The Witch's Head by H. Rider Haggard
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The Witch's Head
by
H. Rider Haggard
1884
Swell out, sad harmonies,
From the slow cadence of the gathering years;
For Life is bitter-sweet, yet bounds the flood
Of human fears
A death-crowned queen, from her hid throne she scatters
Smiles and tears
Until Time turn aside,
And we slip past him towards the wide increase
Of all things beautiful, then finding there
Our rest and peace;
The mournful strain is ended. Sorrow and song
Together cease.
A. M. Barber.
CHAPTER I
ERNEST'S APPEARANCE
"Come here, boy, let me look at you."
Ernest advanced a step or two and looked his uncle in the face. He was a noble-looking lad of about thirteen, with large dark eyes, black hair that curled over his head, and the unmistakable air of breeding that marks Englishmen of good race.
His uncle let his wandering glance stray round him, but, wandering as it was, it seemed to take him in from top to toe. Presently he spoke again:
"I like you, boy."
Ernest said nothing.
"Let me see--your second name is Beyton. I am glad they called you Beyton; it was your grandmother's maiden name, and a good old name too. Ernest Beyton Kershaw. By the way, have you ever seen anything of your other uncle, Sir Hugh Kershaw?"
The boy's cheek flushed.
"No, I have not; and I never wish to," he answered.
"Why not?"
"Because when my mother wrote to him before she died"--here the lad's voice choked--"just after the bank broke and she lost all her money, h