"I knew that she was dead," said she, deep and low, and then was silent for an instant."My tears that should have flowed for her were burnt up long years ago.Young man, tell me about her.""Not yet," said I, having a strange power given me of confronting one, whom, nevertheless, in my secret soul I dreaded.
"You had once a little dog," I continued.The words called out in her more show of emotion than the intelligence of her daughter's death.She broke in upon my speech:-"I had! It was hers--the last thing I had of hers--and it was shot for wantonness! It died in my arms.The man who killed that dog rues it to this day.For that dumb beast's blood, his best-beloved stands accursed."Her eyes distended, as if she were in a trance and saw the working of her curse.Again I spoke:-"O, woman!" I said, "that best-beloved, standing accursed before men, is your dead daughter's child."The life, the energy, the passion, came back to the eyes with which she pierced through me, to see if I spoke truth; then, without another question or word, she threw herself on the ground with fearful vehemence, and clutched at the innocent daisies with convulsed hands.
"Bone of my bone! flesh of my flesh! have I cursed thee--and art thou accursed?"So she moaned, as she lay prostrate in her great agony.I stood aghast at my own work.She did not hear my broken sentences; she asked no more, but the dumb confirmation which my sad looks had given that one fact, that her curse rested on her own daughter's child.
The fear grew on me lest she should die in her strife of body and soul; and then might not Lucy remain under the spell as long as she lived?
Even at this moment, I saw Lucy coming through the woodland path that led to Bridget's cottage; Mistress Clarke was with her: I felt at my heart that it was she, by the balmy peace which the look of her sent over me, as she slowly advanced, a glad surprise shining out of her soft quiet eyes.That was as her gaze met mine.As her looks fell on the woman lying stiff, convulsed on the earth, they became full of tender pity; and she came forward to try and lift her up.Seating herself on the turf, she took Bridget's head into her lap; and, with gentle touches, she arranged the dishevelled gray hair streaming thick and wild from beneath her mutch.
"God help her!" murmured Lucy."How she suffers!"At her desire we sought for water; but when we returned, Bridget had recovered her wandering senses, and was kneeling with clasped hands before Lucy, gazing at that sweet sad face as though her troubled nature drank in health and peace from every moment's contemplation.
A faint tinge on Lucy's pale cheeks showed me that she was aware of our return; otherwise it appeared as if she was conscious of her influence for good over the passionate and troubled woman kneeling before her, and would not willingly avert her grave and loving eyes from that wrinkled and careworn countenance.
Suddenly--in the twinkling of an eye--the creature appeared, there, behind Lucy; fearfully the same as to outward semblance, but kneeling exactly as Bridget knelt, and clasping her hands in jesting mimicry as Bridget clasped hers in her ecstasy that was deepening into a prayer.Mistress Clarke cried out--Bridget arose slowly, her gaze fixed on the creature beyond: drawing her breath with a hissing sound, never moving her terrible eyes, that were steady as stone, she made a dart at the phantom, and caught, as I had done, a mere handful of empty air.We saw no more of the creature--it vanished as suddenly as it came, but Bridget looked slowly on, as if watching some receding form.Lucy sat still, white, trembling, drooping--Ithink she would have swooned if I had not been there to uphold her.
While I was attending to her, Bridget passed us, without a word to any one, and, entering her cottage, she barred herself in, and left us without.
All our endeavours were now directed to get Lucy back to the house where she had tarried the night before.Mistress Clarke told me that, not hearing from me (some letter must have miscarried), she had grown impatient and despairing, and had urged Lucy to the enterprise of coming to seek her grandmother; not telling her, indeed, of the dread reputation she possessed, or how we suspected her of having so fearfully blighted that innocent girl; but, at the same time, hoping much from the mysterious stirring of blood, which Mistress Clarke trusted in for the removal of the curse.They had come, by a different route from that which I had taken, to a village inn not far from Coldholme, only the night before.This was the first interview between ancestress and descendant.
