"She could do it, she could do it," she cried piteously. "But I'll stop it: I'll stop it. The house is cursed, and the wedding shall not be; for I can stop it, and I will."

Left alone to her thoughts, Mother Goodhugh began to suffer from a fit of terror, which completely gained the mastery over her, as she recalled all that she knew about the terrible sentences passed upon reputed witches. There was something fascinating in being able to gain the fear of the common people, and to be looked up to as a kind of prophetess; but she avowed now that the price paid was very dear. She had won many triumphs, and been looked up to as a wise woman, but if she were denounced as a witch, those who had feared and paid her for her utterances would turn upon her, for she was ready to own how seldom her prophetic promises had come true.

One in a hundred, however, was quite sufficient to keep up her character; and when there were failures there were always some side utterances that could be brought to bear to soften defeat or turn the matter to her advantage. And so for years she had managed to keep up the character of a wise woman, and amass no inconsiderable amount of the rustic people's savings, for there was always something upon which she could be consulted, and, in spite of her fears, she sat hugging herself upon her success as she thought of this.

"What be I to do?" she muttered; "and how be I to go to Cobbers house?

If I go I shall be sent away. Why be not Abel Churr here to help me?"

In spite of her efforts to fight back her dread, the recollections of the death scenes she had heard described made her tremble, and, when a hasty step was heard outside, she rose with a cry of horror, and darted towards the inner chamber, but paused on the threshold, as she heard a woman's voice repeat her name.

"Mother Goodhugh, Mother Goodhugh!"

"Yes; who be it?" she said, and, tottering to the door, she opened the latch with trembling hand to as it were admit a ray of light to her breast, for the visitor brought hope.

It was Janet.

"Well, child," she said, "and why have you come?"

"Don't ask me yet, mother," whispered the girl, hurrying in, and helping to close the door. "If Mas' Cobbe knew I be come here he would half kill me."

"Of course, of course, child! It be very wrong to come and visit poor Mother Goodhugh. Aren't you afraid I should curse you, child?"

"Oh no, mother!" cried the girl, who, now that she was inside, recovered herself. "I want you to bless me."

"Ah, child, and how?"

"Oh, mother," giggled the girl, "you know. How do young women want to be blest?"

"With a husband, eh, dearie?" said the old woman with a cunning leer, as she scanned Janet's pretty, weak face, and thought about how her good fortune had played into her hands by sending her a tool with which, if she were skilful, she could work her ends.

"But thou should'st not make me say it out loud, mother," said Janet, with another giggle; "but, when there be so much courting and love-making up at home, how can a girl help thinking about such things?"

"Ay, truly, dear, how indeed! But why should not so bonnie a maiden win a husband, I should like to know."

"What, as Mistress Mace?" said Janet, pouting.

"Nay, as Mistress Janet," said the old woman, chuckling. "Well, well, and who is it to be, and what can I tell thee?"

"I want--I want to know--"

"Ay, ay, speak out, dearie."

"I want to know," faltered Janet, glancing at the door of the inner room and then at that of the entrance, "I want to know--Oh, I daren't ask it," she said, turning red and pale by turns.

"Thou would'st know the name of thy husband."

"Ay, how could you tell that?" cried the simple girl.

"Such things be as plain to me as if they were written in a book. Sit down there," she cried, pointing to a stool in the middle of the room.

Janet hesitated, but the old woman took up her crutch-handled stick and struck the floor imperiously, with the result that the girl took the seat, and Mother Goodhugh drew a rough circle round her as she stood behind the stool.

"I want to go back now; I must go back now," said the girl, with trembling voice.

"Thou canst not go now until the spell is off," whispered Mother Goodhugh, as she thrust her hand into a capacious pocket and took out a ball of glass, lined inside with some white metal, which gave it the appearance of a convex mirror.

"Shall I see anything very dreadful, and will it pook me?" faltered the girl.

"I hope not, but I cannot promise," said Mother Goodhugh. "Sit quite still, and if anything dreadful comes I will answer for it that thou be not hurt much."

Janet's heart throbbed as she saw the old woman come before her and go down upon her knees, her face convulsed, and lips moving rapidly; then, holding the glass in both hands, her brow puckered as she gazed straight into it.

"What be this I see?" she cried in a hoarse voice; "a dark, tall, sun-browned man with pointed beard, half soldier, half sailor, who looks upon thee with eyes full of scorn."

"Has he dark grey eyes, mother?" whispered Janet, in an awe-stricken voice.

"Ay, child, and a dashing, roving look."

"It be Culverin Carr," muttered the girl, pressing her hand to her throbbing heart.

"And now I see an old rough, grey man, big, and harsh, and stark, who would wed thee, but I know him not, for he keeps his head away."

"Mas' Wat Kilby!" muttered Janet, with a sigh.

"And now I see another, who is at thy feet, child; a handsome man in silk and velvet, who looks prayerfully in thy face, and asks thee to let him love thee."

"Tell me more of him!" cried Janet, eagerly.

"I can see but little more, child, only that he has white hands with rings upon them, and a sword is hanging to his belt. He looks a handsome and a courtly youth, such as we have not in these parts here."

"'Tis Sir Mark," said Janet to herself.

"He looks love to thee, but a woman of thy size and shape steps in between thee, and tears him away."

"What be she like?" cried Janet.

"I cannot see, child, for her head be turned away, but surely it be thee, from the turn of the head. How be this? Thou tightest against thyself."

"Nay, 'tis Mistress Mace Cobbe. Let me look."

"Thou art right; it be thy young mistress; and see, the gallant tries to reach thee, and her hand be raised to strike, and--How strange!"

"What be it, mother?"

"The glass has grown dim, as if a black shadow had passed over it, and I can see no more. Try thou, my child."

"Nay, nay, I dare not; it be too terrifying!" cried Janet, thrusting back the crystal.

"'Tis better not," said the old woman. "It be dangerous at times.