“Yes, always among us.”
“You say he read in a black book. But he likewise danced and wantoned as did the green men?”
“Yes, yes! The pretty green men.”
“Be careful now. With whom especially did he work this iniquity? Whom did he single out at each sabbat?”
“Whom?—I do not know whom.... Sabbats? There are no such things. Who would leave home at night to wander round oak trees and burned cots?—Oh, home, home! Oh, my hut! I want to see my hut!” cried Mother Spuraway. “Oh, good gentlemen! Oh, Your Worships! Oh, Squire Carthew—Master Clement!—Won’t you let me go home? A poor old woman that never harmed a soul—”
The Witch Judge’s voice came thundering down. “Her mind is wandering!—Thou wretched woman! Dost wish to be taken back to thy prison, and urged anew to confess?”
But apparently Mother Spuraway did not wish that. She put up her two hands and said, “No, no!”—then, shrunken and shuddering, begged for more wine. They gave it to her.... “Now, whom did this sorcerer take in his arms? Was it the maiden of your company?”
“Yes, oh, yes! The maiden.”
“The maiden of your company was Joan Heron?”
“Yes, Joan Heron.”