th the evil
eye!'

'Poor soul! It is the evil stomach that she hath,' said Reuben, walking
his horse up to her. 'Whoever saw such a bag of bones! I warrant that
she is pining away for want of a crust of bread.'

The creature whined, and thrust out two skinny claws to grab the piece
of silver which our friend had thrown down to her. Her fierce dark
eyes and beak-like nose, with the gaunt bones over which the yellow
parchment-like skin was stretched tightly, gave her a fear-inspiring
aspect, like some foul bird of prey, or one of those vampires of whom
the story-tellers write.

'What use is money in the wilderness?' I remarked; 'she cannot feed
herself upon a silver piece.'

She tied the coin hurriedly into the corner of her rags, as though she
feared that I might try to wrest it from her. 'It will buy bread,' she
croaked.

'But who is there to sell it, good mistress?' I asked.

'They sell it at Fovant, and they sell it at Hindon,' she answered. 'I
bide here o' days, but I travel at night.'

'I warrant she does, and on a broomstick,' quoth Saxon; 'but tell us,
mother, who is it who hangs above your head?'

'It is he who slew my youngest born,' cried the old woman, casting a
malignant look at the mummy above her, and shaking a clenched hand at it
which was hardly more fleshy than its own. 'It is he who slew my bonny
boy. Out here upon the wide moor he met him, and he took his young life
from him when no kind hand was near to stop the blow. On that ground
there my lad's blood was shed, and from that watering hath grown this
goodly gallows-tree with its fine ripe fruit upon it. And here, come
rain, come shine, shall I, his mother, sit while two bones hang together
of the man who slow my heart's darling.' She nestled down in her rags
as she spoke, and leaning her chin upon her hands stared up with an
intensity of hatred at the hideous remnant.

'Come away, Reuben,' I cried, for the sight was enough to make one
loathe one's kind. 'She is a ghoul, not a woman.'

'Pah! it gives one a foul taste in the mouth,' quoth Saxon. 'Who is for
a fresh gallop over the Downs? Away with care and carrion!

"Sir John got on his bonny brown steed,
To Monmouth for to ride--a.
A brave buff coat upon his back,
A broadsword by his side--a.
Ha, ha, young man, we rebels can
Pull down King James's pride--a!"

Hark away, lads, with a loose rein and a bloody heel!'

We s