Sir Richard looked at him keenly. "I can better tell," said he, "when you have seen her yourself and heard her story."
"That is plainly my duty," said the Judge. "Clerk, call the next case."
As the clerk read the name of the accused and the charge against her, the eyes of the Judge were fixed curiously upon the prisoner at the bar, as if he sought for something forgotten.
Tall and dark, with sunburned face and fearless eyes, she stood quietly while her way of life was told; her dwelling, since the death of her parents, in a cottage on the heath beyond the town; her comings and goings among the neighbours; her wonderful cures of sick animals and strange diseases, but especially of little children. There were some who testified that she was wilful and malicious; yet it appeared they could only allege she had withheld her cure, saying that it was beyond her power. The doctor was bitter against her, as an unlawful person; and the parson condemned her, though she came often to church; "for," said he, "the Scripture commands us, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.'"
The face of the Judge was troubled. "Tell me," he said, leaning forward and speaking gravely, "are you a witch?"
"Not for evil, my Lord," answered the woman simply, "but I have a healing gift."
"How do you work your cures?" he asked. "What do you to the children?"
"I open the windows of the room where they lie," she answered.
The face of the Judge relaxed, and his eyes twinkled kindly. "And then?" said he.
"I throw the black draught out of the window and tell the children a tale of the Garden of Good Dreams."