Then the witch-wife took up the flasket and pulled
out the stopple and betook it to Birdalone, and said:
Drink of this now, a little sip, no more. And
the maiden did so, and the liquor was no sooner down
her gullet than the witch-wife and the chamber, and
all things about her, became somewhat dim to her;
but yet not so much so as that she could not see them.
But when she stretched out her arm she could see
it not at all, nor her limbs nor any other part of
her which her eyes might fall upon. Then would
she have uttered a lamentable wail, but the voice
was sealed up in her and no sound came from her voice.
Then she heard the witch-wife how she said (and yet
she heard it as if her voice came from afar), Nay,
thou canst not speak, and thou canst not see thyself,
nor may any other, save me, and I but dimly.
But this is but part of what I must lay upon thee;
for next I must give thee a new shape, and that both
thyself and all other may see. But, before I
do that, I must speak a word to thee, which thy new
shape would not suffer the sense thereof to reach to
thine heart. Hearken!
CHAPTER XII. THE WORDS OF THE WITCH-WIFE TO BIRDALONE
Said the witch-wife: When thou comest to thyself
(for it is not my will that thou shouldest never have
thine own shape again), doubtless the first thing
which thou shalt do with thy new-gained voice and thy
new-gained wit shall be to curse me, and curse me again.
Do as thou wilt herein; but I charge thee, disobey
me not, for that shall bring thee to thy bane.
For if thou do not my bidding, and if thou pry into
my matters, and lay bare that which I will have hidden,
then will it be imputed unto thee for guilt, and will
I, will I not, I must be avenged on thee even to slaying:
and then is undone all the toil and pain I have had
in rearing thee into a deft and lovely maiden.
Deem thou, then, this present anguish kind to thee,
to keep thee that thou come not to nought.
Now since I have begun speaking, I will go on; for
little heretofore have I spoken to thee what was in
mine heart. Well I wot that thou thinkest of
me but as of an evil dream, whereof none can aught
but long to awake from it. Yet I would have
thee look to this at least; that I took thee from
poverty and pinching, and have reared thee as faithfully
as ever mother did to child; clemming thee never, smiting
thee not so oft, and but seldom cruelly. Moreover,
I have suffered thee to go whereso thou wouldest,
and have compelled thee to toil for nought but what
was needful for our two livelihoods. And I have
not stayed thy swimmings in the lake, nor thy wanderings
in the wood, and thou hast learned bowshot there,
till thou art now a past-master in the craft:
and, moreover, thou art swift-foot as the best of
the deer, and mayest over-run any one of them whom
thou wilt.
Copyrights
The Water of the Wondrous Isles from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.