r ear as if she was a child: like a
child she used to listen and wonder. Whether she understood him or no
it was sometimes the only way of soothing her. Her trembling stopped
at the sound of his voice, and her eyes left off staring and showed
the glow of peace. For whole long evenings they sat close together,
his hand upon her hair and his low voice murmuring in her ear.

This much the neighbours report and the clergyman confirms, as also
that all went well with the young couple for the better part of two
years. The girl grew swiftly towards womanhood, became sleek and
well-liking; had a glow and a promise of ripeness which bid fair to be
redeemed. A few omens, however, remained, disquieting when those who
loved her thought of them. One was that she got no human speech,
though she understood everything that was said to her; another that
she showed no signs of motherhood; a third that Bessie Prawle could
not abide her. She alone of all the little community avoided the King
household, and scowled whensoever she happened to cross the path of
this gentle outland girl. Jealousy was presumed the cause; but I
think there was more in it than that. I think that Bessie Prawle
believed her to be a witch.

III

To eyes prepared for coming disaster things small in themselves loom
out of a clear sky portentous. Such eyes had not young Andrew King the
bride-groom, a youth made man by love, secure in his treasure and
confident in his power of keeping what his confidence had won. Such
eyes may or may not have had Mabilla, though hers seemed to be centred
in her husband, where he was or where he might be. George King was old
and looked on nothing but his sheep, or the weather as it might affect
his sheep. Miranda King, the self-contained, stoic woman, had schooled
her eyes to see her common duties. Whatever else she may have seen she
kept within the door of her shut lips. She may have known what was
coming, she must have known that whatever came had to come. Bessie
Prawle, however, with hatred, bitter fear and jealousy to sharpen her,
saw much.

Bessie Prawle was a handsome, red-haired girl, deep in the breast,
full-eyed and of great colour. Her strength was remarkable. She could
lift a heifer into a cart, and had once, being dared to it, carried
Andrew King up the brae in her arms. The young man, she supposed,
owed her a grudge for that; she believed herself unforgiven, and saw
in this sudden marriage of his a long-meditated act