“How now, witch,” cried the latter, peering in over the old man’s shoulder, “hath prison-fare fattened ye?” But as he caught sight of the prisoner he started. “I’ faith,” he cried, “how peaked ye be. Go in, goody, and fetch her forth,” he commanded the jailer.
“Na step will I take toward the witch,” chattered the jailer.
“Step in, step in, goody,” advised the Beadle; “how can I convey the witch away unless ye free her?”
But the jailer was not to be persuaded to go near the prisoner. He and the Beadle fell into an angry controversy over the matter and were near to serious quarrelling, when a soldier appeared at the doorway.
“What causeth the delay?” cried the guard, crossly. “Hath the witch flown out of the window?”
“They be feared lest I cast a spell on them and so dare not unlock my chain,” spoke Deliverance, “but I wot not how to cast a spell and I would, good sir.”
“Give me the keys,” said the guard, brusquely. He snatched them in no gentle manner from the jailer. “Enough, enough of this foolishness, ye chicken-hearted knaves. Stand up, mistress,” he added, entering the cell.
He knelt in front of the little maid, fumbling to find the right key of the bunch. Deliverance, suddenly grown faint, rested one hand on his shoulder. He started and his heart leapt for fear, but the continued touch of the small, trembling hand, so weak and helpless, changed his fear to pity. So he said naught, but was willing the witch-maid should lean on his strong shoulder. He unlocked the padlock and flung the chain aside. Deliverance stood unbound once more.
She turned and lifted the stocking with the note pinned on it, from the floor.
“Oh! would ye mind,” said she, “to bear this to my father for me?”