“Why, mother, whatever has been the matter with you?” asked Kester. “A little bit out of sorts, eh? But you’ll soon be all right again now.” “Yes, I shall soon be all right now—soon be quite well,” answered the woman grimly. “A black box and six feet of earth cure everything.” “You mustn’t talk in that way, mother,” said Kester, as he sat down on the only chair in the place, and took one of the woman’s lean, hot hands in his. “You will live to plague us for many a year to come.” “Kester St. George, this is the last time you and I will meet in this world.” “I hope not, with all my heart,” said Kester, feelingly. “I know what I know, and I know that what I say is true,” answered Mother Mim. “You would not have come now if I had not worked a spell strong enough to bring you here even against your will. I worked it four nights ago, at midnight, when that young viper there”—pointing a finger at the girl, who was still cowering over the ashes—“was fast asleep, and there were no eyes to see but those of the cold stars. Ah! but it was horrible! and if it had not been that I felt I must see you before I died, I could never have gone through with it.” She paused for a moment, as though overcome by some dreadful recollection. “Then, when it was over, I crept back to bed, and waited quietly, knowing that now you could not choose but come.” “I ought to have come and seen you long ago—I know it—I feel it,” said Kester. “But let bygones be bygones, and I give you my solemn promise never to neglect you again. I am rich now, mother, and you shall never want for anything as long as you live.” “Too late—too late!” sighed the woman. “Yes, you’re rich now, rich enough to bury me, and that’s all I ask you to do.” “Don’t talk like that, mother,” said Kester. “If you had only come to see me!” said the woman. “That was all I wanted. Just to see your face, and squeeze your hand, and have you to talk to me for a little while. I wanted none of your money—no, not a single shilling of it. It was only you I wanted.” Kester began to feel slightly bored. He squeezed Mother Mim’s hand, and then dropped it, but he did not speak. “But you didn’t come,” moaned the woman, “and you wouldn’t have come now if I hadn’t worked a charm to bring you.” “There you wrong me,” said Kester, decisively. “Your charm, or spell, or whatever it may have been, had no effect in bringing me here. I came of my own free will.” “Self-conceited, as you always were and always will be,” muttered the woman. Then, half raising herself in bed, and addressing the girl, she cried: “Nell, you hussy, just you hook it for a quarter of an hour. The gent and I have something to talk about.” The girl rose sullenly, went slowly out, and banged the door behind her. Kester wondered what was coming next. He had dropped the woman’s hand, but she now held it out for him to take again. He took it, and she pressed his hand passionately to her lips three or four times.