“Don’t cry, that’s a dearie,” she whispered, smoothing the silken curls with a tender hand. “Old Kathie didn’t mean to make her bairn angry. She only feared the curse would fall again. She hid herself in the window to see for herself, and she _has_ seen--alas, alas!” the old creature moaned half deliriously, rocking her body to and fro. “What curse is it you’re talking of, Katharine?” sobbed Edith in a sort of awe. “The Minstrel’s Curse, to be sure,” answered Katharine, between intervals of her rocking. “It’s never been told you, child. Pity it hadn’t. It might have been better for the poor young man.” “Well, tell me about it now,” exclaimed the imperious young beauty. She loved to hear the old crone’s tales of the past, and settling herself among her silken pillows, she prepared to enjoy some marvelous story. “Tell me, then, first,” said old Katharine, seriously--“you love the young man with the handsome dark eyes and the voice of music, do you not, my pet?” A little storm of blushing denial answered her, but the protest was all in vain. The old nurse had seen three generations of fair Chilton dames bloom and fade. She paid no heed to the angry remonstrance, but looking in her nurseling’s eyes, read the secret in her heart. “Ah, I knew it!” she sighed. “I knew it; but you must crush that love out of your heart, my child. It is his doom--his death. Better if you hated him.” “Katharine,” cried her young mistress, growing suddenly white and chill, “cease this foolish driveling at once, and tell me what you mean by the Minstrel’s Curse.” “I will then,” muttered the old nurse, crouching down on the floor beside the couch. “Go on,” said her young mistress, almost sternly in her impatience.