The girl started, and as her eyes fell upon the face of the visitor her lips parted to utter a cry, but the peculiar look on the old woman’s face seemed to fascinate her, and she sat back gazing at her as Mother Goodhugh climbed in at the casement, and stood by her side.
“Wh-what do you want?” faltered the girl.
“I’ve come to see thee, dearie,” said the old woman, smiling. “I want to know how you be getting on.”
“But you must not stay here!” cried Janet, making an effort to recover herself. “If master knew he would drive me hence.”
“Go and tell him, then, child,” said Mother Goodhugh mockingly. “Go and tell him that Mother Goodhugh has come to ask thee about thy love affairs, and the philtre she gave thee. What? You will not? He, he, he, he! What a strange girl you are.”
“But you must not stay!” cried Janet in alarm. “If you were found here master would never forgive me.”
“He is sitting smoking and drinking in his parlour, dearie, and never comes this way after dark.”
“Yes, yes, he does!” cried the girl; “he comes sometimes to go down to the powder-cellar with a lantern.”
“What, through that door?” said Mother Goodhugh, pointing.
“Nay, nay! That be the beer cellar. That be the way to the powder-cellar,” she said, pointing to a massive door, down a couple of steps. “That be the first door, and there be another farther on at the end of the passage.”