"I know from whom it comes," said she, and she seemed inclined to put it into the little wallet of blue satin that hung at her side.
Then she glanced at Prudence's eyes. There was nothing there in the least approaching displeasure or pique, only a quiet amusement.
"It was cleverly done," said Prudence, and she raised her head cautiously and peeped through one of the small panes of pale green glass. But the twilight had sunk into dusk, and any one outside could easily have made his escape unperceived through the labyrinth of barns and outhouses.
Judith glanced at the handwriting again, and said, with an affectation of carelessness:
"There be those who have plenty of time, surely, for showing the wonders of their skill. Look at the twisting and turning and lattice-work of it--truly he is a most notable clerk; I would he spent the daylight to better purpose. Read it for me, sweet Prue."
She would have handed the letter--with much studied indifference of look and manner--to her friend, but that Prudence gently refused it.
"'Tis you must undo the string; you know not what may be inside."
So Judith herself opened the letter, which contained merely a sprig of rosemary, along with some lines written in a most ornate calligraphy.
"What does he say?" she asked, but without any apparent interest, as she gave the open letter to her companion.
"Rosemary is for remembrance Between us day and night; Wishing that I might always have You present in my sight.
This from your true well-wisher, and one that would be your loving servant unto death.
"The idle boy!" she said, and again she directed a quick and penetrating look of inquiry to her friend's face. But Prudence was merely regarding the elaborate handwriting. There was no trace of wounded pride or anything of the kind in her eyes. Nay, she looked up and said, with a smile,
"For one that can wrestle so well, and play at foot-ball, and throw the sledge as they say he can, he is master of a most delicate handwriting."
"But the rosemary, Prue!" Judith exclaimed, suddenly, and she groped about at her feet until she had found it. "Why, now, look there, was ever anything so fortunate? Truly I had forgotten all about rosemary, and my reverend wizard, and the charm that is to be buried to-night; and you know not a word of the story. Shall I tell you, sweet mouse? Is there time before the moon appears over the roof of the church?--for there I am summoned to fearful deeds. Why, Prue, you look as frightened as if a ghost had come into the room--you yourself are like a ghost now in the dusk--or is it the coming moonlight that is making you so pale?"