Chapter III
Charms and Counter-charms
Never may I forget that walking down from the Gaspereau Ridge to GrandPré village. The very air seemed charged with mystery. Every sight andevery sound bore the significance of an omen, to which I lackedinterpreter. The roofs of the village itself, and the marshes, the sea,and the far-off bulk of Blomidon, appeared like the tissue of a dream,ready to vanish upon a turn of thought, and leave behind I knew not whatof terrible reality.
I am not by nature superstitious at all beyond the point of convenience.Such superstitions as please me I have ever been wont to cherish for theinterest to be had out of them. I have often been strengthened in adoubtful intention by omens that looked my way, and auspicious signshave many a time cheered me astonishingly when affairs have seemed to begoing ill. But the most menacing of omens have ever had small weightwhen opposing themselves to my set purpose. When a superstition is on myside I show it much civility: when it is against me it seems of smallaccount.
But that night I was more superstitious than usual. Of the new moon, apallid bow just sinking, I caught first sight over my left shoulder, andI felt vaguely troubled thereat. One crow, croaking from a willow stumpupon my right hand, got up heavily and flew across my path. I mislikedthe omen, and felt straightway well assured of some approaching rebuff.When, a few moments later, _two_ crows upon my left hand flew over to myright I was not greatly comforted, for they were far ahead and I wasforced to conclude that the felicity which they prophesied was remote.
Thus it came that presently I was in a waking and walking dream, notknowing well the substance from the shadow. Yet my senses did socontinue to serve me that I went not down into the village, where I knewI should find many a handclasp, but followed discreetly along the backof the orchards, that I might reach the De Lamourie place as swiftly aspossible.
By this hour a sweet-smelling mist, such as, I think, falls nowhere elseas it does in the Acadian fields, lay heavy on the grasses. I bethoughtme that it was the dew of the new moon, and therefore endowed with manyvirtues; and I persuaded myself to believe that my feet, which were bynow well drenched with it, must needs be set upon a fortunate errand.
As I came to this comforting conclusion I reached a little thicket at anorchard corner, where grew a deep tangle of early flowering herbs.There, gathering the wet and perfumed blooms, stooped an old woman witha red shawl wrapped over her head and shoulders. She straightenedherself briskly as I came beside her, and I saw the haggard, high-boned,hawk-nosed face of old Mother Pêche, whose tales of wizardry I had oftenlistened to in the years long gone by. She turned upon me her strangeeyes, black points of piercing intelligence encircled by a startlingglitter of wide white, and at once she stretched out to me a crookedhand of greeting.
“It is good for these old eyes, Master Paul, to see thee back in thevillage!” she exclaimed.
Now, any one will tell you that it is not well to be crossed in one’spath by an old woman, when on an errand of moment. I hurried past,therefore; and it shames me to say it. But then, remembering that onehad better defy any omen than leave a kindness undone, I stopped, turnedback, and hastily grasped the old dame’s wizened hand, slipping into ita silver piece as I did so.
It was a broad piece, and full as much as I could wisely spare; but anold woman or a small boy is ever welcome to share my last penny. Herstrange eyes gleamed for a moment, but as she looked up to bless me herface changed. After gazing earnestly into my eyes she muttered somethingwhich I could not catch, and to my huge amazement flung the silverbehind her with a violence which left no doubt of her intentions. Sheflung it toward a little swampy pool; but as luck would have it the coinstruck a willow sapling by the pool’s edge, bounded back, and fell witha clink upon a flat stone, where I marked it as it lay whitelyglittering.
I was too amazed to protest for a moment, but the old woman hastened toappease me.
“There was sorrow on it, dearie,—thy sorrow,” she exclaimed coaxingly;“and I wouldn’t have it. The devil take all thy bad luck, and Mary givethee new fortune!”
To me it seemed that throwing away the silver piece was takingsuperstition quite too seriously. I laughed and said:
“But, mother, if there be bad luck ahead of me, so much the more do Iwant your blessing, and truly I cannot spare you another silver crown.Faith, this one’s not gone yet, after all!” And picking it up I handedit back to her. “Let the devil fly away with my ill luck, if he may, butdon’t let him fly away with your little savings,” I added.
