“Aye,’twere different in the ol’ squire’s time—the other Sir John as marched away wi’ his sojers an’ never came back ... the world was better then ... ’specially High Dering. But to-day they name me witch, an’ a witch’s cottage bean’t no place for young maids—’specially your sort! But since you be here, come in an’ sit ye down—both on ye! An’ if ye’ll wait ’till my kittle b’iles I’ll brew ye a dish o’ tea——” “Tea?” exclaimed my lady. “Aye, I generally tak’s a drop towards noon; it do warm my old bones!” So saying, she led them into the cottage and very carefully locked, bolted and chained the door. “I do this,” she explained, “because happen they may come an’ mak’ trouble for me—sudden-like!” “Who, pray?” demanded my lady indignantly. “Any fule as finds ’is cow gone dry, or ’is crop blighted, or ’is horse off its feed, or his child in a fit.... Lord bless ’ee, child, doan’t stare so! Ye see folks thinks I’ve ‘the evil eye’ an’ can blast ’em with a look ... aye, but I wish I could, that I du!” “And so,” continued Sir John, “they have stoned her, set dogs on her, and threatened her with death by water and the fire, ere now——” “Aye, but the dogs be worst!” cried old Penelope, giving the fire a savage poke. “I can’t abide dogs!” “By heaven!” exclaimed my lady in sudden ferocity, “would I were a man!” “By heaven!” retorted Sir John, “I rejoice that you are not!” “Tush!” she cried angrily, “’tis time there came a man to High Dering!” “I have thought so too!” he answered gravely. “Nay, I mean a strong man—a man of action!” So saying, my lady rose, contemptuous, seeming to fill the small place with the majesty of her presence. “Dear Penelope,” said she gently, “suffer me to do that for you—I’ll lay the cloth and——” “No, no!” “But I say yes!” “O do ye an’ arl!” exclaimed the old woman fiercely. “This be my own cottage till they turn me out an’ then——” “Turn you out?” “Aye, in two or three wiks!” “You hear, sir; you hear?” “I do!” answered Sir John. “And when you are homeless, Penelope, what shall you do?” “Walk an’ tramp ’till I caan’t go no further, an’ then find a quiet corner to die in——” “Nay, that you shall not!” cried my lady passionately. “I will take ye—you shall come to me, I will adopt you——” “Eh—eh!” gasped old Penelope, and very nearly dropped her cherished Chinese teapot. “You shall come to me, Penelope,” repeated my lady, taking the teapot from her tremulous fingers. “I shall adopt you—nay, my dear soul, never doubt me, I mean it every word!” “But ... but,” stammered old Penelope, “they call me a witch! They ... they——” “Devil take ’em!” exclaimed my lady. “I will care for thee, Penelope! Shalt find peace and comfort at last, thou brave soul!” And here, seeing the old creature’s pitiful amaze, my lady stooped suddenly and pressed warm lips on her wrinkled brow.