"Warn me—of what, mam?"
"A weary way, a woeful way for such old bones as Betty's!"
"Why then come sit ye and rest, mam. Come your ways to the arbour yonder." Moaning and muttering the old woman followed whither he led, but seeing how she stumbled he reached out his hand, keeping the other upon his small gold cross and so brought her into the hutch-like sentry-box. Down sat old Betty with a blissful sigh; but now, when he would have withdrawn his hand, her fingers closed upon it, gnarled and claw-like and, before he could prevent, she had stooped and touched it to her wrinkled cheek and brow.
"'Tis a strong hand, a kindly hand," she croaked, "'tis a sojer's hand—my boy was a sojer but they killed him when the world was young. I'm old, very old, and deaf they say—aha! But the old can see and the deaf can hear betimes, aha! Come, ope your hand, my dear, come ope your hand and let old Betty read. So, here's a big hand, a strong hand—now let us see what says the big, strong hand. Aha—here's death——"
"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant, starting. "You're something sudden mam, death is our common lot——"
"Death that creeps, my dear. Here's ill chances and good. Here's sorrow and joy. Here's love shall be a light i' the dark. But here's dangers, perils, night-lurkers and creepers i' the gloom. Death for you and shame for her."
"Ha—for her!" cried the Sergeant, his big hand clenching on the feeble, old fingers. "D'ye mean—Mrs. Agatha, mam?"
"No, no, my dear, no no!" answered old Betty, viewing his stern and anxious face with her quick bright eyes. "'Tis not her you love, no, no, 'tis one as loveth him ye serve. 'Tis one with a soul as sweet, as soft and white as her precious body, 'tis one as is my namesake, 'tis——"
"Sapperment!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "You never mean my lady Betty, my lady Carlyon——"
"Aye, aye my dear—'tis she!"