The old dame shook her head doubtfully, and then with a sigh ofresignation, as who should say, “The gifts of destiny are not to bethrust aside,” slipped the silver into some deep-hidden pocket. But herloving concern for my prosperity was not to be balked. After a littlefumbling she brought out a small pebble, which she gave me with an airthat showed it to be, in her eyes, some very great thing.
I took it with an answering concern, looked at it very closely, andturned it over in my hand, waiting for some clue to its significancebefore I should begin to thank her for the gift, if gift it were. Thestone was assuredly beautiful, about the size of a hazel-nut, and of aclouded, watery green in color, but the curious quality of it was thatas you held it up a moving loop of light seemed to gather at its heart,taking somewhat the semblance of a palely luminous eye. My interestdeepened at once, and I bethought me of a stone of rarity and pricewhich was sometimes to be found under Blomidon. It went by the name of“Le Veilleur,” or “The Watcher,” among our Acadian peasants; but theIndians called it “The Eye of Manitou,” and many mystic virtues wereascribed to it.
“Why, mother,” I said presently, “this is a thing of great price! Icannot take it. ‘Tis a ‘Watcher,’ is it not?” And I gazed intently intoits elusive loop of light.
“I have another,” she answered eagerly, thrusting her hands under herred cloak as if to prevent me giving back the stone. “That is for thee,and thou’lt need it, _chéri_ Master Paul.”
“Well,” said I, staring at the beautiful jewel with a growing affection,“I will take it with much thanks, mother, but I must pay you what it isworth; and that I will find out in Quebec, from one who knows the worthof jewels.”
“Thou shalt _not_ pay me, Master Paul,” said the old dame, with adistinct note of resentment in her voice. “It is my gift to thee,because I have loved thee since thou wert a little lad; and becausethou’lt need the stone. Promise me thou’lt wear it always about thee;”and plucking it from my hand with a swift insinuation of her longfingers she slipped it into a tiny pouch of dressed deerskin andproceeded to affix a leathern thong whereby I might, as I inferred, hangthe talisman about my neck.
“While this you wear,” she went on in a low, singing voice, “what mostyou fear will never come to pass.”
“But I am not greatly given to fear, mother,” said I, with a littlevainglorious laugh.
“Then thou hast not known love,” she retorted sharply.
At these words the fear of which she had spoken came about me—vague,formless, terrible, and I trembled.
“Give it to me!” I cried in haste. “Give it to me! I will repay you,mother, with”—and here I laughed again—“with love, which you say I havenever known.”
“_That_ kind of love, Master Paul, thou hast known since thou wert avery little lad. Thou’st given it freely, out of a kind heart. But,dearie, thou hast but played at the great love—or more would’st thouknow of fear.” And the old woman looked at me with shrewd question inher startling eyes.
But I did know fear—and I knew that I knew love. My face turnedanxiously toward De Lamourie’s, and I grudged every instant of furtherdelay.
“Good-by, mother, and the saints keep you!” I cried hastily, swingingoff through the wet grass. But the old dame called after me gently:
“Stop a minute, Master Paul. She will be at her supper by now; an’ in alittle she’ll be walking in the garden path.”
I stopped, f
illed with wonder, and my veins leaping in wild confusion atthe sound of that little word “she.” It was as if the old woman hadshouted “Yvonne” at the top of her voice.
“What is it?” I stammered.
“I want to look at thy hand, dearie,” she said, grasping it and turningit so as to catch the last of the fading light.
“Your heart’s desire is nigh your death of hope,” said she presently,speaking like an oracle. Then she dropped my hand with a little drychuckle, and turned away to her gathering of herbs as if I were of nofurther account.
“What do you mean?” I asked eagerly.
But she would not answer me. I scorned to appear too deeply concerned insuch old woman’s foolery; so I asked no more, but went my way, carryingthe word in my heart with a strange comfort—which, had I but known it,was right soon to turn into despair.