The Forest of Vazon | Page 5

was an aged woman of unusual
height; her snow-white hair was confined by a metal circlet, her eyes
were keen and searching, her gestures imperious; her dress was simple
and would have been rude but for the quaintly ornamented silver girdle
that bound her waist, and the massive bracelets on her arms. Like the
girl she was seen for the first time; her almost supernatural appearance
inspired wonder and awe. She bent over the prostrate form: "Marie said
with her last breath," she muttered to herself, "that ere the oaks were
green again the sweetest maidens in the island would be in her embrace,
but she cannot summon this one now! her vext spirit has not yet the
power!"
She examined the wound, and raising herself said, "No human hand can
save her. The Spirits alone have power: those Spirits who prolong
human life regardless of human ills; but they must be besought, and
who will care to beseech them?"

"Prayers may save her," answered a stern voice, "but not prayers to
devils! The Holy Virgin should we beseech, by whom all pure maidens
are beloved. She will save her if it be God's will, or receive her into her
bosom if it be decreed that she should die."
The words were those of Father Austin, one of the monks of Lihou,
distinguished by his sanctity and the austerity of his habits. He was
spare, as one who lived hardly; his grey eyes had a dreamy look
betokening much inward contemplation, though they could be keen
enough when, as now, the man was roused; there was a gentleness
about his mouth which showed a nature filled with love and sympathy.
The woman drew herself to her full stature, and turned on him a defiant
look.
"Gods or devils!" she said in a ringing tone--"which you will! What can
an immured anchorite know of the vast mysteries of the wind-borne
spirits? Is this child to live or die? My gods can save her; if yours can,
let them take her! She is nought to me."
"When Elijah wrestled with the prophets of Baal, where did victory
rest?" said the priest, and he too stooped down and inspected the wound.
"She is past cure," he said, rising sadly; "it remains but to pray for her
soul."
At this critical moment an agonizing shriek rang through the forest. The
same runners who had sped to Marie Torode's cottage and had learnt
there that the wise woman had in truth passed away, had brought back
with them Suzanne's mother, who threw herself on her child's body
endeavouring to staunch the blood, and to restore animation. Finding
her efforts vain, she had listened anxiously to the words that had passed,
and on hearing the priest's sentence of doom she burst into frantic grief
and supplication. Turning to each disputant she cried--"Save her! save
her young life! I suckled her, I reared her, I love her!--oh, how I love
her!--do not let her die!"
"She can be saved!" curtly responded the stranger. The priest was silent.
A murmur arose. Austin, who had trained himself to study those among

whom he laboured, saw that the feeling was rising strongly against him.
His antagonist saw it also, and pressed her victory.
"Yes!" she said scornfully, "it is a small matter for my Gods to save her,
but they will not be besought while this bald-pate obtrudes his presence.
Let him leave us!"
The priest was much perplexed. He knew the skill of these lonely
women; secretly he had faith in their power of witchcraft, though
attributing it to the direct agency of Satan. He thought it not impossible
that there was truth in the boast; and his heart was wrung with the
mother's grief. On the other hand, the public defeat was a sore trial; but
it was clear to him that for the present at least the analogy of Elijah's
struggle was imperfect: he must wait, and meanwhile bear his
discomfiture with meekness. He prepared to retire. The victor was not,
however, even now satisfied. "Take with you," she said, "yon idol that
defaces the sacred oak!"
The good fathers, following their usual practice of associating emblems
of heathen with those of Christian worship, in the hope of gradually
diverting the reverence to the latter without giving to the former a ruder
shock than could be endured, had suspended a small cross on the oak,
hoping eventually to carve the tree itself into a sacred emblem; it was
to this that the woman was pointing with a sneer.
But this time she had made a blunder. Father Austin turned to the
crucifix and his strength and fire returned. Taking it from the tree,
reverently kissing it and holding it aloft, he said solemnly--"Let my
brothers and sisters come with