“Terrible coorious!” she murmured in an audible aside. “No such thing as this ever happened afore, I should judge. What’s the day of the month?”
“Eighteen of December,” said John.
“Exacally so! An’ if—theer! Of all straange fallings-out!”
She gazed blankly at her guest until Timothy, despite his education at Blundell’s, grew a little uncomfortable.
“Well, well, what’s amiss, mother? Out with it for good or ill. What pitfall is waiting for me—an early marriage?”
“A maiden be waitin’ for ’e, Timothy Chave; an’ this very day—a grey-eyed young girl wi’ bright hair an’ cherry lips—this day—by picture an’ by crystal! She’m nearer than the coming snow—she’m at your elbow, man! Ess fay, first young woman as you see an’ speak with come the owl-light—her an’ none other will be your lifelong mate!”
“Merciful to me! ’Tis ’most owl-light now!” gasped John Aggett.
“By St. George, and the dragon too, I’m near my fate then! Up and off, John! I’ll see my bride before nightfall. Come on.”
The woman huddled up her cards, cleaned the table and poured the black liquid into the fire. Timothy was eager to be gone, and now took an abrupt leave of his soothsayer; while as for Gammer Gurney, she stood like one in a dream and regarded Tim with vacant eyes. It was her custom thus to appear elevated in the spirit after exercise of her remarkable gifts. So they left her at her cottage door and started for home at a good pace. The fresh air contributed much to blow superstition out of Timothy’s mind; but his companion continued taciturn and was evidently impressed by what he had seen and heard.
“She gave I goose-flesh down the spine, for all her outlandish fiery drink,” he said.