she said in a low voice but authoritative manner, "Be kind to your
girl--be very kind; for she will bring good luck and fortune to you
all." The next day she laid wait for the husband, found and forced him
to stop and hear her. At first he was impatient, rude, and brutal;
swore, cursed, and called her many and evil names. But soon he listened
eagerly enough: looks of intelligence and eager design passed between
the two, and ere they parted they perfectly understood each other.

The man was then, on more than one day, seen going down to the hall. At
first he was refused admission to Sir John Hastings; for his character
was known. The next day, however, he brought a letter written under his
dictation by his daughter, who had been taught at a charitable school of
old foundation hard by; and this time he was admitted. His conversation
with the Lord of the Manor was long; but no one knew its import. He came
again and again, and was still admitted.

A change came over the cottage and its denizens. The fences were put in
order, the walls were repaired, the thatch renewed, another room or two
was added; plenty reigned within; mother and daughter appeared in
somewhat finer apparel; and money was not wanting.

At the end of some months there was the cry of a young child in the
house. The neighbors were scandalized, and gossips spoke censoriously
even in the father's ears; but he stopped them fiercely, with proud and
mysterious words; boasted aloud of what they had thought his daughter's
shame; and claimed a higher place for her than was willingly yielded to
her companions. Strange rumors got afloat, but ere a twelvemonth had
passed, the father had drank himself to death. His widow and her
daughter and her grandson moved to a better house, and lived at ease on
money none knew the source of, while the cottage, now neat and in good
repair, became the dwelling of the old woman, who had been driven with
scorn from Sir John's presence. Was she satisfied--had she sated
herself? Not yet.

CHAPTER VII.

There was a lady, a very beautiful lady indeed, came to a lonely house,
which seemed to have been tenanted for several years by none but
servants, about three years after the death of Sir John Hastings. That
house stood some miles to the north of the seat of that gentleman, which
now had passed to his son; and it was a fine-looking place, with a
massive sort of solemn brick-and-mortar grandeur about it, which
impressed the mind with