“Thou art right; it be thy young mistress; and see, the gallant tries to reach thee, and her hand be raised to strike, and—How strange!”
“What be it, mother?”
“The glass has grown dim, as if a black shadow had passed over it, and I can see no more. Try thou, my child.”
“Nay, nay, I dare not; it be too terrifying!” cried Janet, thrusting back the crystal.
“’Tis better not,” said the old woman. “It be dangerous at times. There, child, I can tell thee no more to-day.”
“But tell me, mother, what can I do? Pray give me your help.”
“Help, child! How can I help thee?”
“It be all so true,” whispered Janet. “He loves me, and she has come between us, and I hate her. What shall I do?”
“Does she love him?”
“I think so. I don’t know.”