Norton laughed noisily.
“Not at all—you have been a most useful tool. Come, get you gone! There will be work for you yet. You shall dig the grave, and Waghorn shall preach the funeral sermon. Why do you tarry, sergeant?”
They tarried because it was no easy thing for Englishmen forcibly to part the sobbing girl from her lover.
“Dearest,” said Gabriel, controlling his voice with an effort, “you must go. Let some of the women take you to the Vicarage.”
But as she raised her head and saw the rope about his throat, a new strength of resistance awoke within her. He should not die! She ran to Waghorn, and caught his hand in hers in eager entreaty.
“Waghorn! you are not wicked like that man—you mean well—I know you mean well—help us now! Show mercy!”
For a moment the wood-carver wavered. Then a grim expression settled down upon his features.
“Nay, nay,” he said, “Captain Harford hath but met with his deserts. What saith the Psalmist, ‘Let there be none to extend mercy unto him! Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered!’”
“Oh, that was said by them of old time! But now we are bidden to be kind to one another—and tender-hearted,” pleaded Hilary.
But Waghorn, with a scornful look, exclaimed indignantly: “Do not teach me, Mistress! I well know that you are of a carnal mind. Did you not deceive us in the orchard? You are a liar!”