Part 90

"And why not?" said the dame, sharply; "haven't I been the prop and stay of the house? Haven't I made bargains and ventures when thou hast been idling in hall and bower with love-ditties and ladies' purfles?"

She was now moved to sudden choler, and Gervase did not dare to thwart her further--letting the passion spend itself by its own efforts, as he knew it were vain to check its torrent.

Now Dame Eleanor Buckley was of a sharp and florid countenance--short-necked and broad-shouldered, her nose and chin almost hiding a pair of thin severe lips, the two prominences being close neighbours, especially in anger. In truth she guided, or rather managed, the whole circle of affairs; aiding and counselling the speculations of her husband, who had happily been content with the produce and profit of his paternal acres, had not his helpmate, who inherited this mercantile spirit from her family, urged her partner to such unwonted lust and craving for gain.

A huge bundle of keys hung at her girdle, which, when more than usually excited, did make a most discordant jingle to the tune that was a-going. Indeed, the height and violence of her passion might be pretty well guessed at by this index to its strength.

When the storm had in some degree subsided, Gervase held up the ring.

"What's that, silly one? A wedding-ring!"

She grew almost pale with wrath. "How darest thou?--thee!--a ring!--to wed ere thou hast a home for thy pretty one. Ye may go beg, for here ye shall not tarry. Go to the next buckle-beggar! A pretty wedding truly! When thou hast learned how to keep her honestly 'twill be time enough to wed. But thou hast not earned a doit to put beside her dower, and all our ready moneys, and more, be in trade; though, for the matter o' that, the pulling would be no great business either. But I tell thee again, thy father shall not portion an idler like thyself and pinch his trade. Marry, 'tis enough to do, what with grievous sums lost in shipwrecks, and the time we have now to wait our returns from o'er sea."

She went on at this rate for a considerable space, pausing at last, more for lack of breath than subject-matter of discourse.

"Mother," said he, when fairly run down; "'tis not a purchase--'tis a gift."

"By some one sillier than thyself, I warrant."

"I know not for that; I had it from a stranger."

"Stranger still," she replied sharply, chuckling at her own conceit.

"Look at it, mother. Know you such a one?"

The dame eyed it with no favour, but she turned it over with a curious look, at the same time lifting her eyes now and then towards the ceiling, as some train of recollection was awakening in her mind.

"Where gat ye this?" said Dame Eleanor, in a subdued but still querulous tone.

"On the hill-top yonder."

"Treasure-trove belongs to Sir John Byron. The lord of the manor claims all from the finders."

"It was a gift."

"Humph. Hast met gold-finders on the hills, or demons or genii that guard hidden treasure?"

"We've seen the Red Woman!"

Had a sudden thunder-clap burst over them, she could not have been more startled. She stood speechless, and seemingly incapable of reply. Holding the ring in one hand, her eyes were intently fixed upon it.

"What is it that troubles you?" said Gervase. "Yon strange woman bade me give you the ring, and ask if so be that you remembered her."

The dame looked up, her quick and saucy petulance exchanged for a subdued and melancholy air.

"Remember thee! thou foul witch? ay long, long years have passed; I thought thy persecutions at an end; thy prediction was nigh forgotten. It was my wedding-ring, Gervase!"

"More marvellous still."

"Peace, and I'll tell thee. Grace Ashton, come forward. I know thine ears are itching for the news. Well, well, it was when thou wast but a boy, Gervase, and I remember an evening just like this. I was standing by the draw-well yonder, looking, I now bethink me, at the dovecot, where I suspected thieves; and in a humour somewhat of the sharpest, I trow. By-and-by comes, what I thought, an impudent beggar-woman for an alms. Her dress was red and tattered, with a high red cap to match. I chided her it might be somewhat harshly, and I shall not soon forget the malicious look she put on. 'I ask not, I need not thy benison,' she said; 'I would have befriended thee, but I now curse thee altogether:' and stretching out her shrivelled arm, dry and bare, she shook it, threatening me with vengeance. Suddenly, or ere I was aware, she seized my left hand, drew off my wedding-ring; breathing upon it and mumbling a spell, she held it as though for me to take back, but with such a fiendish look of delight that I hesitated. All on a sudden I remembered to have heard my grandmother say that should a witch or warlock get your wedding-ring, and have time to mutter over it a certain charm, so long as that ring is above ground so long misery and misfortune do afflict the owner. Lucky it was I knew of this, for instead of replacing it I threw it into the well, being the nearest hiding-place. And happy for me and thee it was so near; for, would you believe, though hardly a minute's space in my hand, the black heifer died, the red cow cast her calf, and a large venture of merchandise was wrecked in a fearful gale off the gulf. I had no sooner thrown it into the well than the witch looked more diabolical than ever. 'It will come again, dame,' said she, 'and then look to it;' and with this threat she departed. But what am I doing? If it be the ring, which I doubt not, I've had it o'er long in my keeping. Even now disaster may be a-brewing; and is there not a richly-freighted ship on its passage with silks and spices? I'll put it out of her reach this time anyhow. No! I'll hide it where never a witch in Christendom shall poke it out."

Dame Eleanor went to the little burn below. Stooping, she scooped a hole in the gravel under water; there she laid the ring, and covered it over with stones.

"Thou'rt always after some of thy megrims, dame," said the elder Buckley, who had been watching her from the porch. "Some spell or counter-charm, I'se warrant."