Wear the years and the years amidst such days as these, and now is
Birdalone grown a dear maiden of seventeen summers; and yet was her
life not unhappy; though the mirth of her childhood was somewhat
chastened in her, and she walked the earth soberly and measurely, as
though deep thoughts were ever in her head: though, forsooth, it is not
all so sure that her serious face and solemn eyes were but a part of
the beauty which was growing with the coming forth of childhood into
youth and maidenhood. But this at least is sure, that about this time
those forebodings which had shown her that she had no call to love and
honour her mistress took clearer shape, and became a burden on her,
which she might never wholly shake off. For this she saw, that she was
not her own, but a chattel and a tool of one who not only used her as a
thrall in the passing day, but had it in her mind to make of her a
thing accursed like to herself, and to bait the trap with her for the
taking of the sons of Adam. Forsooth she saw, though dimly, that her
mistress was indeed wicked, and that in the bonds of that wickedness
was she bound.
One thing, moreover, had she noted now this long while, that once and
again, it might be once every two moons, the witch-wife would arise in
the dead of night and go forth from the house, and be away for a day,
or two or three, or whiles more, and come back again weary and fordone;
but never said she any word to Birdalone hereof. Yet oft when she arose
to go this errand, before she left the chamber would she come to
Birdalone’s truckle-bed, and stand over her to note if she were asleep
or not; and ever at such times did Birdalone feign slumber amidst of
sickening dread. Forsooth in these latter days it whiles entered the
maiden’s head that when the dame was gone she would rise and follow her
and see whither she went, and what she did; but terror constrained her
that she went not.
Now from amidst all these imaginings arose a hope in her that she might
one day escape from her thralldom: and whiles, when she was lonely and
safe in the wood, to this hope she yielded herself; but thereof came
such tumult of her soul for joy of the hope, that she might not master
her passion; the earth would seem to rise beneath her, and the woods to
whirl about before her eyes, so that she might not keep her feet, but
would sink adown to earth, and lie there weeping. Then most oft would
come the cold fit after the hot, and the terror would take her that
some day the witch would surprise the joy of that hope in her eyes, and
would know what it meant, or that some light word might bewray her; and
therewith came imaginings of what would then befall her, nor were that
hard to picture, and it would come before her over and over again till
she became weary and worn out therewith.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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