The burning of Lanty’s home had been terribly avenged.
Vashti Lansing, actuated by the spirit of unrest which possessed her, had taken her big black shawl about her and fled swiftly through the by-ways to Mullein meadow. She had no fears of the night. Her dark spirit was akin to it. In its mystery she saw a simulacrum of the mysteries of her own soul.
And as she sat upon the stones of Witches’ Hill and felt the summer wind raising the heavy locks of hair upon her brow, a sense of peace and rest, fleeting, but inexpressibly precious, came to her. Some strange influence made her turn her head and she saw a tongue of flame shoot up like a flaming dart of defiance hurled from earth to heaven. It was Lanty’s home! As the thought formulated itself in her brain she was aware of the soft thud, thud, of galloping hoofs coming towards Mullein meadow.
This was the guilty one fleeing from his work.
To think thus was to act. She fled across Mullein meadow to the Brixton road, climbed the fence and crouched in the shadow. As the horse drew near she recognized it in the starlight; knew its rider, and knew her guess was right. Every one knew Hemans’ malignant nature, and his emnity towards Lanty was a matter of common report.
The horse was almost abreast of her. She sprang out of the gloom, threw up her arms, the black shawl waved uncertainly about her, the sorrel reared, the man gave a scream of fear and fell upon the stony road striking upon his head. Vashti gathered her shawl about her and fled towards the light which was broadening and glowing against the dusky sky.
Thus Dole was not kept long in suspense as to who had set fire to Lanty’s buildings, but the circumstances of his death were hidden from them, but it intensified the superstitious fear which brooded over the village to an agony to think Hemans had been found with his neck broken, exactly upon the spot where young Ranger and Mr. Simpson had first seen the ghost of the witch.
By the afternoon of the following day, Mabella Lansing and the baby Dorothy were installed in the little two-roomed cottage, which alone, of all the buildings upon Lanty’s property, had escaped the fire. She had refused all offers of shelter. She would not even stay with Nathan and Temperance.
“I am Lanty’s wife,” she said, “and as long as there is a roof belonging to him I will live under it. I made a terrible mistake, but some day he will forgive me.”
Within her own heart Mabella, great in her love and trust, thought it would not be long till he came to her; she remembered those silent moments in the past when Lanty had made mute acknowledgment of his fault, and she had bestowed voiceless pardon. Mabella knew when she and Lanty met there would be no need for words, and she felt the moment would be too sacred for any other eyes, be they never so loving, to witness.