Ay, Ruth, you’ve kindled him! Good luck to you:
And may your hearthfire warm you to the end.
(To Michael.)
You’ve been a good son to me, in your way:
Only, our ways are different; and here they part.
For all my blether, there’s no bitterness
On my side: I’ve long kenned ’twas bound to come:
And, in your heart, you know it’s for the best,
For your sake, and for Ruth’s sake, and for mine.
I couldn’t obey, where I have bid; nor risk
My own son’s fathering me in second childhood:
And you’d not care to have me like old Ezra,
A dothering haiveril in your chimney corner,
Babbling of vanished gold? I read my fortune
In the flames just now: and I’ll not rot to death:
It’s time enough to moulder, underground.
My death’ll come quick and chancy, as I’d have had
Each instant of life: but still there are risky years
Before me, and a sudden, unlooked-for ending.
And I’ll not haunt you: ghosts enough, with Ezra,
Counting his ghostly sovereigns all night long,
And old Eliza, darning ghostly stockings.
My ghost will ride a broomstick....
(As she speaks, the inner door opens, and Ruth and Michael, turning sharply at the click of the latch, gaze, dumbfounded, at Judith Ellershaw, standing in the doorway.)
Bell:
Fee-fo-fum!
The barguest bays; and boggles, brags, and bo-los
Follow the hunt. How’s that for witchcraft, think you?
Hark, how the lych-owl screeches!
Ruth (running to her mother’s arms):
Mother, you!
Bell:
Now there’s a sweet, domestic picture for you!
My cue’s to vanish in a puff of smoke
And reek of brimstone, like the witch I am.
I’m coming, hoolet, my old cat with wings!
It’s time I was away: there never yet
Was room for two grandmothers in one house.
I’m through with Krindlesyke. Good-bye, old gaol!