"What shall we do, my lady?" repeated Anne.
And at the same moment, Jack, the donkey, who had stood patiently dozing during the whole interview, pushed his head over Lucy's shoulder.
"We will go home," said Lucy, lifting her eyes from the spring at last; "and we will never come here again,—never!" she repeated, firmly.
"Hush, for mercy's sake, my dear child!" whispered Anne. "You don't know who may be listening to you. There! Did you hear that?" she added, starting, as a strange sound, something like a laugh, was heard over their heads.
Lucy looked up. "It is the carrion crow. Don't you see him up on the dead tree yonder?"
"The corby! Oh, my lady, what will become of us? They say he is always a messenger of ill."
"Ill or well, I will not come here again nor will I give that woman any more of my dear mother's things. Come, Anne; put me on the donkey, and let us go home."
Anne obeyed, wondering what had come over her young lady. She would have gone on talking about the corby; but Lucy stopped her.
"Don't,—please, Anne. I want to think about something."
Presently they met Dr. Burgess, striding along the path, with a stick in his hand, and humming a psalm-tune.