"I never wished to dwell in thy house," she said very calmly, "but I have been a true and obedient wife. I ask thee now for what I think I have earned--my liberty. Let me go with my little child, whom I love dearly,--go to freedom, and be at peace. I can find another shelter for to-night. And if I could not, it would not matter--for me."

She stooped and gathered the sleeping child into her arms.

"Speak the words," she said. "It is the one boon that I ask of you."

Leo rose--with a little apparent reluctance--and placed writing materials before the Rabbi, who with the reed-pen wrote, or rather painted, a few Hebrew words upon the parchment. Then Leo, handing it to his wife, said solemnly--

"Depart in peace!"

The fatal words were spoken. Countess wrapped herself and Rudolph in the thick fur mantle, and turned to leave the room, saying to the man whose wife she was no longer--

"I beseech you, send my goods to my father's house. Peace be unto you!"

"Peace be to thee, daughter!" returned the Rabbi.

Then, still carrying the child, she went out into the night and the snow.

Note 1. See Matthew 27 verses 26, 27; Mark fourteen verses 22, 23; Luke twenty-two verses 17, 20; One Corinthians eleven verse 24, when it will be seen that "blessed" means gave thanks to G.o.d, not blessed the elements.

Note 2. Hebrews Seven verse 14; Eight verse 4.

Note 3. Matthew Eight verse 4.

Note 4. Acts two verse 46; twenty-seven verse 11; One Corinthians eleven verses 20-34.

Note 5. Diceto makes this barbarity a part of the sentence pa.s.sed on the Germans. Newbury mentions it only as inflicted.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

IN THE WHITE WITCH'S HUT.

"But all my years have seemed so long; And toil like mine is wondrous dreary; And every body thinks me strong: And I'm aweary."

M.A. Chaplin.

"Heigh-Ho! It's a weary life, Gib--a weary life!"

The words came from an old woman, and were addressed to a cat. Neither of them was an attractive-looking object. The old woman was very old, having a face all over minute wrinkles, a pair of red eyes much sunken, and the semblance of a beard under her chin. The cat, a dark tabby, looked as if he had been in the wars, and had played his part valiantly.

His coat, however, was less dilapidated than the old woman's garments, which seemed to be composed mainly of disconnected rags of all colours and shapes. She sat on a three-legged stool, beside a tiny hearth, on which burned a small fire of sticks.

"n.o.body cares for us, Gib: n.o.body! They call me a witch--the saints know why, save that I am old and poor. I never did hurt to any, and I've given good herb medicines to the women about; and if I do mutter a few outlandish words over them, what harm does it do? They mean nothing; and they make the foolish girls fancy I know something more than they do, and so I get a silver penny here, or a handful of eggs there, and we make shift to live."

She spoke aloud, though in a low voice, as those often do who live alone; and the cat rose and rubbed himself against her, with a soft "Me-ew!"

"Well, Gib! Didst thou want to remind me that so long as thou art alive, I shall have one friend left? Poor puss!" and she stroked her uncomely companion.

"How the wind whistles! Well, it is cold to-night! There'll be n.o.body coming now to consult the Wise Woman. We may as well lie down, Gib-- it's the only warm place, bed is. Holy saints! what's that?"

She listened intently for a moment, and Gib, with erect tail, went to the door and smelt under it. Then he looked back at his mistress, and said once more,--"Me-ew!"

"Somebody there, is there? A bit frightened, I shouldn't wonder. Come in, then--there's nought to fear,"--and she opened the crazy door of her hut. "Well, can't you come in--must I lift you up? Why, what--Mary, Mother!"

Half lifting, half dragging, for very little strength was left her, the old woman managed to pull her visitor inside. Then she bolted the door, and stooping down, with hands so gentle that they might have been an infant's, softly drew away from a young scarred face the snow-saturated hair.

"Ay, I see, my dear, I see! Don't you try to speak. I can guess what you are, and whence you come. I heard tell what had happened. Don't you stir, now, but just drink a drop of this warm mallow tea--the finest thing going for one in your condition. I can't give you raiment, for I've none for myself, but we'll see to-morrow if I can't get hold o'

somewhat: you've not been used to wear rags. I'll have 'em, if I steal 'em. Now, don't look at me so reproachful-like! well, then, I'll beg 'em, if it worries you. Oh, you're safe here, my dear! you've no need to look round to see if no villains is a-coming after you. They'll not turn up in these quarters, take my word for it. Not one o' them would come near the witch's hut after nightfall. But I'm no witch, my dearie--only a poor old woman as G.o.d and the blessed saints have quite forgot, and folks are feared of me."

"The Lord never forgets," the parched lips tried to say.

"Don't He? Hasn't He forgot both you and me, now?"

"No--never!"

"Well, well, my dear! Lie still, and you shall tell me any thing you will presently. Have another sup!--just one at once, and often--you'll soon come round. I know some'at about herbs and such-like, if I know nought else. See, let me lay this bundle of straw under your head; isn't that more comfortable, now? Poor thing, now what are you a-crying for?--does your face pain you bad? I'll lay some herbs to it, and you won't have so much as a scar there when they've done their work. Ay, I know some'at about herbs, I do! Deary me, for sure!--poor thing, poor thing!"

"The Lord bless you!"

"Child, you're the first that has blessed me these forty years! and I never hear _that_ name. Folks take me for one of Sathanas' servants, and they never speak to me of--that Other. I reckon they fancy I should mount the broomstick and fly through the chimney, if they did. Eh me!-- and time was I was a comely young maid--as young and well-favoured as you, my dear: eh dear, dear, to think how long it is since! I would I could pull you a bit nearer the fire; but I've spent all my strength-- and that's nought much--in hauling of you in. But you're safe, at any rate; and I'll cover you up with straw--I've got plenty of that, if I have not much else. Them villains, to use a young maid so!--or a wife, whichever you be. And they say I'm in league with the Devil! I never got so near him as they be."

"I am a maid."

"Well, and that's the best thing you can be. Don't you be in a hurry to change it. Come, now, I'll set on that sup o' broth was given me at the green house; you'll be ready to drink it by it's hot. Well, now, it's like old times and pleasant, having a bit o' company to speak to beside Gib here. What's your name, now, I wonder?"

"Ermine."

"Ay, ay. Well, mine's Haldane--old Haldane, the Wise Woman--I'm known all over Oxfordshire, and Berkshire too. Miles and miles they come to consult me. Oh, don't look alarmed, my pretty bird! you sha'n't see one of them if you don't like. There's a sliding screen behind here that I can draw, and do by times, when I want to fright folks into behaving themselves; I just draw it out, and speak from behind it, in a hollow voice, and don't they go as white!--I'll make a cosy straw bed for you behind it, and never a soul of 'em 'll dare to look in on you--no, not the justice himself, trust me. I know 'em: Lords, and constables, and foresters, and officers--I can make every mother's son of 'em shiver in his shoes, till you'd think he had the ague on him. But _you_ sha'n't, my dear: you're as safe as if the angels was rocking you. Maybe they'll want to come with you: but they'll feel strange here. When you can talk a bit without hurting of you, you shall tell me how you got here."

"I lost my way in the snow."

"Well, no wonder! Was there many of you?"

"About thirty."

"And all served like you?"

"Yes, except my brother: he was our leader, and they served him worse.

I do not think the children were branded."

"Children!"

"Ay, there were eight children with us."

"One minds one's manners when one has the angels in company, or else maybe I should speak my mind a bit straight. And what was it for, child?"

"They said we were heretics."