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Kingsley, Charles, 1819-1875

"Hereward, the Last of the English"

"
"That is my business," said the other; "and my spirit likes the smell of
gold as well as yours. Little you would have got from me, if you had not
given me half the chain."
Then the two rose.
"Let us see whether the English hog is asleep."
One of them came and listened to Hereward's breathing, and put her hand
upon his chest. His hair stood on end; a cold sweat came over him. But he
snored more loudly than ever.
The two old crones went out satisfied. Then Hereward rose, and glided
after them.
They went down a meadow to a little well, which Hereward had marked as he
rode thither, hung round with bits of rag and flowers, as similar "holy
wells" are decorated in Ireland to this day.
He hid behind a hedge, and watched them stooping over the well, mumbling
he knew not what of cantrips.
Then there was silence, and a tinkling sound as of water.
"Once--twice--thrice," counted the witches. Nine times he counted the
tinkling sound.
"The ninth day,--the ninth day, and the king shall take Ely," said one in
a cracked scream, rising, and shaking her fist toward the isle.
Hereward was more than half-minded to have put his dagger--the only weapon
which he had--into the two old beldames on the spot. But the fear of an
outcry kept him still. He had found out already so much, that he was
determined to find out more.


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