“Ay, child.”
“Ye’ve always been kind to me. Will ye let them bury me in the forest with a bullet in my heart?”
Ursula began to sway to and fro, pressing her hands to her bosom, whimpering and muttering like one demented.
“Why did ye meddle, Bess—why did ye meddle?”
“Isaac wanted to shoot me by the Monk’s Grave.”
“He be a fierce man, be Isaac.”
“Dan stood for me then; he’ll not stand for me again. Isaac will shoot me; I’ve seen death in his eyes.”
Ursula stretched herself across the window-sill with her head between her hands. Her distress was pitiable in its impotence. Bess watched her, realizing that her one hope rested on the feeble and faltering courage of this crooked and half-witless creature.
“Mother,” she said, hoarsely.
Ursula darted up her head and looked at Bess.