Now the sibyl had observed the detour which Mercy made to avoid passing near her hut, and observed it with due professional pique. To consult the spirit of the well without the assistance of its minister was to defraud the latter of her rightful perquisite, and depreciate the science of witchcraft. So, whenever Dame Gudhan perceived a timid devotee steal furtively to the well, she would lie in wait for her return, and favour her with unsought predictions of a nature less agreeable than strong. Eying Mercy from the door of her den, the old hag thought her appearance indicated one quite able to afford a fee, and proportionate to the idea was the sibylline wrath. But in order to increase her anger to the proper pitch, Dame Gudhan trod hard upon her cat's tail; and the animal, resenting the affront, inflicted a long scratch upon its mistress's shin. Thereupon ensued a hideous war; a yelling as of the evil demons with which the pythoness pretended to be familiar; unintelligible to vulgar ears; requiring an interpreter from the oyster-quays. It may be supposed the witch had the best of the argument, for after a while, pussy issued from the hovel with her tail trailing behind her, and trotted off in a crest-fallen fashion, stopping now and then to look round sulkily, and shake her whiskers with impotent spite.
Dame Gudhan speedily followed grimalkin, tottering along on a stick, and muttering to herself, chewing her rage as a horse champs the bit. She encountered Mercy at the opening which led to the well.
"Didst read he would be hung, lass?" she squealed, while all the muscles of her yellow wrinkled visage twitched frightfully. "Didst read he would be hung?"
With all her heart Mercy wished herself safe back at Trevethlan.
"Dost tremble?" continued Dame Gudhan. "What wilt do when the day comes? There's murder in thy face—a red spot on thy brow."
Poor Mercy gasped for breath, and leaned against the bank. She had thrust her hand into her pocket, but was too much agitated to find what she wanted. The old crone divined her intention.
"Na," she screamed. "The spirit won't be bought. The cord's about thy neck, and the gibbet's reared for him. The tree grows no more in the wood. It is felled, and hewn, and squared. The hemp is reaped, and beat, and spun. In an evil day came ye to the blessed well, and passed by Dame Gudhan without seeking her advice. Said is said."
By this time Mercy had succeeded in producing a little purse of red leather with a steel clasp. Her fingers shook very much as she opened it, and tendered Dame Gudhan a bright new shilling, its sole contents. The hag was satisfied with the effect of her fierce prophecy—one she had often vented on like occasions, and looked at the coin with greedy eyes, chattering her teeth, and smacking her lips.
"That was his new-year's gift, I reckon," she said.
She was wrong, and the mistake restored Mercy's fleeting courage.