The steward rubbed his hands with glee, and laughed joyously.
“Thou devil’s spawn,” said he, “thou shalt be rewarded if we take him.”
“I seek no reward but to see him gibbetted,” said the witch.
“Thy wish shall be gratified,” said the steward; and without more ado he called his men, and marched off to the witch’s hut to effect the arrest.
In those days little time was lost between the arrest of a man and his death upon the gallows; and on the following day the witch and her companion—the young widow of the earlier part of this story—accompanied a procession to the place of execution at Gallow’s Clough. The steward was there with his men-at-arms—and as he beheld the widow, he turned to her and began to rail.
“Ah, thou hell-cat. Dost thou love the gallows so? Thy husband died on this gibbet, and now thy son comes to the same end. Like father, like son. ’Tis in the breed. Why dost thou not weep and shriek for mercy as thou did’st when thy man was swung?”
Then the woman answered with a laugh:
“Because I am mad, thou fool, and cannot weep. My tears were dried up with weeping over my husband, and now I can weep no more. I must laugh, man, laugh when the gibbet creaks beneath the weight of a dead man. The days of weeping are past, the time of laughter and rejoicing is come.”
“Thou speakest truth,” quoth the steward, turning away. “Thou art mad indeed.”
“Yet not so mad as thou, oh, thou wise man,” said the woman,—but the steward did not hear her.