“I cannot say that I do,” he answered.
“Then you miss things that are worth knowing. There are all manners of folk about here from the Master of Holwick to miser Simson, from bullying Eleanor Mowbray to gentle Janet Arnside, and from tough, withered, bloodless old Elspeth to fresh tender morsels like Aline that dropped in the moat,” she said as she grinned, shewing her teeth, “and I know the fortunes of them all.”
The old woman was eyeing him keenly, but he managed to betray no particular interest.
He thought, however, that he had better move away lest she should ask him such questions that he would lose more than anything he would gain from talking to her. He was thankful she had not seen him go into the cave.
“I think I must be moving on,” he said.
“Will you not wait and hear your future told?”
“No, I thank you; that can bide.”
“It’s not good anyhow,” said old Moll with a vindictive light in her eyes, “it begins with heartache and goes on to worse.”
“Good night to you,” said Ian and started up the gully.