"Yes, yes, good Sir Thomas, hear him. I have cursed him more than any.

Oh, pray, pray."

"Pray," cried the justice; "pray to thy familiars, woman! Take her along."

"This is monstrous," cried the founder, indignantly.

"Hold thy peace, Master Cobbe," said Sir Thomas, impatiently; "and if thou dost interfere it will be at thy peril. Take her away, men, take her away."

"No, no! no, no!" shrieked the horrified woman, before whose affrighted face the faggot and stake already loomed. "Mas' Cobbe, save me--for pity's sake, save me. I be not a witch. I only cursed in the naughtiness of my heart. Help me, Mas' Cobbe; for thy dear child's sake, help me, and I'll tell thee all. I will not go. I will not go."

The founder sprang forward to her help, but he was unarmed, and Sir Thomas drew his sword and placed himself before the prisoner.

"I warn thee, Master Cobbe," he cried, "that this is a legal seizure.

Stand back, sir, stand back. Quick, men, do your duty."

It was a horrible scene, for the old woman clung to her door, and had to be literally torn away by the men, who, adding coarseness to the superstition of their superiors, felt no mercy for one whom they looked upon as being leagued with the powers of ill.

And now that the wise woman's reign was over, and she was held to be harmless, those who had feared and sought counsel of her rose up to spit on the shivering form that was being dragged along the ground towards the tail of the cart. For we were a fine and manly race in the good old times, and those who represented us at Roehurst made no scruple about reviling and kicking the quivering, helpless creature, who struggled hard as she was dragged by the wrists, her clothes torn, her hair dishevelled, and her old white face looking from one to the other for the help that none would give.

"Out upon the witch!" they shrieked and yelled, drowning the poor wretch's hoarse cries for mercy. "Burn her! Burn her!" rose in chorus; and the founder strove hard to reach her, but he was kept back by the increasing crowd, for the news that Mother Goodhugh was to be taken for a witch soon spread, and men, women, and children came panting up to join in execrating the helpless wretch.

Faint and exhausted, they bound her hands behind her back and her ankles tightly together, before, amidst tremendous shouting and yelling, she was lifted by four strong men, and literally thrown into, the cart, which was then set in motion, with Sir Thomas following behind with his sword drawn, and the people going before and crowding after, as the wheels sank down first on one side in the ruts, then on the other, revealing the wretched woman, who was now goaded to desperation, and had struggled up into a kneeling position, which she could hardly maintain for the rolling of the cart.

Every time she was nearly thrown down the crowd yelled with delight: and on some rustic genius throwing a clod of earth at her, his example was followed, and the poor wretch knelt there cowering from the shower of missiles sent into the cart.

At last she contrived to get her wrists loosed from the ill-tied cords; and, holding the cart-side with one hand, she raised the other, and shrieked out anathema after anathema against her persecutors, uttering such horrible curses against them that the less bold shrank away and the stoutest began to quail. But Mother Goodhugh's reign of cursing was nearly at an end; for, as the founder indignantly watched the proceedings, a great lad close by him picked up and hurled a lump of sand-rock at the wretched creature, striking her full in the temple, and, amidst a shout of triumph, the miserable woman fell stunned and bleeding to the bottom of the cart.

"That were a good hurl, master," cried the lout, with a broad grin.

"Yes," said the founder, fiercely, "and so was that!"

As he spoke, he struck the great, broad-faced fellow straight in the cheek, and he rolled over into one of the cart-ruts, whilst the procession with Mother Goodhugh, fortunately insensible now to pain, turned a corner of the winding lane, and passed out of the founder's sight.

Volume 3, Chapter XI.

HOW ROEHURST KEPT FETE FOR A WEDDING AND A DEATH.

Truly Satan must have been reigning upon earth in full fig when it was found necessary to execute thirty of his disciples at one time in Edinburgh. As for poor Mrs Hicks and her little daughter, aged nine, who were hanged at Huntingdon in 1716, they might have rejoiced at the opportunity of getting out of such a world of fools and ignorance. They must have been great sinners, though, for they had sold their souls to the devil, and--crowning atrocity!--they had raised a storm, and the recipe is handed down to posterity, for the _modus operandi_ was "pulling off their stockings and making a lather of soap!"

If for such a crime as this a tender child of nine could be punished with death in Christian England in those salutary days, there can be no wonder that Mother Goodhugh's condemnation was pretty sure. She was the known witch of the neighbourhood, and those who had feared her, sought her help, and paid her, were among the first to give evidence against the repository of their secrets.

Jeremiah Cobbe strove hard to save her, and so did Master Peasegood; but two men in an out-of-the-way part of England could not stem the tide of popular opinion, as it set strong against the wretched woman. In her rage and hate she strove to drag down Mistress Anne as well, but in so doing made a bitter enemy of one who was strong in court favour. For on hearing of the accusation Sir Mark lost no opportunity of fighting against "this notorious witch."

