"Now, lovey," said the old woman, "I am going to trust you to have sense to do as you are bid. You must shut your eyes tightly, and neither look nor speak till you hear his voice." "Shall I hear it?" faltered Anne. "Yes, for sure," cried the old woman, imperiously. "Now close your eyes and obey me in all I say. If you do not, I will not answer for what may happen." "I--I'll go back now. I am weary," faltered Anne. "Too late," cried the old woman, clutching her hand tightly. "Shut your eyes. There, now not a word." Anne obeyed to the letter, and for fully half-an-hour felt herself half dragged up and down rugged ground, past masses of stone, and through bushes; and more than once her fears nearly made her open her eyes. At last, when she could bear the suspense no longer, there was a pause, and Mother Goodhugh placed her hands upon her shoulders, pressed her down upon a block of stone, and whispered in her ear:-- "Keep your eyes close; do not speak or move, and you will hear his steps ere long, and he will speak to thee." "In the flesh?" whispered the girl, hoarsely. "How can I tell in or out of the flesh, but he will come." "But who, Mother Goodhugh, who?" whispered the girl. "I know not. It may be Captain Gil: it may be the gallant at the Pool: all I know and can tell is that the man who touches you--" "Touches?" "Yes, touches you, is or will be your lover. Hush! Not a word." Anne half made a spring to rise, but something seemed to hold her back in her seat, and with palpitating heart she sat trembling as she heard a faint rustling noise indicating that Mother Goodhugh was going back into the forest; and, unable at last to combat the feeling of lonesomeness and dread, but at the same time unwilling to break what she felt was a spell by opening her eyes, she whispered hastily--"Mother--mother, are you there?" She sank back the next moment bedewed with cold clammy perspiration, for there seemed to arise a strange low whispering of many voices, which passed, came back, and died away in the distance, leaving her in the midst of a silence that was profound. Volume 1, Chapter VIII. HOW THE SPELL BEGAN TO WORK. It was terrible work to sit there in that profound silence, listening and wondering where she was; and at last it was with a feeling of relief that Anne awoke to the fact that she must be out in the daylight; for suddenly the mournful caw of a rook passing far overhead fell upon her ear. Then the place did not seem so solitary, for a wandering wind swept softly by her, stirring the leaves which rustled together, as it cooled her cheek, and soon after there was the pleasant chirp of a woodland bird, followed by the familiar little prattle of the yellow-hammer. She began now to realise that she must be in some deep ravine, one of the many that gashed the primeval forest, and felt half ready to laugh at her fears, as she uttered a short cough, which came back repeated strangely from the opposite wall of the rock.