"Avaunt thee, witch! wouldst worship Satan!"
"Since God helped me not: listen, Brian Fitz-Count. I, the weird woman of the haunted barrow, was once a Christian, and a nun."
"A nun!"
"Yea, and verily. A few of us had a little cell, a dozen were we in number, and we lived under the patronage—a poor reed to lean on we found it—of St. Etheldreda.[6] Now a stern Norman like thyself came into those parts after the conquest; he had relations abroad who 'served God' after another rule; he craved our little home for them; he drove us out to perish in the coldest winter I remember. The abbess, clinging to her home and refusing to go, was slain by the sword: two or three others died of cold; we sought shelter in vain, the distress was everywhere. I roamed hither—I was born at the village of Hendred below—my friends were dead and gone, my father had followed Thurkill of Kingestun, and been killed at Senlac. My mother, in consequence, had been turned out of doors by the new Norman lord, and none ever learned what became of her, my sweet mother! my brothers had become outlaws; my sisters—well, I need tell thee no more. I lost faith in the religion, in the name of which, and under the sanction of whose chief teacher, the old man who sits at Rome, the thing had been done. They say I went mad. I know I came here, and that the dead came and spoke with me, and I learned mysteries of which Christians dream not, yet which are true for good or ill."
"And by their aid thou hast summoned me here, but I marvel thou hast not perished as a witch amidst fire and faggot."
"They protect me!"
"Who are they?"
"Never mind; that is my secret."
"Thou didst tell me that if I came to-night I should see the long-expected signal to arm my merrie men, and do battle for our winsome ladie."
"Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war. Well, I told thee truly: the hour is nigh, wait and watch with me; fix thine eyes on the south."