The beldame drew the girl toward the fire, where there lay near by a pile of rushes.
“Sit ye down here, lass, and rest,” she said, as she herself dropped in a heap upon the rushes.
“I—I want to go home,” whimpered Wynnette, in the tone of a frightened child.
“Nay, bairn, thou wants to hear the story of my lass, and none but I can tell it. Not yon woman up in the new castle, for she but repeats the lies she has been told, and she believes. None but I can tell the true story. Sit ye down, bairn, and hear.”
“But—it is so late—so late—I ought to go home,” said Wynnette, divided between curiosity and uneasiness.
“It is not late. It is not yet one hour past midnight; and thou art a brave bairn, and there be none to harm thee. Besides, I must tell thee the true story.”
Wynnette drew some of the rushes into a heap, and sat down upon them.
CHAPTER XLV
TOLD IN THE OLD HALL
“It was fifty years ago, my bairnie—fifty years ago. Earl Hardston ruled at Enderby. Distant cousin he was to yon present Earl Francis——What was that? Eh! nothing but the flap of the owl’s wing as it passed.
“Earl Hardston ruled at Enderby. A handsome devil he were. Tall, broad-shouldered, straight-backed, strong-limbed. His hair was black and glossy as the raven’s wing; his eyes were black and fiery as the hawk’s, and sometimes soft as the dove’s. Ah, a taking rascal he were.