“Wait, dearie, wait,” whispered the old woman. “The wedding will never be.”
“But it takes place in four days!” cried Anne. “Sir Mark actually dared to come over and tell my father.”
“And he told thee, dearie?”
“Nay, he told my mother, and she told me.”
“Four days,” said the old woman trembling; “four days. The time be short, but it will do. I tell thee the wedding will never be.”
“Can I believe thee this time, Mother Goodhugh?” cried the girl excitedly.
“Give me thy word as a lady, that I shall not be ill-treated by thy father and his people, and I swear to you the wedding shall never be.”
“There is my hand,” said Anne; and, as the old woman held it, there was a strange look on the girl’s face as she bent down and Mother Goodhugh whispered to her for a few minutes, after which she hurried from the cottage.
“And they call me witch, and think me ready to do any evil!” she muttered as she gazed after the girl; “while that young, fairly-formed creature has a heart full of devilry such as never entered mine. But it must be done—it must be done.”
She sat brooding over her cold hearth till evening: and then, as soon as it was dark, put on her cloak, took her stick, and walked cautiously to the Pool-house, where she succeeded in getting to the kitchen window unperceived, reaching in and touching Janet on the shoulder with her stick as she sat nodding near it in her chair.