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

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Master Wentworth came out from the still-room, a bunch of yarrow under one arm, and holding the mortar bowl.

“What ungodly racket is this?” he asked. “Is a man to find no peace in his own house?”

Upon hearing his voice, Goodwife Higgins’ fright somewhat abated. She drew down her apron, and pointed speechlessly to Deliverance who was rigid with terror.

“Lord bless us!” cried the goodman. “Have you no wits at all, woman?” He laid the bowl on the table, unconsciously letting the herbs slip to the floor, and hastened to Deliverance’s assistance.

“You have catched a bird, daughter, but no singing-bird, only a loathsome bat. Why, Deliverance, weep not. My little Deliverance, there is naught to be frightened at. ’Tis a very pitiful thing,” he continued, lapsing into his musing tone, while his long fingers drew the fair hair from the bat’s claws with much deftness, “how some poor, pitiful creatures be made with nothing for to win them grace and kind looks, only a hideous body, so that silly women scatter like as a viper had come amongst them; and yet, even the vipers and toads have jewelled eyes, did one but look for them.”