouldn't like things got that way. Here's afine happing of fur to keep you warm; and I've got a full dozen of eggsgiven me, and a beef-bone to make broth, and a poke o' meal: and theypromised me a cape at the green house, if I bring 'em some herbs theywant. We shall get along grandly, you'll see. I've picked up a finelot of chestnuts, too,--but them be for me; the other things be for you.I'll set the bone on this minute; it's got a goodly bit o' meat on it."
"You are very good to me, Mother Haldane. But you must take your shareof the good things."
"Never a whit, my dearie! I got 'em all for you. There, now!"
She spread the fur coverlet over Ermine, wrapping her closely in it, andstood a moment to enjoy the effect.
"Ain't that warm, now? Oh, I know where to go for good things! Trustthe Wise Woman for that! Can you sleep a while, my dear? Let me putyou on a fresh poultice, warm and comforting, and then you'll try, won'tyou? I'll not make no more noise than Gib here, without somebody comesin, and then it's as may be."
She made her poultice, and put it on, covered Ermine well, made up thefire, and took her seat on the form, just outside the screen, whileErmine tried to sleep. But sleep was coy, and would not visit thegirl's eyes. Her state of mind was strangely quiescent and acquiescentin all that was done to her or for her. Perhaps extreme weakness had ashare in this; but she felt as if sorrow and mourning were as far fromher as was active, tumultuous joy. Calm thankfulness and satisfactionwith God's will seemed to be the prevailing tone of her mind. Neithergrief for the past nor anxiety for the future had any place in it. Hersoul was as a weaned child.
As Haldane sat by the fire, and Ermine lay quiet but fully awake on theother side of the screen, a low tap came on the door.
"Enter!" said Haldane in a hollow voice, quite unlike the tone she usedto Ermine: for the Wise Woman was a ventriloquist, and could produceterrifying effects thereby.
The visitor proved to be a young woman, who brought a badly-sprainedwrist for cure. She was treated with an herb poultice, over which theold woman muttered an inaudible incantation; and having paid a bunch ofparsnips as her fee, she went away well satisfied. Next came a lame oldman, who received a bottle of lotion. The third applicant wanted acharm to make herself beautiful. She was desired to wash herself once aday in cold spring water, into which she was to put a pinch of a powderwith which the witch furnished her. While doing so, she was to saythree times over--
"Win in, white! Wend out, black! Bring to me that I do lack. Wend out, black! Win in, white! Sweet and seemly, fair to sight."
The young lady, whose appearance might certainly have been improved bydue application of soap and water, departed repeating her charmdiligently, having left behind her as payment a brace of rabbits.
A short time elapsing, before any fresh rap occurred, Haldane went tolook at her patient.
"Well, my dear, and how are you getting on? Not asleep, I see. Look atthem rabbits! I can make you broth enough now. Get my living this way,look you. And it's fair too, for I gives 'em good herbs. Fine cures Imake by times, I can tell you."
"I wondered what you gave the last," said Ermine.
The old woman set her arms akimbo and laughed.
"Eh, I get lots o' that sort. It's a good wash they want, both forhealth and comeliness; and I make 'em take it that way. The powder'snought--it's the wash does it, look you: but they'd never do it if Itold 'em so. Mum, now! there's another."
And dropping her voice to a whisper, Haldane emerged from the screen,and desired the applicant to enter.
It was a very handsome young woman who came in, on whose face theindulgence of evil passions--envy, jealousy, and anger--had left asstrong a mark as beauty. She crossed herself as she stepped over thethreshold.
"Have you a charm that will win hearts?" she asked.
"Whose heart do you desire to win?" was the reply.
"That of Wigan the son of Egglas."
"Has it strayed from you?"
"I have never had it. He loves Brichtiva, on the other side of thewood, and he will not look on me. I hate her. I want to beguile hisheart away from her."
"What has she done to you?"
"Done!" cried the girl, with a flash of her eyes. "Done! She is fairand sweet, and she has won Wigan's love. That is what she has done tome."
