As soon as he saw them come in together the old man fell to chuckling and rubbing his hands.
"Wife Mald, wife Mald, look up!" cried he; "there will be a wedding this night. See, they are hand-fasted already."
Mald the witch rose up from the hearth at last and faced the betrothed. She was terrible to view in her witless old age; her face drawn into furrows and dull as lead, her bleared eyes empty of sight or conscience, and her thin hair scattered before them. It was despair, not sorrow, that Prosper read on such a face. Now she peered upon the hand-locked couple, now she parted the hair from her eyes, now slowly pointed a finger at them. Her hand shook with palsy, but she raised it up to bless them. To Prosper she said—
"Thou who art as pitiful as death, shalt have thy reward. And it shall be more than thou knowest."
To the girl she gave no promises, but with her crutch hobbled over the floor to where she stood. She put her hand into her daughter's bosom and felt there; she seemed contented, for she said to her very earnestly—
"Keep thou what thou hast there till the hour of thy greatest peril.
Then it shall not fail thee to whomsoever thou shalt show it."
Then she withdrew her hand and crawled back to crouch over the ashes of the fire; nor did she open her lips again that night, nor take any part or lot in what followed.
"Call the priest, old man," said Prosper, "for the night is spending, and to-morrow we should be up before the sun."
The old thief went to a little door and opened it, whispering,
"Come, father;" and there came out Brother Bonaccord of Lucca, very solemn, vested in a frayed vestment.