Now Dame Eleanor Buckley was of a sharp and florid countenance--short-necked and broad-shouldered, her nose and chin almost hiding a pair of thin severe lips, the two prominences being close neighbours, especially in anger. In truth she guided, or rather managed, the whole circle of affairs; aiding and counselling the speculations of her husband, who had happily been content with the produce and profit of his paternal acres, had not his helpmate, who inherited this mercantile spirit from her family, urged her partner to such unwonted lust and craving for gain. A huge bundle of keys hung at her girdle, which, when more than usually excited, did make a most discordant jingle to the tune that was a-going. Indeed, the height and violence of her passion might be pretty well guessed at by this index to its strength. When the storm had in some degree subsided, Gervase held up the ring. "What's that, silly one? A wedding-ring!" She grew almost pale with wrath. "How darest thou?--thee!--a ring!--to wed ere thou hast a home for thy pretty one. Ye may go beg, for here ye shall not tarry. Go to the next buckle-beggar! A pretty wedding truly! When thou hast learned how to keep her honestly 'twill be time enough to wed. But thou hast not earned a doit to put beside her dower, and all our ready moneys, and more, be in trade; though, for the matter o' that, the pulling would be no great business either. But I tell thee again, thy father shall not portion an idler like thyself and pinch his trade. Marry, 'tis enough to do, what with grievous sums lost in shipwrecks, and the time we have now to wait our returns from o'er sea." She went on at this rate for a considerable space, pausing at last, more for lack of breath than subject-matter of discourse. "Mother," said he, when fairly run down; "'tis not a purchase--'tis a gift." "By some one sillier than thyself, I warrant." "I know not for that; I had it from a stranger." "Stranger still," she replied sharply, chuckling at her own conceit. "Look at it, mother. Know you such a one?" The dame eyed it with no favour, but she turned it over with a curious look, at the same time lifting her eyes now and then towards the ceiling, as some train of recollection was awakening in her mind. "Where gat ye this?" said Dame Eleanor, in a subdued but still querulous tone. "On the hill-top yonder." "Treasure-trove belongs to Sir John Byron.[21] The lord of the manor claims all from the finders." "It was a gift." "Humph. Hast met gold-finders on the hills, or demons or genii that guard hidden treasure?" "We've seen the Red Woman!" Had a sudden thunder-clap burst over them, she could not have been more startled. She stood speechless, and seemingly incapable of reply. Holding the ring in one hand, her eyes were intently fixed upon it. "What is it that troubles you?" said Gervase. "Yon strange woman bade me give you the ring, and ask if so be that you remembered her."