Joel Cobbe and Henry Bridge, two of the most disreputable men in the whole district, went forward in company, and succeeded in touching the body without a rupture of blood taking place or the body moving its position one iota.
"Mary Durden, spinster, Nathan Grene, locksmith," repeated Sir George, "answer to this third, last challenge, or thy last hope of escape is gone."
Nathan Grene, fuming with ill-concealed rage, stepped out, and a loud shriek announced the presence of Mary Durden, who was unwillingly pushed into view by those around her. As soon as she had gained the little open space that was yet left she fell upon the ground and swooned away.
"See," said one, "the witch is guilty, she dare not touch the body."
"Drown her," shouted another. "Drown her or burn her."
The clouds which for some time had been gathering together, and which by this time had completely obscured the moon, now burst with a torrent of rain. A flash of lightning for a brief moment illuminated the scene, and then died away again, leaving it more weird even than it had been before. A faint roll of thunder broke upon the unpleasant reverie into which the company had fallen, and Sir George's voice ordering the oil lamps to be lighted, somewhat reassured the more fearful among the spectators. A long five minutes elapsed before the lights appeared, minutes of darkness and suspense, disturbed only by the flashes of lightning and peals of thunder, which rapidly grew louder in sound.
Nathan Grene had touched the body, and the trial had proclaimed him innocent. Indeed, Sir George fully expected it would do so, seeing that Nathan had been fast bound in the stocks at the time the crime was perpetrated. His name had only been called out because the baron had a standing dislike to the man. But the woman still lay on the rough stones without offering a sign of life.
"Sir George, is that the witch?" asked De Lacey.
"It is."
"Then she is praying to her master the devil. Listen!"