There was a suspicion here and there of the coming fall, but only in bright touches of beauty--golds, and russets, and reds--bloody crimson, and orange scarlet, where the sun-kissed leaves yet burned beneath the caresses of the ardent god. The sky above was of the richest, purest blue, and the eye rested on naught but beauty, so long as it kept to nature, and not to art, for winding along the narrow lane towards Roehurst was a procession of armed men, preceding and following a rough country tumbril, drawn by a clumsy horse. The load was apparently a heap of shabby garments, dropped in one corner of the cart. But the crowd that pressed upon the armed men, striving to get a glimpse of the interior of the vehicle, could see that the bundle of clothes in the cart moved slightly from time to time, lifting a thin white hand and letting it fall heavily once more; and as they buzzed, and talked, and shouted to one another, they made out further that there was a grey head raised from the heap, and a white, scared face looked round partly in wonder, partly seeking for pity, as its owner seemed to realise her position, and then crouched lower and lower as she heard shouts and voices crying out the words, "Mother Goodhugh! Witch! The stake, the stake!" The escort took the pressure of the eager little crowd very good-humouredly, but had to keep waving the sight-seers back, or some would have been trampled beneath the horse's feet, and as it was the procession was greatly delayed. "I don't believe they'll burn her after all," said one rough specimen of a peasant to another. "Nay, they will. Stake be all ready, and faggots enough to burn a dozen such witches as old Mother there." "I'll believe it when I see it, lad. See if she don't go off in a flash, or else make the rain come so as the faggots won't burn. Nay, lad, she won't be done for yet. Look there. Did'st see her wicked old eyes glowering round when she raised her head? Don't let her look at thee, or she'll put a curse in thy face." "Ay, but she be a wicked looking one, and it will be a glad riddance for Roehurst when she be gone, for she did naught but curse." "Mas' Cobbe ought to be glad to see her burnt, for she's cursed him oft enough, poor soul." "But why don't they make haste? I want to see the burning, and then get back to the wedding games." "Oh, they won't wed till Mother Goodhugh's all in ash, lad. See, there be the bridegroom. He be going to see it done." "But what be they stopping for?" "Don't know," said the other, climbing up the bank and holding on by the branch of a tree. "Why, it be parson come, and he be getting into the cart with Mother Goodhugh. Say, look there! He be gone down on his knees aside her, and takes her hand. Look out, parson, as she don't fly at thee like a cat."