“Look here, dearie,” whispered the old woman, “don’t try to deceive me. I’m such a good friend, but such a bad enemy. You wouldn’t like to make me angry, and set me cursing and ill-wishing you.”
“N-no,” faltered Janet, who began to be horribly frightened of the penetrating eyes that seemed to read her inmost thoughts.
“No, of course you would not. How often dids’t say Mas’ Cobbe went down into the powder-cellar?”
“Only once a month,” said the girl, “when they’ve finished working.”
“Then he’ll be going down directly?”
“Oh, no; they finished there last week, and it will be three weeks, just,” faltered Janet.
“Dear me, will it?” said the old woman. “But, as I was saying, it would be so horrible if I cursed you, though it is not me, my dear, but something in me that does it. It be an evil spirit,” she whispered, “and I’ve known girls as handsome as you lose their round, red cheeks, and soft, smooth skin, and their eyes have grown sunken, and their foreheads wrinkled. It be very horrible, my dear, but I couldn’t help it.”
Janet tried to get up and go away, but her visitor’s fierce, sharp eyes seemed to hold her back in her seat, a fact which Mother Goodhugh well knew and rejoiced in.
It was the only pleasure the old woman had, and she felt at times like this how it recompensed her for the dread she felt of the stringent laws. A curious smile played round her thin lips, and Janet shuddered as the old woman leaned forward till her face was close to that of her victim.
“How is the love going on, dearie?” she whispered.