A short time elapsing, before any fresh rap occurred, Haldane went to look at her patient.
“Well, my dear, and how are you getting on? Not asleep, I see. Look at them 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 I make 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 for health and comeliness; and I make ’em take it that way. The powder’s nought—it’s the wash does it, look you: but they’d never do it if I told ’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 the indulgence of evil passions—envy, jealousy, and anger—had left as strong a mark as beauty. She crossed herself as she stepped over the threshold.
“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.”