"Hold thy tongue, do," said another; "the country be better without her."

"Ay, it was time something was done now the holy father's gone, and Parson Peasegood won't do naught to exorcise the witch."

"You went to him, didn't a?"

"Ay, I went to him and told him o' Mother Goodhugh's doings, and how she put a spell on our cow, and evil-wished neighbour Lewin's boy."

"What did he say?"

"Laughed at me and puffed smoke in my face. 'Go to,' says he, 'for a fool. Thou must get some one to sew some more buttons on thee. Mother Goodhugh be no witch.'"

"Did he say that?"

"Ay, that he did, and when Betsy Goodsell saw the white sperrit o' Sweet Mace, in the wood near the high rocks and went and asked parson to lay it, he got in such a rage that Betsy had to go."

"She should ha' took him an offering and then he would."

"She did. She took him a two-pound lump o' the fresh butter from her cow after putting a lump o' salt i' the churn to keep out the witch, and told him what she wanted done, and he ups with the butter and throws it at her, and it stuck on the door-post till Mistress Hilberry come and took it off; and when she heard what was wanted she said Parson ought to do it, and then he called her a silly fool."

"What did she want Parson to do?"

"To do, why, to lay the spirit that kept walking uneasily night after night. Ay, and it keeps walking now, as a dozen Roehurst folk could tell, only they won't speak about it for fear of doing themselves ill."

"What did Betsy want him to do?"

"Why, just go and cut a piece o' turf off her grave about a hand-breadth long and a hand-breadth wide, and lay it on the holy table in the church, and after that be done the spirit rests and doesn't trouble people any more."

"He might ha' done that," said the young mother. "I should say it would be wise to get a bit off Mother Goodhugh's grave by-and-by to keep her from walking."

"Eh, but you'll never find grass grow upon her grave, lass. It will always be black and scathed like."

"Nay, they'll never bury her in no grave. She'll be scattered in dust and ashes to the four winds o' heaven."

"Or the other place," said one of the women, sententiously, and then they all watched the preparations.

"Hush! Look!" cried the young mother in an excited whisper; and a strange murmur ran through the crowd as, at a sign from Sir Thomas, whose florid face was blanched, and blotched with livid patches, a man ran into the cottage with a rough torch.

Master Peasegood saw that the end had come, and, pressing against the pile of faggots which reached up round the victim's neck, he reached over one hand and touched her cheek.

"Courage, poor soul!" he cried earnestly. "Pray with me for mercy in that other land."

The wretched woman seemed to be brought back by the parson's voice, and she stared at him in a curiously dazed manner, her lips moving at last in a whisper that could not be heard.

"Pray with me, my poor soul--let us pray," cried Master Peasegood eagerly.

"No," she said sharply. "It be too late. I want to do some good before I die."

"And it is too late for that," said Master Peasegood to himself, as the excited murmur of the crowd went on.

"No, not to do--to say something, Master--and--and it seems all gone.

Yes; I know," she cried, striving hard to hold up her head, which fell back again heavily upon her chest. "No, I can't remember. Yes, Mace, come here, child. I'll give thee to thy father now."

"Poor soul, she wanders," muttered Master Peasegood. Then aloud:--"Try to pray with me, mother. Try--one word."

"Yes, I was not a witch, master. It was only--Where be Jeremiah Cobbe?

Here, let me tell him--quick."

"He cannot reach thee now, poor soul. Pray with me quickly. Oh, Father have--"

"Mace. Here--quick, child, come. Poor sweet--I had to fight hard to hate thee. My head--my head."

Master Peasegood stretched out a hand to try and sustain the palsied head.

"Stand back, sir," cried Sir Mark fiercely; and he laid his hand upon Master Peasegood's arm, but the stout cleric shook him off.

"Back yourself, sir," he cried, "an' you would not singe your gaudy plumes. My place is here."

Sir Mark stood back, for at that moment the smoking, flaming torch was thrust into the brushwood, which began to crackle and burn furiously, while a pillar of smoke rose high in the still autumn air, in company with a shriek from the women, some of whom turned away, while others covered their faces with their hands.

The torch was thrust into the faggots again and again, four times in all, and at each thrust there was a burst of flame and a cloud of smoke; but Master Peasegood stirred not, though the flames licked his long black garb.

The torch-bearer then rose up, and was in the act of thrusting his light right in the centre of the pile, when a strong hand seized it, wrenched it from his hand, and hurled it, as the man staggered back, full in the face of Sir Mark.

A loud chirping whistle rang out at the same moment, and a score of the rough country fellows in long gaberdines, who had been so busy in helping, now took advantage of their forward position to seize the burning faggots and hurl them furiously at the armed men.

Almost before the crowd could realise what was taking place, the flaming brushwood was scattered far and wide, and amidst the smoke a tall, bronzed fellow was seen cutting Mother Goodhugh free.

"Take her, Wat; she's as light as any child," he cried, in a clear voice. "Lead on, we'll cover you."

"Down with them!" shouted Sir Mark, as he recovered from his astonishment; and, drawing his sword, he made a rush at the disturbers of the judicial tragedy.

His first attempt, though, was unfortunate, for he fell over the prostrate body of Master Peasegood, who had been overset in the struggle; and his men hung back as they saw the rough-looking countrymen whip out the weapons they had concealed beneath their gaberdines, and form a bold front.

There was ample room, for the crowd fled shrieking as the bright steel flashed before their eyes. They had gazed in a stupefied, puzzled manner at the disturbance of the faggot pile, and wondered whether it was part of the show or the result of witchcraft; but the bold rescue of the wretched woman they could understand, and they hastened to find safety in flight.

Sir Mark was not long in recovering himself, and, calling to the armed men to follow, he pursued the retiring party, which retreated steadily along the narrow track, which, after it had passed Mother Goodhugh's, gradually assumed the nature of a forest footpath, and grew more rugged at every step.

Attempts were made to outflank the party, but the density of the forest rendered that impossible, and those who left the path lost ground, while Sir Mark found himself kept at bay by the rear-guard of the retreating men.

"These are no countrymen," he muttered to himself, as he saw how steadily they kept up the retreat; and he was in the act of cheering on his little force to make a rush where the pathway opened a little, when cries from behind warned him that he was attacked in the rear.

He bit his lip angrily as he found how cleverly his men were trapped, for it was evident enough that a portion of those he pursued had turned off to right or left, allowing him and his men to pass, and then closing up to attack, this rear movement being the signal for those in front to turn and make a desperate charge upon him and his London men.

It was so sharp a surprise that, at the end of five minutes' cutting and thrusting, Sir Mark was down, faint and sick from a slash across the cheek, and his men had thrown up their weapons and fled helter-skelter through the forest, leaving the rescuers of Mother Goodhugh to proceed in peace.

"Single file, my lads, and away!" cried a well-known voice. "One of you relieve Wat Kilby, and change and change as you grow fagged. Wat, go round by the lower stream. I'll come last and hide the trail."

It required little hiding, for the men passed on and disturbed the herbage but slightly, while, after turning off to right and left in various narrow half-hidden tracks, their course could not have been discovered by the keenest eye, especially as one cut was made right across the forest.