So loud was the ringing in her ears that she heard no access of voices upon the bank, and knew not that a fresh commotion had arisen. She was sinking for the third time, and her mind had begun to wander in the Fair View garden, when an arm caught and held her up. She was borne to the shore; there were men on horseback; some one with a clear, authoritative voice was now berating, now good-humoredly arguing with, her late judges. The man who had sprung to save her held her up to arms that reached down from the bank above; another moment and she felt the earth again beneath her feet, but could only think that, with half the dying past, these strangers had been cruel to bring her back. Her rescuer shook himself like a great dog. “I’ve saved the witch alive,” he panted. “May God forgive and your Honor reward me!” “Nay, worthy constable, you must look to Sathanas for reward!” cried the gentleman who had been haranguing the miller and his company. These gentry, hardly convinced, but not prepared to debate the matter with a justice of the peace and a great man of those parts, began to slip away. The torchbearers, probably averse to holding a light to their own countenances, had flung the torches into the water, and now, heavily shadowed by the cedars, the place was in deep darkness. Presently there were left to berate only the miller and the ferryman, and at last these also went sullenly away without having troubled to mention the witch’s late transformation from age to youth. “Where is the rescued fair one?” continued the gentleman who, for his own pleasure, had led the conservers of law and order. “Produce the sibyl, honest Dogberry! Faith, if the lady be not an ingrate, you’ve henceforth a friend at court!” “My name is Saunders,--Dick Saunders, your Honor,” quoth the constable. “For the witch, she lies quiet on the ground beneath the cedar yonder.” “She won’t speak!” cried another. “She just lies there trembling, with her face in her hands.” “But she said, ‘O Christ!’ when we took her from the water,” put in a third. “She was nigh drowned,” ended the constable. “And I’m a-tremble myself, the water was that cold. Wauns! I wish I were in the chimney corner at the Court House ordinary!” The master of Westover flung his riding cloak to one of the constable’s men. “Wrap it around the shivering iniquity on the ground yonder; and you, Tom Hope, that brought warning of what your neighbors would do, mount and take the witch behind you. Master Constable, you will lodge Hecate in the gaol to-night, and in the morning bring her up to the great house. We would inquire why a lady so accomplished that she can dry a mill stream to plague a miller cannot drain a pool to save herself from drowning!”