“Shall I hear it?” faltered Anne.
“Yes, for sure,” cried the old woman, imperiously. “Now close your eyes and obey me in all I say. If you do not, I will not answer for what may happen.”
“I—I’ll go back now. I am weary,” faltered Anne.
“Too late,” cried the old woman, clutching her hand tightly. “Shut your eyes. There, now not a word.”
Anne obeyed to the letter, and for fully half-an-hour felt herself half dragged up and down rugged ground, past masses of stone, and through bushes; and more than once her fears nearly made her open her eyes.
At last, when she could bear the suspense no longer, there was a pause, and Mother Goodhugh placed her hands upon her shoulders, pressed her down upon a block of stone, and whispered in her ear:—
“Keep your eyes close; do not speak or move, and you will hear his steps ere long, and he will speak to thee.”
“In the flesh?” whispered the girl, hoarsely.
“How can I tell in or out of the flesh, but he will come.”
“But who, Mother Goodhugh, who?” whispered the girl.