“Oh, it is too dreadful—too dreadful!” she murmured, and closed her eyes.
“Master Peasegood, will you take him to your house?” said Gil. “Poor soul! the shock has been too heavy for his brain.”
“Eh! Go with Master Peasegood? Yes,” said the founder smiling. “Gil, brave lad, you’ll see that my darling does not come to harm.”
Gil bowed his head, and as the founder rose from his knees smiling and ready to accompany the parson, down whose cheeks the great tears coursed, Mother Goodhugh climbed on a heap of stones, waving her hands wildly as she saw her enemy pass.
“Woe to him; woe to his house!” she shrieked excitedly.
“Silence that vile witch’s mouth,” cried Sir Thomas.
“A witch, a witch!” cried a voice; and Wat Kilby, who had dragged himself up once more upon his hands and knees, waved one hand again towards the burning ruins, which had just burst forth into fiercer flames.
“A witch—a witch!” he yelled, “away with her, and let her burn.”
A shout rose from Sir Mark’s followers, and, with a rush, they surrounded the old woman, who struck at them with her stick as she was seized. Then, in spite of her shrieks and appeals, she was borne towards the burning ruins.
The burning of a witch was so congenial an occupation, that, failing a great triumph over Gil Carr’s crew, the followers of Sir Mark took to their task with such gusto that in another minute Mother Goodhugh would have been hurled into the flames.