"And you love Wigan?"
"I care nothing for Wigan. I hate Brichtiva. I want to be revenged onher."
"I can do nothing for you," answered Haldane severely. "Revenge is thebusiness of the black witch, not the Wise Woman who deals in honestsimples and harmless charms. Go home and say thy prayers, Maiden, andsqueeze the black drop out of thine heart, that thou fall not into thepower of the Evil One. Depart!"
This interview quite satisfied Ermine that Haldane was no genuine witchof the black order. However dubious her principles might be in somer
espects, she had evidently distinct notions of right and wrong, andwould not do what she held wicked for gain.
Other applicants came at intervals through the day. There were manywith burns, scalds, sprains, or bruises, nearly all of which Haldanetreated with herbal poultices, or lotions; some with inward pain, towhom she gave bottles of herbal drinks. Some wanted charms for allmanner of purposes--to make a horse go, induce plants to grow, take offa spell, or keep a lover true. A few asked to have their fortunes told,and wonderful adventures were devised for them. After all the rest,when it began to grow dusk, came a man muffled up about the face, andevidently desirous to remain unknown.
The White Witch rested her hands on the staff which she kept by her,partly for state and partly for support, and peered intently at thehalf-visible face of the new-comer.
"Have you a charm that will keep away evil dreams?" was the questionthat was asked in a harsh voice.
"It is needful," replied Haldane in that hollow voice, which seemed tobe her professional tone, "that I should know what has caused them."
"You a witch, and ask that?" was the sneering answer.
"I ask it for your own sake," said Haldane coldly. "Confession of sinis good for the soul."
"When I lack shriving, I will go to a priest. Have you any such charm?"
"Answer my question, and you shall have an answer to yours."
The visitor hesitated. He was evidently unwilling to confess.
"You need not seek to hide from me," resumed Haldane, "that the wrongyou hold back from confessing is a deed of blood. The only hope for youis to speak openly."
The Silence continued unbroken for a moment, during which the man seemedto be passing through a mental conflict. At length he said, in a hoarsewhisper--
"I never cared for such things before. I have done it many a time,--notjust this, but things that were quite as--well, bad, if you will. Theynever haunted me as this does. But they were men, and these--Get rid ofthe faces for me! I must get rid of those terrible faces."
"If your confession is to be of any avail to you, it must be complete,"said Haldane gravely. "Of whose faces do you wish to be rid?"
"It's a woman and a child," said the man, his voice sinking lower everytime he spoke, yet it had a kind of angry ring in it, as if he appealedindignantly against some injustice. "There were several more, and whyshould these torment me? Nay, why should they haunt _me_ at all? Ionly did my duty. There be other folks they should go to--them thatmake such deeds duty. I'm not to blame--but I can't get rid of thosefaces! Take them away, and I'll give you silver--gold--only take themaway!"
The probable solution of the puzzle struck Haldane as she sat there,looking earnestly into the agitated features of her visitor.
"You must confess all," she said, "the names and every thing you know.I go to mix a potion which may help you. Bethink you, till I comeagain, of all the details of your sin, that you may speak honestly andopenly thereof."
And she passed behind the screen. One glance at the white face of thegirl lying there told Haldane that her guess was true. She knelt down,and set her lips close to Ermine's ear.
"You know the voice," she whispered shortly. "Who is he?"
"The Bishop's sumner, who arrested us."
"And helped to thrust you forth at the gate?"
Ermine bowed her head. Haldane rose, and quickly mixing in a cup alittle of two strong decoctions of bitter herbs, she returned to hervisitor.
"Drink that," she said, holding out the cup, and as he swallowed thebitter mixture, she muttered--
"Evil eye be stricken blind! Cords about thy heart unwind! Tell the truth, and shame the fiend!"
The sumner set down the cup with a wry face.
