"My friend!" she said. "You do not know what you say. Do you know what it would cost to be my friend? Besides, why should you? You do not know who I am; you have never heard my name."
"No," I replied, "I have never heard your name, I do not know who you are."
"Then why should you desire to befriend me?"
I could not answer her, neither for that matter could I answer myself when the question came to me. But I think I know now. Although my father had taught me to distrust all men, he had always led me to think of my mother as a beautiful noble woman, one who was as pure as an angel, and as truthful as the sun which shines in the heavens. Thus it came about that I was led to look at womanhood through the medium of my mother's life, and to regard it as a gentleman's duty ever to treat them with respect and reverence. Nay, more, I had learnt, I know not how, to regard it the first duty of a man of honour ever to seek to befriend a gentlewoman, and that at all hazards.
"Because you are a gentlewoman, and you are in trouble," I said.
We had been standing beside the pond during this conversation, as though we desired to delay entering the dark woods close by. Once beneath the shadows of the trees we should scarce be able to see each other, but here no shadow fell, and I could see her plainly. I heard her sob, too, as though my words had touched her heart.
"Do not be afraid," I said, "I will let no man harm you."
I spoke as a brother might speak to a sister, and there was naught but pity in my heart. Perhaps my voice had a tremor in it, for I was much wrought upon. Be that as it may, for the first time she lost control over herself, and she gave way to tears.
"I am afraid, oh, I am afraid," she said.
"You need not be," I said, "no harm shall befall you."
"Oh, but you do not know. You do not know who is by your side, you do not know what I fear."
"You need not fear to tell me," I said.
"Fear to tell you!" she cried, "but I do. Ay and if it were known that you walk by my side, and that you seek to befriend me, your life would be in danger. You do not know why I have consented to come here, you do not know of what I am accused. Nay, if I told you my name, you would either drag me back to Folkestone town and tell – " Here she ceased speaking, as though she were frightened at her own words.
"No I should not," I made answer.
"Why?"
"Because I do not believe you are capable of committing a crime."
At this she laughed aloud. A hard, cruel, bitter laugh.
"You had better go back to your bed, Master Rashcliffe," she said. "You do not know why I am here, you do not know what my mission is. I will tell you. I am here because I fear the devil, and because I seek to do his bidding."
She said this as if through her set teeth, and, as it seemed to me, with terrible passion. In spite of myself I felt a shiver pass through my veins. Nevertheless I still pitied her. For be it remembered I was only twenty-three, and the sight of the maid was in truth piteous. All the same the words I spoke next were dragged from me almost against my will.
"What!" I cried. "Have you sold yourself to the devil?"
"Ay, Master Rashcliffe, that is it, and I have found him a hard master."
I saw her clench her hands as if in a frenzy, while her eyes gleamed with a great passion.
"I do not believe in such things," I said, for although many witches had been burnt in England, even in my time, I had no faith in much of what I had heard.
"Why do I go up to the old house in Pycroft woods?" she went on. "Is it for pleasure? Have you not heard it is haunted? I tell you deeds are done there which would frighten you, brave as you think you are. And I go because I must. Now had you not better go back and leave me?"
"No," I made answer. "I will accompany you even as I have said."
"But you promised not to hinder me."
"No, I will not hinder you, because, in spite of what you say, I do not believe evil is in your heart."
"There you make a mistake, Master Rashcliffe. I have evil in my heart. And it is not without reason. Have you a sister?"
"No, why do you ask?"
"Because if you had you might understand me. If you had a sister, bound to obey a bad man, as his wife, would she not be justified in having evil in her heart?"
"His wife?" I cried.
"Ay, his wife!" and at this she laughed bitterly. "Now you see how useless it is for you to try and help me, for a wife must obey her husband no matter what he commands her. Do you think I would be here else? Look!" and she showed me her left hand, where I saw a plain gold ring.
At this I said nothing, nevertheless I did not in any wise think of giving up my determination to accompany her.
"You are still determined to enter this old house?" I said quietly.
"I go because I must," she replied.
Without another word I opened the gate and motioned her to pass in.
"You still persist in going?" she said, as if in astonishment, but she passed through the open gate, while I walked quietly by her side.
It was not easy to keep to the track, but I managed to follow it while the woman, who I was sure felt glad that I had persisted in accompanying her, kept near me. How long we walked I do not know. The woods grew darker and thicker, while the very air we breathed seemed laden with mystery and dread.
Once or twice I stopped, for I thought I heard footsteps, but as I listened all was silent.
"Oh, I am afraid," she said again and again. I did not reply to her, for I had no word of cheer to offer. In truth I was not far from being afraid myself. An open enemy I could meet as well as another, but the dreadful silence, with the occasional suggestion of stealthy footsteps, made my heart grow cold in spite of myself.
At length the track ended in an open space, and then my heart gave a leap, for a little distance away I saw the dark outline of an old house. Never until then did I realise how dark and lonesome a human habitation could be. Not a sound could I hear save the beating of our own hearts, naught could I see but the grim walls of the time-worn building.
"Look," she whispered fearfully. "Yonder is a light."
She spoke truly, for almost hidden by a large evergreen tree, yet plainly to be seen was a tiny light.
"That will be Master Pycroft!" I said almost involuntarily.
For answer she only shuddered, and then without saying a word she walked in the direction of the light.
CHAPTER VI
THE OLD HOUSE AT PYCROFT
Strange as it may seem, I had during the time I had been with this woman wellnigh forgotten my own desire to enter this old house in the midst of the Pycroft woods. My own mission had somehow become dim and unreal. My interest in the strange journey of my companion had been so strong that nothing else seemed of much importance. Nay more, although my plan of accompanying her to this place, in order that I might gain knowledge of the thing I desired to possess, first helped me in my determination, I had never considered the reasons which should induce her to come hither. That she went there at the command of the man at the inn was plain enough, but why he wished her to go I had not even tried to surmise. The reason for this was, I suppose, owing to the fact that I was carried away by the excitement of the hour.
Now that we were within sight of the house, however, everything came to me like a flash of light. I realized that I was not only the companion of the woman, who at the bidding of her husband travelled to this lonely house at midnight, but that I had travelled thither that I might also discover the secret that lay therein. Then another thought struck me. Might not my own quest be associated with hers? Why did the man send her hither? It was for no light