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3 The face in the glass
The days went past, and Rhoda Brook was afraid to meet Mrs Lodge again.
She liked her, and did not want to remember the strange dream or the strange marks on the young wife's arm.
But she could not stop thinking about them.
One day they met on the road from the village.
They began to talk, and after a minute or two Rhoda said, ‘How is your arm, Mrs Lodge? Is it better now?’
‘No, it isn't. It's worse than before. Sometimes it hurts very badly.’
‘What does the doctor say about it?’ asked Rhoda.
‘He doesn't understand it. He just says, “Put the arm in hot water for five minutes twice a day.”
‘Well, I do that, but it doesn't help.’
‘Can I look at your arm?’ asked Rhoda.
Once again, the younger woman uncovered her arm, and Rhoda stared at it.
The arm was thinner, and a little withered.
And the marks looked more and more like marks made by fingers.
Rhoda remembered her dream, and the feel of the arm under her hand- in just the same place.
‘It looks like the marks of fingers,’ Gertrude Lodge said.
She tried to laugh. ‘My husband says they are a witch's marks.
‘A witch put her hand on my arm, he says, and it's killing the flesh.’
‘No, no,’ said Rhoda quickly. She felt cold and afraid.
‘Don't listen to those old stories.’
The young wife's face was unhappy. ‘No, but... you see, I think he begins to... to love me less,
‘because of these marks on my arm. Men always like their wives to be pretty, don't they?’
‘Some men do,’ said Rhoda. ‘But don't show him the arm.
‘Cover it all the time, and then he can't see it.’
‘Ah, but he knows the marks are there.’
Gertrude looked away, but Rhoda could see the tears in her eyes.
‘I hope your arm is better soon, Mrs Lodge,’ she said quietly.
She said goodbye and began to walk home.
She felt sorry for the poor, innocent young wife, and did not want to hurt her.
But she did not feel sorry for the husband.
She walked home, thinking about him.
‘So, Farmer Lodge,’ she thought. ‘You loved me once, but then you left me, and did nothing to help me.
‘You wanted a new, younger and prettier woman for your wife. But she is not so pretty now, is she?’
The next day Rhoda walked home from the dairy after evening milking at the usual time.
She was nearly at her house when she saw Gertrude Lodge behind her.
Rhoda went down the hill to meet her.
‘Oh, Rhoda!’ called Gertrude. ‘I wanted to see you- to ask you...’
Her face was pale and worried, and she held her left arm with her other hand.
‘Somebody told me,’ she said, ‘about a man at Egdon Heath.
‘They don't know his name, but they say he is a famous Wise Man, and can help people with... with things like this.’
She looked down at her left arm, and then looked at Rhoda, with hope in her eyes.
‘They say you know about him, this Wise Man. Do you know his name?’
‘Perhaps they mean Mr Trendle,’ Rhoda said slowly. She felt ill.
This man Trendle, people said, could do many strange things.
He could understand dreams, he could drive phantoms out of houses, he could stop the work of witches...
‘I am not a witch,’ she thought. ‘I am not! I do not believe in these things.’
Gertrude watched her. ‘You know him,’ she said. ‘I can see it in your face.
‘Of course, I don't believe in Wise Men. What can they do?
‘But... well, I can just go and see him. Is it far to his house?’
‘Yes— about five miles,’ said Rhoda.
‘Well, I must walk there. I cannot tell my husband about this.
‘Can you come with me, Rhoda, to show me the way? Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Oh no, it's... I...’ Rhoda began. ‘Please!’ said Gertrude.
And in the end Rhoda could not say no.
Mrs Lodge was good and kind, and she needed a friend's help.
But perhaps a Wise Man could see into people's dreams.
Rhoda did not want to meet this man Trendle, and she was afraid...
The next afternoon she met Gertrude by the trees near her house,
and they began the long walk across the hills to Egdon Heath.
It was a cold day, and the sky above the hills was dark and unfriendly.
They found Mr Trendle's house outside the village.
He was at home when they arrived.
He was an old man with grey hair,
and he looked long and hard at Rhoda when he saw her.
Mrs Lodge told him about her arm, and he looked at it carefully.
‘No, doctors can't do anything for this,’ he said. ‘This is the work of an enemy.’
Rhoda moved away a little.
‘An enemy? What enemy?’ asked Mrs Lodge.
‘I don't know,’ said the Wise Man, looking at her. ‘But perhaps you do.
‘I can show the person to you. Do you want me to do that?’
‘Yes,’ said Gertrude. ‘Yes, please show me.’
Mr Trendle took Gertrude into another room,
but the door was open, and Rhoda could see into the room.
The Wise Man took an egg, and did something to it.
Then he put a glass of water on the table, and carefully broke the egg open.
The white of the egg went down into the water, changing to a milky white colour, and moving slowly round and round.
He put the glass in front of Gertrude.
‘Look down into the water,’ he said. ‘Look for a face.’
Gertrude stared down into the water.
‘Do you see a face?’ the Wise Man asked quietly.
Gertrude whispered something, but Rhoda could not hear.
She turned away from the door.
When Mrs Lodge came out, her face was pale- paler than Rhoda's.
Mr Trendle closed the door behind her, and the two women began to walk home.
But things were not the same between them.
‘Did he- did he ask for money?’ Rhoda said quietly. "
‘Oh no, nothing. He did not want a penny,’ said Gertrude.''
‘And what did you see?’ asked Rhoda.
‘Nothing... I-I don't want to speak about it.’
Gertrude did not look at Rhoda.
Her pretty young face looked ten years older, and was now more like the face of the phantom in Rhoda's dream.
They did not speak for a long time,
then Gertrude said suddenly, ‘Did you want me to come here and see this Wise Man? How strange of you!’
‘No, I didn't. But now, I am not sorry we came.’
For the first time since her dream Rhoda felt a little pleased:
Life was cruel, she thought, and Gertrude Lodge must learn that lesson too.
On the long walk home they did not speak again about their visit to the Wise Man.
But other people did, and whispered stories about it in all the farms and dairies.
Mrs Lodge could no longer use her withered arm to do anything,
and people began to put the word ‘witch’ in front of the name ‘Rhoda Brook’.
Rhoda said nothing to anybody about the phantom of her dream,
but her face got thinner and paler.
And in the spring she and her boy left their house and went away into the hills in the west.
