"Yes," said the founder, sternly. "I protest against this terrible outrage in our midst, and I call upon you, good people, to help me to stop it."

There was a murmur in the crowd that gathered round; but it was the murmur of a hungry beast fearful of being robbed of its prey, and not a hand was raised to help the speaker.

"Master Cobbe," cried Sir Mark, sternly, "if thou art not mad, hold thy peace, and let the King's commands be done."

"Water, water," gasped the wretched woman, looking appealingly round.

"Nay, Jezebel, thou shalt have fire," said Sir Thomas. "It is more purifying than water for such as thou."

There was a burst of laughter at the coarse jest, but Master Peasegood strode into the cottage, took a rough earthenware vessel, and, parting the crowd, filled the mug from the clear cold spring, and held it to the wretched woman's lips.

She drank with avidity, and then pressed her thin white lips to the hand that held the vessel, while her eyes gave a grateful look at the face.

"Bless you," she said, in a hoarse whisper, and her lips kept moving quickly.

"Quick," cried Sir Mark; "we are wasting time," and four of the men seized and carried the trembling creature to the stake, where a chain was hanging ready to bind her fast.

But as it happened there was the chain but no means of fastening it, and impatiently throwing it aside they bound her with a cart-rope so that she was upright, for her limbs refused their task, and she had to be held as the rope was twisted round.

"Mas' Cobbe, Mas' Cobbe!" cried Mother Goodhugh, in a hoarse wail.

"Nay, go not nigh to her, Master Cobbe," cried Sir Thomas. "She will only curse thee again."

For answer the founder, who could not tear himself from the spot, strode towards the stake.

"I cannot save thee, Mother Goodhugh," he said, hoarsely.

"Nay, but thou did'st try," said the poor creature, piteously. "Try and forgive me, Mas' Cobbe, for I be a wicked wretch. I have cursed thee, and the curse has fallen back on me. Mace, thy child, be--"

"Stand aside, Master Cobbe," cried Sir Mark, imperiously. "Now, knaves, do your work quickly. Round with the faggots. Pile them higher, man, the brushwood first and the charcoal last. Quick, we are wasting time."

The founder and Master Peasegood were thrust aside, and a part of the crowd pushed forward to help to build up from a stack at hand the brushwood and faggots round the wretched woman, who hung forward with drooping head, apparently insensible now from weakness and dread; and at last all was ready.

A deep silence fell upon all. The morning sun shone more brightly than ever on the gay autumn woodlands, and the eager crowd that, open-mouthed and staring, awaited the fiery trial.

"Will she screech?" whispered one matron, who had brought a child in arms to see the show, and who kept handing her little one clusters of the great blackberries that grew so plentifully upon the banks, "because if she do I shouldn't like to stay and hear her cry aloud."

"Nay," said another, "she'll not squeal much; she'll take something to keep away the pains."

"Think she will?"

"Ay, that she will. She be an anointed witch. See how she lives. You never go to her place but there be meal in plenty, and sugar and bacon too. Where do it come from, eh?"

"Nay, I d'now."

"She makes it all with spells, and calls up plenty for what she wants.

Eh, but she be a clever one. I've met her o' nights in the forest, going crouching along; and one night John Piper see her with a white sperrit, going along together hand in hand."

"Eh, did he? What did he say?"

"He never said a word; he dare not; but went down flat upon his face, and laid there till she'd gone."

"I'd ha' spoke to her if it had been me."

"Nay, thou wouldn't. It be too dreadful. Maybe she'd ha' put a spell upon thee, and cursed thee like, and then thou'd ha' pined away like Susan Harron. You marn't speak to a witch when she be out o' nights."

"But dost think she do conjure up meal, and sugar, and bacon?"

"Why, could she get 'em if she didn't?"

"I don't believe about the white ghost."

"Eh, but it be true enough," said another. "Why, I used to see the old witch go o' nights to dig about the Pool-house, and Mas' Tom Croftly said, when I telled him, that it was to get burned bones to make spells with. I see her night after night, when the stones was smoking still."

"Eh, she be witch enough," said another. "See how she said that the Pool-house would be blown up some day, and never be builded again. I think she goes with one o' they owls, as flits about o' nights."

"Shouldn't wonder," said the woman with i the child; "and, if she do screech, see if it bean't just like they call."

"She'll fly out o' the fire like one o' they, see if she don't, and her wings won't even be singed. I wonder whether she'll come back again, and live about here like an owl. If she do I shan't stay i' this neighb'rood to please nobody, so there."

"Nay, she won't fly away," said one who had not yet spoken. "She'll go down into the earth like, and underneath or into the rocks. Frank Goodsell told me he saw her go right into a solid piece o' rockstone one night as he crossed the forest--she was there one moment, and the next moment she was gone--and became so frighted that he ran away."

"But he ought to ha' searched the place."

"So he did next day, for he was 'shamed o' being scared by an old woman."

"Yes; and what did he see?"

"Solid stones, and not a hole big enough for a mouse to get into and hide. She just touched the rock with her stick, and it opened and she went in, and it shut up after her. That be a real witch, that be."

"It be a terrifying thing to think of," said another. "Only think of going into the earth and stopping for days, like a corpse."

"Nay, but she didn't do that?"

"Eh, but she did, for Frank Goodsell went every day to her cottage to see if she was there, pretending he wanted a charm for a pain in his wife's leg; and he had to go ten days before he found her back, and then she was as quiet and smiling as could be, only she looked white and very terrifying to see."

"Ah, lots of us wondered how she used to live. She'll be back there soon; you see, they'll never get her to burn; and, if they do, she'll harnt the place, and make it bad for everybody. I'm not going to throw a stone at her, poor soul."

"Poor soul, indeed, why she beant got one. She sold it to old what's-his-name long ago."

"Eh, but it be very horrid, said the woman with the child; and I half wish I had not come to see her burned to death."

"She won't burn."

"Nay," said another, "it be very terrifying; but she'll be dead 'fore they burn her, if they don't be smart. Think of it, though: Mother Goodhugh going to be burned for a witch."

"I don't quite like the old woman to be burnt. How wist she looks!"

said the young mother, as she stared at the preparations.