JUDITH: You're Mistress Barrasford?

BELL: Ay; so they call me.

JUDITH: I knocked; but no one answered; so, I've taken The liberty of stepping in to rest.

I'm Judith Ellershaw.

BELL: I've heard the name; But can't just mind ... Ay! You're the hard-mouthed wench That took the bit in her teeth, and bolted: although You scarcely look it, either. Old Ezra used To mumble your name, when he was raiming on About the sovereigns Jim made off with: he missed The money more than the son--small blame to him: Though why grudge travelling-expenses to good-riddance?

And still, 'twas shabby to pinch the lot: a case Of pot and kettle, but I'd have scorned to bag The lot, and leave the old folk penniless.

'Twas hundreds Peter blabbed of--said our share Wouldn't be missed--or I'd have never set foot In Krindlesyke; to think I walked into this trap For fifty-pound, that wasn't even here!

I might have kenned--Peter never told the truth, Except by accident. I did ... and yet, I came. I had to come: the old witch drew me.

But, Jim was greedy ...

JUDITH: Doesn't Jim live here, now?

BELL: You're not sent back by the penitent, then, to pay The interest on the loan he took that morning In an absent-minded fit--and pretty tales Are tarradiddles? Jim's not mucked that step In my time: Ezra thought he'd followed you.

JUDITH: Me?

BELL: You're Jim's wife--though you've not taken his name-- Stuck to your own, and rightly: I'd not swap mine For any man's: but, you're the bride the bridegroom Lost before bedtime?

JUDITH: No, 'twas Phbe Martin: And dead, this fifteen-year: she didn't last A twelvemonth after--it proved too much for her, The shock; for all her heart was set on Jim.

BELL: Poor fool: though I've no cause to call her so; For women are mostly fools, where men come in.

You're not the vanished bride? Then who've I blabbed The family-secrets to, unsnecking the cupboard, And setting the skeleton rattling his bones? I took you For one of us, who'd ken our pretty ways; And reckoned naught I could tell of Jim to Jim's wife Could startle her, though she'd no notion of it.

JUDITH: I took you for Jim's wife.

BELL: Me! I'm a fool-- But never fool enough to wear a ring For any man.

JUDITH: Yet, Mistress Barrasford?

BELL: They call me that: but I'm Bell Haggard still; And will be to the day I die, and after: Though, happen, there'll be marriage and giving in marriage In h.e.l.l; for old Nick's ever been matchmaker.

In that particular, heaven would suit me better: But I've travelled the wrong road too far to turn now.

JUDITH: Then you're not the mother of Michael Barrasford?

BELL: And who's the bra.s.s to say he's not my son?

I'm no man's wife: but what's to hinder me From being a mother?

JUDITH: Then Jim is his father?

BELL: And what's it got to do with you, the man I chose for my son's father? Chose--G.o.d help us!

That's how we women gammon ourselves. Deuce kens The almighty lot choice has to do with it!

JUDITH: It wasn't Jim, then?

BELL: Crikey! You're not blate Of asking questions: I've not been so riddled Since that old egg-with-whiskers committed me.

Why harp on Jim? I've not clapped eyes on Jim, Your worship; though I fear I must plead guilty To some acquaintance with the family, As you might put it; seeing that Jim's brother Is my son's father; though how it came to happen, The devil only kenned; and he's forgotten.

JUDITH: Thank G.o.d, it wasn't Jim.

BELL: And so say I: Though, kenning only Peter, I'm inclined To fancy Jim may be the better man.

What licks me is, what it's to do with you?

And why I answer your delicate questions, woman?

Even old hard-boiled drew the line somewhere.

JUDITH: I'm the mother of Jim's daughter.

BELL: You're the wench The bride found here--and the mother of a daughter; And live ...

JUDITH: At Bellingham.

BELL: Where Michael finds So often he's pressing business, must be seen to-- Something to do with sheep. I see ... To think I didn't guess! Why is it, any man Can put the blinkers on us? But, was I blind, Or only wanting not to see--afraid Of what I've been itching after all these years?

Can a hawk be caged so long, it's scared to watch The cage door opening? More to it than that: After all, there's something of the mother in me.

Ay: you've found Michael's minney! As for his dad, It's eight-year since he quitted Krindlesyke, The second time, for good.

JUDITH: He left you?

BELL: Hooked it: But, shed no tears for me: he only left me, As a sobering lout will quit the bramble-bush He's tumbled in, blind-drunk--or was it an anthill He'd pillowed his fuddled head on? Anyway, He went, sore-skinned; and gay to go; escaped From Krindlesyke--he always had the luck-- Before the bitter winter that finished Ezra: But, I'd to stay on, listening all day long To that old dotard, counting the fifty sovereigns Your fancy man made off with, when he cleaned out The coffers of Krindlesyke, the very day Ananias and I came for our share, too late: And so, got stuck at Back-o'-Beyont, like wasps In a treacle-trap--the gold all gone: naught left But the c.h.i.n.k of coins in an old man's noddle, that age Had emptied of wits. He'd count them, over and over-- Just stopping to curse Jim, when he called to mind The box was empty: and, often, in the night, I'd hear him counting, counting in the dark, Till the night he stopped at forty-nine, stopped dead, With a rattle--not a breath to whisper fifty.

A crookt corpse, yellow as his lost gold, I found him, When I fetched my candle.

JUDITH: Dead?

BELL: Ay, guttered out-- A dip burned to the socket. May chance puff out My flame, while it still burns steady, and not sowse it In a sweel of melted tallow.

JUDITH: Ay, but it's sad When the wits go first.

BELL: And he, so wried and geyzened, The undertakers couldn't strake him rightly.

Even when they'd nailed him down, and we were watching By candle-light, the night before the funeral, Nid-nodding, Michael and I, just as the clock Struck twelve, there was a crack that brought us to, Bolt-upright, as the coffin lid flew off: And old granddaddy sat up in his shroud.

JUDITH: G.o.d save us, woman! Whatever did ...

BELL: I fancied He'd popped up to say fifty: but he dropped back With knees to chin. They'd got to screw him down: And they'd sore work to get him underground-- Snow overnight had reached the window-sill: And when, at length, the cart got on the road, The coffin was jolted twice into the drifts, Before they'd travelled the twelve-mile to the church-yard: And the hole they'd howked for him, chockful of slush: And the coffin slipt with a splash into the s.l.u.ther.

Ay--we see life at Krindlesyke, G.o.d help us!

JUDITH: A fearsome end.

BELL: Little to choose, 'twixt ends.

So, Michael's granddad, and your girl's, went home To his forefathers, and theirs--both Barrasfords: Though I'd guess your bairn's a gentler strain: yet mine's No streak of me. All Barrasford, I judged him: But, though he's Ezra's stubbornness, he's naught Of foxy Peter: and grows more like Eliza, I'd fancy: though I never kenned her, living: I only saw her, dead.

JUDITH: Eliza, too?

BELL: I was the first to look on her dead face, The morn I came: if she'd but lived a day-- Just one day longer, she'd have let me go.

No living woman could have held me here: But she was dead; and so, I had to stay-- A fly, caught in the web of a dead spider.

It must be her he favours: and he's got A dogged patience well-nigh crazes me: A husband, born, as I was never born For wife. But, happen, you ken him, well as I, Leastways, his company-side, since he does business At Bellingham? A happy ending, eh!

For our mischances, they should make a match: Though naught that ever happens is an ending; A wedding, least of all.

JUDITH: I've never seen him.

Ruth keeps her counsel. I'd not even heard His name, till late last night; and then by chance: But, I've not slept a wink since, you may guess.