"Mother, I will confess all save the names, which I know not. I amsumner of my Lord of Lincoln, and I took these German heretics fourmonths gone, and bound them, and cast them into my Lord's prison. Andon Sunday, when they were tried, I guarded them through the town, andthrust them out of the East Gate. Did I do any more than my duty?There were women and little children among them, and they went toperish. They must all be dead by now, methinks, for no man would dareto have compassion on them, and the bitter cold would soon kill men soweak already with hunger. Yet they were heretics, accursed of God andmen: but their faces were like the faces of the angels that are inHeaven. Two of those faces--a mother and a little child--will neveraway from me. I know not why nor how, but they made me think of anotherwinter night, when there was no room for our Lady and her holy Childamong men on earth. Oh take away those faces! I can bear no more."
"Did they look angrily at thee?"
"Angry! I tell you they were like the angels. I was pushing them outat the gate--I never thought of any thing but getting rid of heretics--when she turned, and the child looked up on me--such a look! I shallbehold it till I die, if you cannot rid me of it."
"My power extends not to angels," replied Haldane.
"Can you do nought for me, then?" he asked in hopeless accents. "Must Ifeel for ever as Herod the King felt, when he had destroyed the holyinnocents? I am not worse than others--why should they torture me?"
"Punishment must always follow sin."
"Sin! Is it any sin to punish a heretic? Father Dolfin saith it is ashining merit, because they are God's enemies, and destroy men's souls.I have not sinned. It must be Satan that torments me thus; it can onlybe he, since he is the father of heretics, and they go straight to him.Can't you buy him off? I 'll give you any gold to get rid of thosefaces! Save me from them if you can!"
"I cannot. I have no power in such a case as thine. Get thee to thepriest and shrive thee, thou miserable sinner, for thy help must comefrom Heaven and not from earth."
"The priest! _Shrive_ me for obeying the Bishop, and bringing doom uponthe heretics! Nay, witch!--art thou so far gone down the black roadthat thou reckonest such good works to be sins?"
And the sumner laughed bitterly.
"It is thy confession of sin wherewith I deal," answered Haldanesternly. "It is thy conscience, not mine, whereon it lieth heavy. Whois it that goeth down the black road--the man that cannot rest for thehaunting of dead faces, or the poor, harmless, old woman, that bade himseek peace from the Church of God?"
"The Church would never set that matter right," said the sumner, halfsullenly, as he rose to depart.
"Then there is but one other hope for thee," said a clear low voice fromsome unseen place: "get thee to Him who is the very Head of the Churchof God, and who died for thee and for all Christian men."
The sumner crossed himself several times over, not waiting for the endof one performance before he began another.
"Dame Mary, have mercy on us!" he cried; "was that an angel that spake?"
"An evil spirit would scarcely have given such holy counsel," gravelyresponded Haldane.
"Never expected to hear angels speak in a witch's hut!" said theastonished sumner. "Pray you, my Lord Angel--or my Lady Angela, if sobe--for your holy intercession for a poor sinner."
"Better shalt thou have," replied the voice, "if thou wilt humbly restthy trust on Christ our Lord, and seek His intercession."
"You see well," added Haldane, "that I am no evil thing, else would goodspirits not visit me."
The humbled sumner laid two silver pennies in her hand, and left the hutwith some new ideas in his head.
"Well, my dear, you've a brave heart!" said Haldane, when the sound ofhis footsteps had died away. "I marvel you dared speak. It is well hetook you for an angel; but suppose he had not, and had come round thescreen to see? When I told you the worst outlaw in the forest would notdare to look in on you, I was not speaking of _them_. They stick atnothing, commonly."
"If he had," said Ermine quietly, "the Lord would have known how toprotect me. Was I to leave a troubled soul with the blessed truthuntold, because harm to my earthly life might arise thereby?"
"But, my dear, you don't think he'll be the better?"
 
; "If he be not, the guilt will not rest on my head."
