“But not her memory,” screamed the hag, striking her stick upon the floor. “I mind the open window--and the ropy ladder--and my young master’s misery when the hawk ’ticed away the dove that was to be his bride--his own first cousin.” “It was too near, Maud.” “No; the Cranleys married in and out--in and out--and what brings you now? withered and shriveled like myself, with only the voice!--nothing but the voice! More worn--and old--and gray--than himself--a lean old man! You called me ‘Ugly Maud’ once; what are you now? Augh!” She threw down her stick, and began waving her bony arms, and sailing round my poor mistress, in a sort of mock dance. I stepped in between them, to keep her eyes off my lady; but she dodged between us, mocking, and saying cruel words, and looking, just as a curse would look, if it had a body. All of a sudden, a hard, firm step came up the hall: I knew it was the master of Cranley Hurst. The little hag paused, pointed to me to pick up her stick, which, like a fool, I did. Stepping back, she curtsied reverently to my lady, her little pinched face changing into something human; then, going to meet the master, “I came to give the fair Miss Cicely welcome,” she said, “but I could not find her: that old lady stole her voice! _She_ Miss Cicely!” The master struck something which hung in the hall; they call it a gong: the air and house shook again at the deep, loud noise, and from half a dozen doors servants rushed in. “Can none of you take care of Maud?” he said. “She is insane, now--quite. Keep her away from this end of the house.” “I only came to look for Miss Cicely: I found a voice--SHE stole a voice!” said the old creature; and she continued talking and screaming until the doors were shut, the echo of the alarum being like the whisperings of spirits around the walls. I wished myself anywhere away, and I did not know where to go; the house was all strange to me; the cousins seemed afraid to look at each other. My mistress _drew down her veil_, and extended her hand; hard as it is--thin and worn--the master kissed it as fondly as if it had been the hand of a fresh fair girl of eighteen. Aunt dear, it was as strange a meeting as ever was put in a book--those two aged people--one who had loved, the other who had taken her own will; and small blame to her, aunt. Sure it was better for her to run off at the last moment, than take a false oath at God’s altar. I shall never forget the look of downright, upright love that shone in the master’s face, as they stood like two monuments _forenint_[8] each other. I don’t know when they’d have left off or moved, if the sister-in-law, Mrs. James Cranley, had not flung into the hall, followed by her maid, with a clothes-basket, full of printed papers and sealed letters, and a footman running on with a big tea-tray, covered with the same sort of combustables. She came in speaking; and one word was so _hot foot_ after the other, that it was out of the question to know what she meant.