"And in danger, d'ye say? Can ye prove it, mam?"
"Come ye to-morrow t' my cottage at rise o' moon and I'll show ye a thing, ye shall see, ye shall hear. Bring him along o' you him—ssh!" The old woman's clutch tightened suddenly, her bowed figure grew more upright, and she stared wide of eye: "Come," she cried suddenly, in her shrillest tones, "you as do hearken—come! You in petticoats—aha, I can see, I can hear! Come forth, I summon ye!"
A moment's utter silence, then leaves rustled and Mrs. Agatha stood in the doorway, her eyes very bright, her cheeks more rosy than usual.
"Sergeant Tring," she demanded, "what doth the old beldam here?"
Old Betty seemed to cower beneath Mrs. Agatha's look, while the Sergeant fidgeted, muttered "Zounds" and was thereafter dumb. "'Tis an arrant scold and wicked witch," continued Mrs. Agatha, "and should to the brank, or the cucking-stool——"
"No, no!" cried the old woman, shivering and struggling to her feet. "Not again a God's love, mistress—not again! I'll be gone! Let me go!"
"Nay, not yet mam," said the Sergeant gently as he rose; "you are weary, sit ye and rest awhile. Mrs. Agatha mam, you speak woman-like——"
"Aye, aye," nodded old Betty, "'tis ever woman is cruellest to woman!"
"As you will, Zebedee Tring!" nodded Mrs. Agatha. "Yonder is Roger Bent shook with a shivering fit at sight of her while you sit here and let her scrabble your hand, but as you will!" and crossing her arms over opulent bosom Mrs. Agatha would have turned away but old Betty stabbed at her with bony finger.
"Woman," she croaked, "I'm here t' save the man you love. Come sit ye and list to my telling." Mrs. Agatha faltered, whereupon the Sergeant caught her hand, drawing her into the arbour: and there, sitting beside the old woman they hearkened to her story.