"It's very likely," said the bold rustic; "but it strikes me some one else will be hung, or drownded, before any of us are sent to join the Lewes martyrs."
The angry group was now just beside the horse-pond—and each moment it grew more excited and threatening. Suddenly a voice cried—
"He's fond of fire, let's see how water suits him!"
Thereupon the rustics hustled the hapless apparitor to the edge of the pond; then he found himself lifted from the ground, and the strong arms of his foes swung him to and fro in the air.
"One, two, three, in he goes!" cried a raucous voice.
A scream of terror was sent forth by the man, and he struggled violently.
It was all of no avail.
In another moment he was hurled headlong into the slimy waters of the pond! And there he might have been drowned, but for the help that came to him from an unexpected quarter.
Susan Jefferay had been in the congregation, and her attention had been arrested by the unwonted spectacle of a stranger in the church.
The service was over, and the Vicar had withdrawn into the vestry; Susan awaited him in the church, for he was to accompany her home to the Place.