“I came not from Mistress Anne, good mother. It was from a talk with Master Peasegood that I came to-day.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” cried the old woman exultingly, “from Mas’ Peasegood, her friend. So I am to be sent away on a beggar’s pittance, and forego my revenge. She be a clever girl, but she can’t outwit me.”
“I understand not thy sayings, mother,” said the founder, wearily; “I only bid thee get hence, for the sake of thy poor dead husband and thy boy.”
The founder said the words in all kindness, but they transformed Mother Goodhugh into a perfect fury; her eyes flashed, the foam stood upon her lips, and, mouthing and gibbering in impotent rage, she pointed to the door.
“Go,” she shrieked at last, “and tell them who sent thee that Mother Goodhugh will stay in her place and defy them. Bid Mistress Anne have a care, and tell her that if Mother Goodhugh stands at the stake it will be back to back with the mincing, painting, and patching madam who came and bade her curse and destroy her rival at the Pool-house; who planned its destruction; who is a worse witch than I. Tell her all this, for I’ll stay and defy her. Bid her do her worst.”
“Silence, woman!” cried the founder, who gazed at her, horrified and startled at this outburst; “thou art mad.”
“Mad? Ay, mad, if thou wilt; but wait and see. Tell her I’ll stay—tell her I’ll stay and defy her. She don’t know Mother Goodhugh yet, Jeremiah Cobbe; so wait and see.”
“I shall not have long to wait, then,” said the founder, gloomily. “It is thy own fault, woman, and God forgive thee for thy cursing and thy lies.”
Mother Goodhugh had literally driven him from her room, to stand at the doorway fiercely gesticulating and threateningly waving her stick; but, as the founder spoke and drew back from her, a complete change came over the old woman: her eyes grew fixed, her jaw dropped, the stick fell from her hand, and she clung to the door-post, turning of a deadly white, for at that moment Sir Thomas Beckley, looking red, important, and accompanied by the village constable, a couple of assistants with a cart, and some dozen or two of the people, came slowly to the door.
The rustic constable held a document in his hand, which he tried to read to the woman, and dismally failed from want of erudition, even though prompted by Sir Thomas. He mumbled out, though, something about the heinous sin of witchcraft; and sovereign lord and King.