Janet hesitated, but the old woman took up her crutch-handled stick and struck the floor imperiously, with the result that the girl took the seat, and Mother Goodhugh drew a rough circle round her as she stood behind the stool.
“I want to go back now; I must go back now,” said the girl, with trembling voice.
“Thou canst not go now until the spell is off,” whispered Mother Goodhugh, as she thrust her hand into a capacious pocket and took out a ball of glass, lined inside with some white metal, which gave it the appearance of a convex mirror.
“Shall I see anything very dreadful, and will it pook me?” faltered the girl.
“I hope not, but I cannot promise,” said Mother Goodhugh. “Sit quite still, and if anything dreadful comes I will answer for it that thou be not hurt much.”
Janet’s heart throbbed as she saw the old woman come before her and go down upon her knees, her face convulsed, and lips moving rapidly; then, holding the glass in both hands, her brow puckered as she gazed straight into it.
“What be this I see?” she cried in a hoarse voice; “a dark, tall, sun-browned man with pointed beard, half soldier, half sailor, who looks upon thee with eyes full of scorn.”
“Has he dark grey eyes, mother?” whispered Janet, in an awe-stricken voice.
“Ay, child, and a dashing, roving look.”
“It be Culverin Carr,” muttered the girl, pressing her hand to her throbbing heart.