“Nay, but thou would’st not be so cruel to one who has served thee so well.”
“Served me so well?” cried Anne, fiercely. “What have you done?”
“Tried to win thee lovers,” said Mother Goodhugh, whining.
“Ay, and Gilbert Carr treats me with scorn, and Sir Mark marries that thing—that creature, Mace Cobbe.”
“Nay,” cried the old woman, “it be not so.”
“But it is so,” cried Anne, “and I am scorned by both. I heard Sir Mark talking the wedding over with Master Peasegood, and it will be at the Pool.”
“Both scorned thee!” cried Mother Goodhugh, raising her hands; “and thou so beautiful to the eye, and I’ll warrant me so sweet to the touch. She be a powerful witch indeed.”
“Then I’ll denounce her for one!” cried Anne, passionately; and the old woman’s face lit up with glee, but became serious directly after, as she grew thoughtful.
“Nay, child, it would be in vain.”
“But this marriage shall not be.”