“That quieted the lass a bit, and I did tell she then, wot be God’s truth, that ’tweren’t her at all turned brother’s head, but the pleasure of the Almighty. ‘’Tis for folks like us,’ I says to her, ‘to take wot His will do send, and bide quiet and still, same as cows, drove to barton.’
“’Twere a blessing of providence I’d met crazy Bert afore I seed the lass, else I’d a been struck dazed-like by wot she did tell. But as ’twas, thanks be to recollectin’ mother’s trick wi’ such wendy maids, I dried her poor eyes and got her back home along. And she gave I summat to put in brother’s coffin afore they do nail ’un down.”
Before either Luke or Mr. Quincunx had time to utter any comment upon this narration, Witch-Bessie unfastened the packet she was carrying, and produced from a card-board box a large roughly-moulded bracelet, or bangle, of heavy silver, such as may be bought in the bazaars of Tunis or Algiers.
“There,” cried the old woman, holding the thing up, and flashing it in the sun, “that’s wot she gave I, to bury long wi’ brother! Be pretty enough, baint ’un? Though, may-be, not fittin’ for a quiet home-keeping lass like she. She had ’un off some Gipoo, she said; and to my thinkin’ it be a kind of heathen ornimint, same as folks do buy at Roger-town Fair. But such as ’tis, that be wot ’tis bestowed for, to put i’ the earth long wi’ brother. Seems somethin’ of a pity, may-be, but maid’s whimsies be maids’ whimsies, and God Almighty’ll plague the hard-hearted folk as won’t perform wot they do cry out for.”
Luke took the bangle from the old woman’s hand.
“Of course I’ll do what she wants, Bessie,” he said. “Poor little Ninsy, I never knew how much she cared.”
He permitted Mr. Quincunx to handle the silver object, and then carefully placed it in his pocket.
“Hullo!” he cried, “what else have you got, Bessie?” This exclamation was caused by the fact that Witch-Bessie, after fumbling in her shawl had produced a second mysterious packet, smaller than the first and tightly tied round with the stalks of some sort of hedge-weed.
“Cards, by Heaven!” exclaimed Luke. “Oh Bessie, Bessie,” he added, “why didn’t you bring these round here twenty-four hours ago? You might have made me take him with me to Weymouth!”
Untying the packet, which contained as the stone-carver had anticipated, a pack of incredibly dirty cards, the old woman without a word to either of them, shuffled and sifted them, according to some secret rule, and laid aside all but nine. These, almost, but not entirely, consisting of court cards, she spread out in a carefully concerted manner on the grass at her feet.