The Tangled Skein. Baroness Emma Orczy

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      "Er – hem – !" he concluded more tamely, "I saw her quite plainly."

      "More shame then on thee, master," retorted Dorothy, whose wrath was far from subsiding, "for thus gazing on the devil's work."

      But the matter had become of far too great import to allow of feminine jealousies being taken into account.

      "And I know," added an elderly matron with quaking voice, "that my sister Hannah's child caught sight of the witch outside her tent this morning, and forthwith fell into convulsions, the poor innocent lamb."

      "She hath the evil eye, depend on it," quoth Dorothy decisively.

      The men said nothing. They were sipping their ale in sullen silence, and looking to Matthew for further expressions of wisdom.

      "Those evil spirits have oft a filthy countenance," explained the shoemaker sententiously, "and no doubt 'twas they helped to convulse Mistress Hannah's child. Some have four faces – one in the usual place, another at the back of the head, and one looking out on either side; others appear with a tall and lean body and bellow like a bull."

      "Hast seen them, Matthew?" came in awed whispers from those around.

      "Nay! God and the Holy Virgin forbid!" protested Matthew fervently. "God forbid that I should enter their abode of evil. I should lose my soul."

      There was a long, ominous silence, broken only by quickly muttered invocations to the saints and to Our Lady.

      The men looked furtively at one another. The women clung together, not daring to utter a sound. Mistress Dorothy, all the boldness gone out of her little heart, was sobbing from sheer fright.

      "Friends," said Matthew at last, as if with sudden resolution, "if that woman be possessed of the devil, what's to be done?"

      There was no reply, but obviously they all understood one another, for each wore a shame-faced look all of a sudden, and dared not meet his neighbour's eye. But the danger was great. The devil in their midst would mean poisoned wells, the sweating sickness, some dire calamity for sure; and it was the duty of every true-hearted countryman to protect his home and family from such terrible disasters.

      Therefore when Matthew in his wisdom said, "What's to be done?" the men fully understood.

      The women, too, knew that mischief was brewing. They drew closer to one another and shivered with cold beneath their kerchiefs, in spite of the warmth of this beautiful late summer's afternoon.

      "Beware of her, Matthew," entreated Mistress Dorothy tearfully.

      She drew a small piece of blue cloth from the bosom of her dress: it was pinked and broidered, and had the image of the Holy Virgin painted on one side of it. Quickly she slipped it under her lover's jerkin.

      "Take it," she whispered, "the scapulary of Our Lady will protect thee."

      This momentous conclave was here interrupted by the approach of the small detachment of the town guard which had been sent hither to ensure order amongst the holiday-makers.

      Matthew and his friends began ostentatiously to talk of the weather and other such trifling matters, until after the guard had passed, then once more they put their heads together.

      But this time they bade the women go. What had to be discussed now was men's work and unfit for wenches' ears.

       CHAPTER IV

      FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

      In the meanwhile the two gallants were returning from their visit to the witch's tent.

      As they came down the steps more than one voice among the passers-by inquired eagerly —

      "What fortune, sirs?"

      "In truth she hath strange powers," was the somewhat guarded response.

      The two men strolled up to a neighbouring wine-vendor and ordered some wine. They had thrown their cloaks aside and removed their masks, for the air was close. The rich, slashed doublets, thus fully displayed, the fine lace at throat and wrist, the silken hose and chased daggers, all betokened the high quality and wealth of the wearers.

      Neither of them seemed much above thirty years of age; each had the air of a man in the prime of life, and in the full enjoyment of all the good things which the world can give.

      But in their actual appearance they presented a marked contrast.

      The one tall and broad-shouldered, florid of complexion, and somewhat reddish about the hair and small pointed beard; the other short, slender, and alert, with keen, restless eyes, and with sensuous lips for ever curled in a smile of thinly veiled sarcasm.

      Though outwardly on most familiar terms together, there was distinctly apparent between the two men an air of reserve, and even of decided, if perhaps friendly, antagonism.

      "Well, milor Everingham," said the Spaniard after a while, "what say you to our adventure?"

      "I say first and foremost, my lord," replied Everingham with studied gallantry, "that my prophecy proved correct – the mysterious necromancer was no proof against Spanish wiles; she unveiled at a smile from Don Miguel, Marquis de Suarez, the envoy of His Most Catholic Majesty."

      "Nay," rejoined Don Miguel, affecting not to notice the slight tone of sarcasm in his friend's pleasant voice, "I scarce caught a glimpse of the wench's face. The tent was so dark and her movements so swift."

      There was a moment's silence. Lord Everingham seemed lost in meditation.

      "You are thoughtful, milor," remarked Don Miguel. "Have the genii of the moon conquered your own usually lively spirits?"

      "Nay, I was thinking of the curious resemblance," mused Everingham.

      "A resemblance? – to whom?"

      "As you say, the tent was dark and the wench's movements swift, yet I could see that, though coarsely clad and ill-kempt, that witch, whom they call Mirrab, is the very physical counterpart of the new Court beauty, the Lady Ursula Glynde."

      "The fiancée of the Duke of Wessex!" exclaimed the Spaniard. "Impossible!"

      "Nay, my lord," rejoined Everingham pointedly, "she scarce can be called His Grace's fiancée as yet. They were children in their cradles when her father plighted their troth."

      The Spaniard made no immediate reply. With an affected, effeminate gesture he was gently stroking his long, black moustache. Everingham, on the other hand, was eyeing him keenly, with a certain look of defiance and challenge, and in a moment the antagonism between the two men appeared more marked than before.

      "But gossip has it," said the Marquis at last, with assumed nonchalance, "that Lady Ursula's father – the Earl of Truro, was it not? – swore upon his honour and on his deathbed that she should wed the Duke of Wessex, whenever he claimed her hand, or live her life in a convent. Nay, I but repeat the rumour which has reached me," he added lightly; "put me right if I am in error, my lord. I am but a stranger, and have not yet had the honour of meeting His Grace."

      "Bah!" said Everingham impatiently, "His Grace is in no humour to wed, nor do the Earl of Truro's deathbed vows bind him in any way."

      He СКАЧАТЬ