"Hm! It appears by these papers, woman, that keeping a house to which rogues of all descriptions have resorted is the least of your crimes."
A strange, cracked old voice burst shrilly upon the still court. "'Tis a lie, my lord! Alas, my lord, that wicked lies should take away my good name, and I tottering on the edge of the grave!"
There were cries of "Silence!" And the officer at the old woman's side shook her by the arm.
"And to continue from the least to the greatest, you have disposed of all manner of stolen goods, and have prepared slow poisons to be sold at a great price and have stained your hands with murder."
"Alas, my lord, it is a wicked lie—!"
They shook her into silence, but her lips continued to move, and as she stood between the officers her sharp little eyes ranged about the court.
There was further counselling among the proctors, then one cried sharply, "Come, old woman, remember that the hangman is ready to don his gown, and answer me truly before it is too late: on such and such a day you were at your house in Bideford, were you not?"
"Nay, sir, I am old and my wits are not all they were once and I cannot remember as I ought."
"Come, now, on such a day, did not a certain man come to your house in Bideford and abide there the night?"
"It may be—it may be—for one who keepeth a tavern hath many guests."