'Eh, are you deaf?' she asked impatiently. 'Is the mother in, I want to know?' 'My mother is dead,' said Caris, without preamble. 'Dead! When did she die?' 'Half a year ago,' said Caris, with the peasant's confusion of dates and elongation of time. 'That is impossible,' said the young woman quickly. 'I saw her myself and spoke with her here on this very spot in Easter week. What makes you say she is dead?' 'Because she is dead!' said Caris doggedly. 'If you do not believe it, go and ask the sacristan and sexton over there.' He made a gesture of his head towards the belfry of an old hoary church, dedicated to St. Fulvo, which was seven miles away amongst the chestnut woods of an opposing hillside, and where his mother had been buried by her wish, because it was her birthplace. The girl this time believed him. She was dumb for a little while with astonishment and regret. Then she said, in a tone of awe and expectation, 'She left her learning and power with you, eh?--and the books?' 'No,' said Caris rudely. 'I had all the uncanny things buried with her. What use were they? She lived and died with scarce a shift to her back.' 'Oh!' said the girl, in a shocked tone, as though she reproved a blasphemy. 'She was a wonderful woman, Caris.' Caris laughed a little. 'Eh, you say so. Well, all her wisdom never put bit nor drop in her mouth nor a copper piece in her hand that I did not work for; what use was it, pray?' 'Hush. Don't speak so!' said the maiden, looking timidly over her shoulder to the undergrowth and coppice growing dim in the shadows of the evening. 'Tis the truth!' said Caris stubbornly. 'I did my duty by her, poor soul; and yet I fear me the Evil One waited for her all the while, for as soon as the rattle came in her throat, a white owl flapped and screeched on the thatch, and a black cat had sat on the stones yonder ever since the sun had set.' 'The saints preserve us!' murmured the girl, her rich brown and red skin growing pale. There was silence; Caris finished munching his bread; he looked now and then at his visitor with open-eyed surprise and mute expectation. 'You have buried the things with her?' she asked him, in a low tone, at length. He nodded in assent. 'What a pity! What a pity!' 'Why that?' 'Because if they are underground with her nobody can use them.' Caris stared with his eyes wider opened still. 'What do you want with the devil's tools, a fresh, fair young thing like you?' 'Your mother used them for me,' she answered crossly. 'And she had told me a number of things--ay, a vast number! And just in the middle uncle spied us out, and he swore at her and dragged me away, and I had never a chance to get back here till to-night, and now--now you say she is dead, and she will never tell me aught any more.' 'What can you want so sore to know?' said Caris, with wonder, as he rose to his feet. 'That is my business,' said the girl. 'True, so it is,' said Caris.