"I am, worthy sir," replied a short, stout man with heavy, beetling brows, who stood his ground doggedly.
"And who are you, sirrah?" demanded Felgate, giving him a fierce look that cowed him for the time. "And where is your warrant for this deed?"
"By virtue of the act passed in the reign of His Majesty King James the First, of blessed memory, concerning the punishment of sorcerers, witches, warlocks, and the like."
"Tut, tut, man, the statute is dead! Have you a magistrate's warrant, Form 226, giving you authority for this? Quick, answer me! I am a King's officer, so on your peril speak truly!"
The man shook his head.
"Then let her go free!"
Here the mob redoubled its cries, and a few missiles came hurtling through the air towards us.
"Draw, comrades, draw!" shouted Felgate, and, unsheathing our swords, we urged our horses through the crowd till we reined up abreast of our chivalrous friend.
"Would ye have 'em take a witch out of your hands?" cried the officious man, appealing to the crowd.
"No! No! Down with them, and death to the witch!" came like a hoarse roar from the excited crowd.