betokened. The lad shrunk away in redoubled terror; and contented
himself with slipping the gold piece under the ill-fitting door. The
next day it was thrown out upon the midden; and there it lay, no one
daring to touch it.

Meanwhile Mr. Gisborne, half curious, half uneasy, thought to lessen
his uncomfortable feelings by asking Sir Philip who Bridget was? He
could only describe her--he did not know her name. Sir Philip was
equally at a loss. But an old servant of the Starkeys, who had
resumed his livery at the Hall on this occasion--a scoundrel whom
Bridget had saved from dismissal more than once during her palmy
days--said:-

"It will be the old witch, that his worship means. She needs a
ducking, if ever a woman did, does that Bridget Fitzgerald."

"Fitzgerald!" said both the gentlemen at once. But Sir Philip was
the first to continue:-

"I must have no talk of ducking her, Dickon. Why, she must be the
very woman poor Starkey bade me have a care of; but when I came here
last she was gone, no one knew where. I'll go and see her to-morrow.
But mind you, sirrah, if any harm comes to her, or any more talk of
her being a witch--I've a pack of hounds at home, who can follow the
scent of a lying knave as well as ever they followed a dog-fox; so
take care how you talk about ducking a faithful old servant of your
dead master's."

"Had she ever a daughter?" asked Mr. Gisborne, after a while.