The dark deepened, and the visitors seemed to have done coming. Haldanecooked a rabbit for supper for herself and Ermine, not forgetting Gib.She had bolted the door for the night, and was fastening the woodenshutter which served for a window, when a single tap on the doorannounced a late applicant for her services. Haldane opened the tinywicket, which enabled her to speak without further unbarring when shefound it convenient.
"Folks should come in the day," she said.
"Didn't dare!" answered a low whisper, apparently in the voice of ayoung man. "Can you find lost things?"
"That depends on the planets," replied Haldane mysteriously.
"But can't you rule the planets?"
"No; they rule me, and you too. However, come within, and I will seewhat I can do for you."
Unbarring the door, she admitted a muffled man, whose face was almostcovered by a woollen kerchief evidently arranged for that purpose.
"What have you lost?" asked the Wise Woman.
"The one I loved best," was the unexpected answer.
"Man, woman, or child?"
"A maiden, who went forth the morrow of Saint Lucian, by the East Gateof Oxford, on the Dorchester road. If you can, tell me if she beliving, and where to seek her."
Haldane made a pretence of scattering a powder on the dying embers ofher wood-fire. [Note 1.]
"The charm will work quicker," she said, "if I know the name of themaiden."
"Ermine."
Haldane professed to peer into the embers.
"She is a foreigner," she remarked.
"Ay, you have her."
"A maiden with fair hair, a pale soft face, blue eyes, and a clear,gentle voice."
"That's it!--where is she?"
"She is still alive."
"Thanks be to all the saints! Where must I go to find her?"
"The answer is, Stay where you are."
"Stay! I cannot stay. I must find and succour her."
"Does she return your affection?"
"That's more than I can say. I've never seen any reason to think so."
"But you love her?"
"I would have died for her!" said the young man, with an earnest ring inhis voice. "I have perilled my life, and the priests say, my soul. Allthis day have I been searching along the Dorchester way, and have foundevery one of them but two--her, and one other. I did my best, too, tosave her and hers before the blow fell."
"What would you do, if you found her?"
"Take her away to a safe place, if she would let me, and guard her thereat the risk of my life--at the cost, if need be."
"The maid whom you seek," said Haldane, after a further examination ofthe charred sticks on the hearth, "is a pious and devout maiden; hasyour life been hitherto fit to mate with such?"
"Whatever I have been," was the reply, "I would give her no cause forregret hereafter. A man who has suffered as I have has no mind left fortrifling. She should do what she would with me."
Haldane seemed to hesitate whether she should give further informationor not.
"Can't you trust me?" asked the young man sorrowfully. "I have done illdeeds in my life, but one thing I can say boldly,--I never yet told alie. Oh, tell me where to go, if my love yet lives? Can't you trustme?"
"I can," said a voice which was not Haldane's. "I can, Stephen."
Stephen stared round the hut as if the evidence of his ears were totallyuntrustworthy. Haldane touched him on the shoulder with a smile.
"Come!" she said.
The next minute Stephen was kneeling beside Ermine, covering her handwith kisses, and pouring upon her all the sweetest and softest epithetswhich could be uttered.
"They are all gone, sweet heart," he said, in answer to her earnestqueries. "And the priests may say what they will, but I believe theyare in Heaven."
"But that other, Stephen? You said, me and one other. One of the men,I suppose?"
"That other," said Stephen gently, "that other, dear, is Rudolph."
"What can have become of him?"
"He may have strayed, or run into some cottage. That I cannot find himmay mean that he is alive."
"Or that he died early enough to be buried," she said sadly.
"The good Lord would look to the child," said Haldane unexpectedly. "Heis either safe with Him, or He will tell you some day what has become ofHim."
"You're a queer witch!" said Stephen, looking at her with some surprise.
