"I influence? Nay, man; she'll fall a cursing if I go nigh her cot." "Let her curse. Her words won't hurt thee, man. Go to her, and give her money--thou hast enough--bid her get away far enough from this place to somewhere safe; and when there, tell her to live a decent life and forget her silly trickstering and stuff. It's a fine opportunity for thee, Jeremiah Cobbe. It's just the sort of revenge thou lik'st to take on an enemy. Go and pour coals of fire on her head, for I'm sure this place isn't safe for such as she." "Would Sir Thomas imprison her?" said the founder. "Sir Thomas is so good and honest a justice of the peace, and so great a lover of the words of his Majesty the King, who made him the baronet he is, that he would set up a stake, scatter Dame Beckley's dried simples and herbs around it, heap it with goodly faggots, and burn Mother Goodhugh for a witch while the Roehurst people would look on." "Thinkest thou this, Master Peasegood?" "I'm sure of it," said the parson, dashing down his pipe in his anger. "Jeremiah Cobbe, it makes me as mad as Moses to see what fools the people are. We have just got rid of the superstitions of Rome, sir, and we go at once and set up the golden calf of witchcraft, and worship it, from our ruler to the humblest peasant in his realm. By my word, Master Cobbe, an' I had had the two tables in my hands like the old prophet, I'd not have broken them on the rocks, but upon the thick-boned skulls of my erring folk." "Not worship the idol--condemn it, Master Peasegood," said the founder, smiling. "Well, but we believe it," cried the other. "Out upon us all, but we are sorry-fools." "I'll go and do this thing, Master Peasegood," said the founder, after musing for a few minutes. "That's right; I knew thou would'st." "But maybe she will not go." "Then take her, like the angels did Lot of old, and thrust her out of the place. Tell her Roehurst will prove a Sodom to her if she does not go, for i' faith she'll go to the flames, in spite of all I can do or say." "I'll go to her this very evening, Master Peasegood." "Then I will go my way," cried the parson; and, paying one more attention to the flagon, he rose, shook hands, and left. Volume 3, Chapter X. HOW MOTHER GOODHUGH FARED ILL AT JUSTICE'S HANDS. By chance it happened that Anne Beckley had extended her walk towards the woods and had strolled farther than she had intended. Fate led her into the narrow lane where she had rested in Gil Carr's arms when Mace and Sir Mark had been witnesses of the scene. She smiled now as she seated herself upon the bank, and thought of the changes that had taken place, for she was shortly to become Mark Leslie's wife. How the time had passed, she thought, and how cleverly she had won Sir Mark from his gloom and despondency to become at first grateful, then loving, and at last--so she believed--so infatuated with her, that she could do with him as she pleased.