Читать книгу Ye Lyttle Salem Maide. A Story of Witchcraft онлайн

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A door leading from an inner room into the kitchen opened and a man came out. He was tall and hollow-chested and stooped slightly. His flaxen wig, parted in the centre, fell to his shoulders on either side of his hatchet-shaped face. He had mild blue eyes. His presence diffused faint odours of herbs and dried flowers and fragrance of scented oils. This sweet atmosphere, surrounding him wherever he went, heralded his presence often before he appeared.

“Has Deliverance returned, Goodwife Higgins?” he asked. “I need her to find me the yarrow.”

“And do ye think I would not have the child housed at this hour o’ night?” queried the goodwife, sharply; “your father needs ye, Deliverance. Ye ken, gossips,” she added in a softened voice, as Master Wentworth retired, “that the poor man has no notion o’ what be practicable. It be fair exasperating to a decent, well-providing body to care for him.”

Deliverance hastily set the porridge bowl on the hearth, and followed her father into the still-room.