Is it so ?" The hag's chin wagged fearfully, and her frame trembled with passion, but she spoke not.
"Have you been in the church, old woman ?" interposed Richard.
"Ay, wherefore ?" she rejoined.
"Some one has placed a cypress wreath on Abbot Paslew's grave.

Was it you ?" he asked.
"What! hast thou found it ?" cried the hag.

"It shall bring thee rare luck, lad--rare luck.

Now let me pass." "Not yet," cried Nicholas, forcibly grasping her withered arm.
The hag uttered a scream of rage.
"Let me go, Nicholas Assheton," she shrieked, "or thou shalt rue it.
Cramps and aches shall wring and rack thy flesh and bones; fever shall consume thee; ague shake thee--shake thee--ha!" And Nicholas recoiled, appalled by her fearful gestures.
"You carry your malignity too far, old woman," said Richard severely.
"And thou darest tell me so," cried the hag.

"Set me before him, Nance, that I may curse him," she added, raising her palsied arm.
"Nah, nah--yo'n cursed ower much already, grandmother," cried Nan Redferne, endeavouring to drag her away.