But Mother Goodhugh was not condemned without ample test and trial, fallen as she had under the care of a famous witch-finder and judge of the day, who came down to the nearest town by royal command to investigate the case.

The wretched woman was put through a course of torture. She suffered the pin test for the witch's mark. This failing, she next had her thumbs and toes tied together, she was wrapped in a sheet, and in the presence of plenty of spectators thrown into a pool.

As a certain amount of air remained in the sheet, and the water was some time in penetrating it, the poor woman naturally enough floated, amidst the execrations of the crowd, among whom were some twenty or thirty of Sir Mark's men.

None but a witch could float, so it was said; so after a final test, in which Mother Goodhugh failed to repeat the Lord's prayer without hesitation, her trial proceeded, and she was condemned to be burnt at the stake in her own village a week after sentence.

There was not much mercy shown in those days, and, though the fair rounded cheeks of Anne Beckley turned a little pale when Sir Mark brought her the news, they flushed directly after, for she felt that she would be freed from a persecutor who would give her no rest, and who might cause her trouble with her husband after the first few months of matrimonial life.

Besides, Anne Beckley argued with a shudder, the old woman had done strange things, and, with the superstition in her nature ready to accept it, she argued that if living she might curse her to her injury. True she might curse her now, but, as her accusations had been set aside as malicious, it was quite possible that her evil genius had deserted her as he did those who became unfortunate, and, as she had risked so much and gained only defiance, Anne Beckley determined to go on to the end.

It was a strange mixture, but the preparations for the wedding of Mistress Anne Beckley and for the execution of Mother Goodhugh went on side by side, in spite of the further efforts of Master Peasegood and the founder, who even went so far as to make a journey to London to seek the King's clemency. Of course without avail.

From his position as maker of his Majesty's Ordnance, Master Cobbe succeeded in getting an audience, to be received well, told that he was a good man, that his guns were strong, but that he knew naught of witchcraft.

"Read my book, Master Cobbe, read my book," said his Majesty; and Jeremiah Cobbe had to bow himself out with the stout parson, who was perspiring with anger.

"I'm a loyal and I hope religious man, Master Cobbe," said the latter excitedly; "I fear God and I honour the King; but all the same, Master Cobbe, I vow and declare that his Majesty is the damnedest fool I ever saw, and may the Lord forgive me for swearing."

"Yes," said the founder, sadly. "Well, old friend, we have done all we can, so let us stay away till they have wreaked their silly vengeance on that poor, mad soul."

"No, no, thank God!" said Master Peasegood, "they can only wreak it on her body, my friend, and as to staying here--nay, that must not be. I have no love for the weak old creature, who spent her time in mummery and silly cursing, but my place is by her side to ask forgiveness with her and a painless passage to the mercy-seat."

"Ay, parson, thou art right, and I'll join thee in thy prayer, for there should be mercy for one who men declare shall have her hellish flames before she dies."

"I don't quite like that speech, Master Cobbe, but you mean quite right.

Now, good friend, take me to some hostel and give me ale, or I shall faint here by the way. Nay, I'll not. It is choler. I'll be blooded instead, a good nine ounces, or I shall have a fit."

They were stout, strong posts that were set up outside the Moat gates to bear the arch of evergreens and flowers, but it was a stronger one in front of the cottage where Mother Goodhugh had spent her days, and, while men piled last year's faggots and heaped up charcoal taken from the founder's dogwood stacks, others cut down branches of yew and holly and gathered bundles of heather and golden gorse, and the preparations for the wedding feast went on.

"Ah, parson," cried Sir Mark, from the back of one of Sir Thomas's stout cobs, as he rode along beside fair Mistress Anne, who was mounted on a handsome jennet, "I have not seen thee for days. Art ready to tie our nuptial knot?"

"No, Sir Mark," said Master Peasegood, sternly. "I am going to pray beside the dying and the dead."

"What does he mean--the insolent fool?" cried Sir Mark, angrily.

"Truth, love, I cannot tell," said Mistress Anne; but in her heart of hearts she felt a sickening sensation, and would have given anything that the execution or the coming wedding were to take place elsewhere.

"As he will, sweetest," said Sir Mark, tenderly, and they rode on, receiving salutations from all they passed; "there are plenty of priests who will be glad to make us one; and only think, love--only two days now."

Anne Beckley rode on in silence for some time, thinking. Her betrothed laughed and chatted gaily, and truly they were a handsome pair; but the girl's heart was ill at ease, and at last, being bantered by Sir Mark upon her silence, she leaned towards him in a quiet glade of the forest, and, laying her hand upon his shoulder, offered her lips to his long clinging kiss.

"I have a favour to ask, love," she said.

"Ask favours from now till night, and thou shalt have them all," he cried.

"It is but one," faltered Anne; "our wedding."

"I would it were over," cried Sir Mark, eagerly; "but what of it, bright eyes?"

"I like not the day," said Anne, checking her horse's pace so that she could cling to her companion.

"And why not?" he asked.