"Nay, nay, Sir Thomas," cried the founder. "She is no witch; only a silly, half-mad creature." "Yes, that he right," cried Mother Goodhugh, clinging frantically to one of the doorposts, "mad--mad with trouble, good Sir Thomas." "Nay, woman, thy witchcrafts have stunk in my nostrils this many a day, and there is a long list of crimes for thee to expiate at the stake." "Shame, Sir Thomas!" cried the founder, indignantly; "if any one has cause against her it is I." "Yes, yes, good Sir Thomas, hear him. I have cursed him more than any. Oh, pray, pray." "Pray," cried the justice; "pray to thy familiars, woman! Take her along." "This is monstrous," cried the founder, indignantly. "Hold thy peace, Master Cobbe," said Sir Thomas, impatiently; "and if thou dost interfere it will be at thy peril. Take her away, men, take her away." "No, no! no, no!" shrieked the horrified woman, before whose affrighted face the faggot and stake already loomed. "Mas' Cobbe, save me--for pity's sake, save me. I be not a witch. I only cursed in the naughtiness of my heart. Help me, Mas' Cobbe; for thy dear child's sake, help me, and I'll tell thee all. I will not go. I will not go." The founder sprang forward to her help, but he was unarmed, and Sir Thomas drew his sword and placed himself before the prisoner. "I warn thee, Master Cobbe," he cried, "that this is a legal seizure. Stand back, sir, stand back. Quick, men, do your duty." It was a horrible scene, for the old woman clung to her door, and had to be literally torn away by the men, who, adding coarseness to the superstition of their superiors, felt no mercy for one whom they looked upon as being leagued with the powers of ill. And now that the wise woman's reign was over, and she was held to be harmless, those who had feared and sought counsel of her rose up to spit on the shivering form that was being dragged along the ground towards the tail of the cart. For we were a fine and manly race in the good old times, and those who represented us at Roehurst made no scruple about reviling and kicking the quivering, helpless creature, who struggled hard as she was dragged by the wrists, her clothes torn, her hair dishevelled, and her old white face looking from one to the other for the help that none would give. "Out upon the witch!" they shrieked and yelled, drowning the poor wretch's hoarse cries for mercy. "Burn her! Burn her!" rose in chorus; and the founder strove hard to reach her, but he was kept back by the increasing crowd, for the news that Mother Goodhugh was to be taken for a witch soon spread, and men, women, and children came panting up to join in execrating the helpless wretch.