"I'm not a witch at all. I'm only a harmless old woman who deals inherbs and such like, but folks make me out worse than I am. And whenevery body looks on you as black, it's not so easy to keep white. Ifothers shrink from naming God to you, you get to be shy of it too. Menand women have more influence over each other than they think. Foryears and years I've felt as if my soul was locked up in the dark, andcould not get out: but this girl, that I took in because she neededbodily help, has given me better help than ever I gave her--she hasunlocked the door, and let the light in on my poor smothered soul. Now,young man, if you'll take an old woman's counsel--old women are mostlydespised, but they know a thing or two, for all that--you'll just letthe maid alone a while. She couldn't be safer than she is here; andshe'd best not venture forth of the doors till her hurts are healed, andthe noise and talk has died away. Do you love her well enough to denyyourself for her good? That's the test of real love, and there are notmany who will stand it."
"Tell me what you would have me do, and I'll see," answered Stephen witha smile.
"Can you stay away for a month or two?"
"Well, that's ill hearing. But I reckon I can, if it is to do any goodto Ermine."
"If you keep coming here," resumed the shrewd old woman, "folks willbegin to ask why. And if they find out why, it won't be good for you orErmine either. Go home and look after your usual business, and be aslike your usual self as you can. The talk will soon be silenced if nofuel be put to it. And don't tell your own mother what you have found."
"I've no temptation to do that," answered Stephen gravely. "My motherhas been under the mould this many a year."
"Well, beware of any friend who tries to ferret it out of you--ay, andof the friends who don't try. Sometimes they are the more treacherousof the two. Let me know where you live, and if you are wanted I willsend for you. Do you see this ball of grey wool? If any person putsthat into your hand, whenever and however, come here as quick as youcan. Till then, keep away."
"Good lack! But you won't keep me long away?"
"I shall think of her, not of you," replied Haldane shortly. "And themore you resent that, the less you love."
After a moment's struggle with his own thoughts, Stephen said, "You'reright, Mother. I'll stay away till you send for me."
"Those are the words of a true man," said Haldane, "if you have strengthto abide by them. Remember, the test of love is not sweet words, butself-sacrifice; and the test of truth is not bold words, but patientendurance."
"I'm not like to forget it. You bade me tell you where I live? I amone of the watchmen in the Castle of Oxford; but I am to be found mostdays from eleven to four on duty at the Osney Gate of the Castle. Only,I pray you to say to whomsoever you make your messenger, that mybrother's wife--he is porter at the chief portal--is not to be trusted.She has a tongue as long as the way from here to Oxford, and curiosityequal to our mother Eve's or greater. Put yon ball of wool in _her_hand, and she'd never take a wink of sleep till she knew all about it."
"I trust no man till I have seen him, and no woman till I have seenthrough her," said Haldane.
"Well, she's as easy to see through as a church window. Ermine knowsher. If you must needs trust any one, my cousin Derette is safe; she isin Saint John's anchorhold. But I'd rather not say too much of otherfolks."
"O Stephen, Mother Isel!"
"Aunt Isel would never mean you a bit of harm, dear heart, I know that.But she might let something out that she did not mean; and if a pair
ofsharp ears were in the way, it would be quite as well she had not thechance. She has carried a sore heart for you all these four months,Ermine; and she cried like a baby over your casting forth. But UncleManning and Haimet were as hard as stones. Flemild cried a little too,but not like Aunt Isel. As to Anania, nothing comes amiss to her thatcan be sown to come up talk. If an earthquake were to swallow one ofher children, I do believe she'd only think what a fine thing it was fora gossip."
"I hope she's not quite so bad as that, Stephen."
"Hope on, sweet heart, and farewell. Here's Mother Haldane on thorns toget rid of me--that I can see. Now, Mother, what shall I pay you foryour help, for right good it has been?"
Haldane laid her hand on Stephen's, which was beginning to unfasten hispurse--a bag carried on the left side, under the girdle.
"Pay me," she said, "in care for Ermine."
"There's plenty of that coin," answered Stephen, smiling, as he withdrewhis hand. "You'll look to your half of the bargain, Mother, and trustme to remember mine."
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Note 1. The ordinary fire at this time was of wood. Charcoal, thesuperior class of fuel, cost from 5 shillings to 10 shillings per ton(modern value from six to twelve guineas).