CHAPTER VI BALDA THE WITCH THE days passed leisurely up at the castle, naught of vast import to mark their flight. June was now in, the month of roses, with long sunny days, with nights of brief duration. Isabel, finding time hang somewhat heavy on her hands, turned yet closer attention to our Jester. Her interest in him had not waned; I am by no means sure that it had not increased. Recognizing his homage, she yet felt there was that in him which eluded her. Seeking to discover it she found herself baffled. While tantalizing it yet spurred her to further interest. Musing on the thought in her idle hours the desire to discover that which eluded her became somewhat of an obsession. She carried it with her throughout the day, took it to her couch as bedfellow. Her women in these days found her ill to please. The dowager of them, one time in sort her nurse, now an old dame who seldom left her own chamber, never the castle, prescribed _tisanes_ for her health, noxious concoctions of which the chief ingredient was the liquid from stewed rosemary, a mightily unpleasant herb to the palate. Mary would have her walk abroad, try fresh designs for her embroidery; and for my part I find her simple prescription wholesome. Leonora frankly saw mere ill-temper in her peevishness. Monica said rosaries for her, and truly prayer may take effect where all else fails. Brigid, very observant, said little, offered no remedies, but none the less she thought a good deal, fancied at one moment her thoughts were to some purpose, the next was none so sure of it. And then the clue came to her hand. I know not how Isabel’s mind began to turn upon the wise woman, so reputed, who dwelt in a mud-walled hovel in a distant combe among the moors. Perchance she happened at this time to catch some whisper of her from an over-credulous serving-wench; perchance the knowledge of the old crone’s whereabouts had been with her before this, and now recurred fresh to her mind. Certain it is that Isabel, brooding, saw possibility of aid in that quarter. The notion was unquestionably prompted by foolishness, probably by something more evil. Once presented it conjoined with her former thought, not to leave. This, too, was a thought which might be brought to deed. Seeing this Isabel was ready to act. It was not her way to dally when she saw possibility before her. * * * * * One night sleep forsook Brigid’s couch. Lying wide-eyed and wakeful an oppression fell upon her, not wholly of evil, yet something of that brand. Whispering an _Ave_ she sought to free herself from it, yet to no purpose. _Paternosters_, the Sign of the Cross alike availed her naught. Moved by a sudden impulse she rose from her bed, went to the window.