“The d-d-d-dark one,” sobs out Mary.  “I thought ’twas all off with the pale one years ago, and I wouldn’t marry him for anything n-n-n-now—­specially if he’s so poor as when he went.”

“And what’ll you do for me if I can save you from him?  I don’t say I can, for ’tis a pretty stiff job; but I might do so if I took a cruel lot of trouble.”

“I’ll give you everything I’ve got, Charity—­everything!” cries the girl.

“I’m afraid that ban’t enough, my dear.  Will you give me ten pound the day you’m married to the dark one?  That’s a fair offer; and if I don’t succeed, I’ll ax for nothing.”

The girl jumped at that, and said she thankfully would do so; and Mrs. Badge bade her keep her mouth close shut—­knowing she would not—­and let her go.  Poor Mary went off expecting to meet Nathan Coaker at every step o’ the road, and little knowing that the poor blid was sleeping his last sleep in a grave in foreign parts to Ireland.

The very same evening she met Peter Hacker himself; and though he was a chap without much use for religion, yet, like a good few other godless men, he believed in a good bit more than he could understand, and hated to spill salt, or see a single pie, and wouldn’t have cut his nails on a Friday for a king’s ransom.

She told him that her old sweetheart, Nathan Coaker, was coming back, and that blood would be spilled, and that the wise woman didn’t know for certain whether ’twas his blood or Nathan’s.  She wept a lot, and told him about Coaker, and what a strong, hard chap he was, and how he had the trick to ride over a woman’s heart and win ’em even against their wills.  And altogether she worked upon the mind of Peter Hacker so terrible, that he got into a proper sweat of fear and anger—­but chiefly fear.  And the next day—­unknown to Mary—­he rode up along to Walna, and had a tell with Charity Badge on his own account.

Peter began in his usual way with women.  He blustered a lot, and talked very loud and stamped his foot and beat his leg with his riding-whip.

“What’s all this here tomfoolery you’ve been telling my girl?” he says.  “I wonder at you, Mrs. Badge, a lowering yourself for to do it—­frightening an innocent female into fits.  You ought to know better.”

Of course Charity did know better, and she knowed Peter and his character inside out as well.

She looked at him, calm as calm, and smiled.

“I wish ’twas tomfoolery, Mr. Hacker.  I wish from my heart that the things I see didn’t happen; but they always do, if the parties ban’t warned in time; though now and again, when a sensible creature comes to me and hears what’s going to overtake ’em, they can often escape it—­as we can escape a storm if we look up in the sky and know the signs of thunder and lightning soon enough.”

“’Tis all stuff and rubbish, I tell you,” he said, “and I won’t have it!  Fortune-telling be forbidden by law, and if I hear any more about you and your cards and your crystal, I’ll inform against you.”