It was the old story of many a household.
CHAPTER XVIII--WITCHERY
The lady has gone to her secret bower,
The bower that was guarded by word and by spell.
SCOTT, The Lay of the Last Minstrel.
"Master Squire," said the principal man-at-arms of the garrison to
Pierce Hardcastle, "is it known to you what this laidly dame's
practices be?"
"I know her for a dame worthy of all honour and esteem," returned the
esquire, turning hastily round in wrath. He much disliked this man,
a regular mercenary of the free lance description, a fellow of French
or Alsatian birth, of middle age, much strength, and on account of a
great gash and sideways twist of his snub nose always known as Tordu,
and strongly suspected that he had been sent as a sort of spy or
check on Sir Leonard Copeland and on himself. The man replied with a
growl:
"Ah ha! Sans doubt she makes her niggard fare seem dainty cakes to
those under her art."
In fact the evident pleasure young Hardcastle took in the Lady
Castellane's society, the great improvement in his wound under her
treatment, and the manner in which the serfs around came to ask her
aid in their maladies, had excited the suspicion of the men-at-arms.
They were older men, hardened and roughened, inclined to despise his
youth, and to resent the orderly discipline of the household, which
under Ridley went on as before, and the murmurs of Thora led to
inquiries, answered after the exaggerated fashion of gossip.
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