"I told thee," said Grace, "she is the herald of misfortune! What woe does she denounce? What cruel judgment hast thou invoked upon our race?" cried she to this grim messenger of evil. "Evil will--evil must! I will cling to ye till your last sustenance be dried up, and your inheritance be taken from ye." "Her fate be mine," said Buckley, indignantly. "Her good or evil fortune I will share." "Be it so. Thou hast made thy choice, and henceforth thou canst not complain." She stretched out her two hands, one towards Clegg Hall, the abode of the maiden, and the other towards Buckley, her lover's paternal roof, from which a blue curl of smoke was just visible over the rising grounds beneath them. "A doom and a curse to each," she muttered. "Your names shall depart, and your lands to the alien and the stranger. Your honours shall be trodden in the dust, and your hearths laid waste, and your habitations forsaken." In this fearful strain she continued until Buckley cried out-- "Cease thy mumbling, witch. I'll have thee dealt with in such wise thy tongue shall find another use." Turning upon him a look of scorn, she seemed to grow fiercer in her maledictions. "Proud minion," she cried, "thou shall die childless and a beggar!" The cunning raven flapped his great heavy wings and seemed to croak an assent. He then hopped on his mistress' shoulder, and apparently whispered in her ear. "Sayest thou so?" said the witch. "Then give it to me, Ralph." The bird held out his beak, and out popped a plain gold ring. "Give this to thy mother, Dame Buckley. Say 'tis long since they parted company; and ask if she knows or remembers aught of the Red Woman. Away!" She threw the ring towards them. Both stooped to pick it up. They examined it curiously for a short space. "'Tis a wedding-ring," said Buckley, "but not to wed bride of mine. Where was this"---- He stopped short in his inquiry, for lifting up his eyes he found the donor was gone! Neither of them saw the least trace of her departure. The stone whereon she sat was again vacant. All was silent, undisturbed, save the night breeze that came sighing over the hill, moaning and whistling through the withered bent and rushes at their feet. The shadows of evening were now creeping softly around them, and the valley below was already wrapped in mist. The air felt very chill. They shuddered, but it was in silence. This fearful vision, for such it now appeared to have been, filled them with unspeakable dread. Gervase yet held the ring in his hand. He would have thrown it from him, but Grace Ashton forbade. "Do her bidding in this matter," said she. "Give it thy mother, and ask counsel of the sage and the discreet. There is some fearful mystery--some evil impending, or my apprehensions are strangely misled." They returned, but he was more disturbed than he cared to acknowledge. He felt as though some spell had been cast upon him, and cowed his hitherto undaunted spirit.