At Butser we reined our horses while I pointed out the scene of my encounter with the three Dorset smugglers. Then we reached the lofty summit of the road, from which the magnificent view of the valley of the Rother could be seen under its fairest conditions. At Petersfield we stopped for our midday meal, and after giving our horses a well-earned rest, we resumed our way northward till the bold headline of Hindhead loomed up in front of us. At Rake we stopped to visit the scenes of old associations, calling in at the "Flying Bull", where Giles Perrin, now grey-haired, bent, and decrepit, still followed his calling. "Lord ha’ mercy on me if ’tis not young Master Wentworth!" he exclaimed, showing that, though grown in stature, I had not outgrown the appearance of my boyhood; and when Drake told him of my newly found title, the old man tottered away to let the frequenters of the inn know the news; whereat we, unwilling to tarry longer, pushed on towards the towering heights of Hindhead. Presently we crossed a heath beyond which we could perceive the village of Liphook. In the distance we could make out a crowd of people whose infuriated shouts were plainly audible. "Come on, lads, let’s see what this uproar means!" shouted Felgate, and, setting spur to our steeds, we soon covered the distance that lay between us and the howling mob. The cause of the tumult was soon plain. At the outskirts of the village was a small stagnant pond, by the side of which was erected a post with a swinging beam. At one end of the beam was a rough chair in which was bound a miserable old woman of repulsive appearance, whose face bore a look of mute despair. Around her the crowd surged, yelling: "Duck her! Duck the witch!" while eggs and filth were thrown with no uncertain aim at the unhappy specimen of humanity whom the mob had seen fit to bait. As we approached, the crowd, too intent to notice our coming, had seized the beam and were swinging it over the pond with the object of immersing the occupant of the ducking stool. We reined in for a moment to take counsel amongst ourselves. "Rescue her by all means," said Felgate. "But she is a witch; beware of the evil eye," demurred Drake, who, like all West-countrymen, deeply believed in witchcraft and sorcery, far more so than dwellers in other parts of England. "Witch or no witch, she is a woman," retorted Felgate, "and it behoves all true gentlemen to protect a woman in danger." With that we spurred forward and reached the outskirts of the crowd just as the great beam was being slowly lowered into the water. "Hold!" shouted Felgate authoritatively, forcing his horse into the press. The mob gave way, still shouting fierce imprecations against the terrified old woman, and making hostile demonstrations against the interrupters of their fiendish sport. "Who is responsible for this conventicle?" he continued, urging his horse towards the ducking stool.