ipping the gold-piece
under the ill-fitting door. The next day it was thrown out upon the
midden; and there it lay, no one daring to touch it.

Meanwhile Mr. Gisborne, half curious, half uneasy, thought to lessen
his uncomfortable feelings by asking Sir Philip who Bridget was? He
could only describe her--he did not know her name. Sir Philip was
equally at a loss. But an old servant of the Starkeys, who had resumed
his livery at the Hall on this occasion--a scoundrel whom Bridget had
saved from dismissal more than once during her palmy days--said:--

'It will be the old witch, that his worship means. She needs a ducking,
if ever woman did, does that Bridget Fitzgerald.'

'Fitzgerald!' said both the gentlemen at once. But Sir Philip was the
first to continue:

'I must have no talk of ducking her, Dickon. Why, she must be the very
woman poor Starkey bade me have a care of; but when I came here last
she was gone, no one knew where. I'll go and see her tomorrow. But mind
you, sirrah, if any harm comes to her, or any more talk of her being a
witch--I've a pack of hounds at home, who can follow the scent of a
lying knave as well as ever they followed a dog-fox; so take care how
you talk about ducking a faithful old servant of your dead master's.'

'Had she ever a daughter?' asked Mr. Gisborne, after a while.

'I don't know--yes! I've a notion she had; a kind of waiting-woman to
Madam Starkey.'

'Please your worship,' said humbled Dickon, 'Mistress Bridget had a
daughter--one Mistress Mary--who went abroad, and has never been heard
on since; and folk do say that has crazed her mother.'

Mr. Gisborne shaded his eyes with his hand.

'I could wish she had not cursed me,' he muttered. 'She may have
power--no one else could.' After a while, he said aloud, no one
understanding rightly what he meant, 'Tush! it's impossible!'--and
called for claret; and he and the other gentlemen set to to a
drinking-bout.

Chapter 2

I now come to the time in which I myself was mixed up with the people
that I have been writing about. And to make you understand how I became
connected with them, I must give you some little account of myself. My
father was the younger son of a Devonshire gentleman of moderate
property; my eldest uncle succeeded to the estate of his forefathers,
my second became an eminent attorney in London, and my father took
orders. Like most poor clergymen, he had a large family; and I have no
doubt was glad enou