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 grey 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 w