But there was no cat-like spring in Mother Goodhugh, for torture and starvation had reduced her so that the little life left in her was likely to flutter away before the torch was placed to the faggots. As Master Peasegood laboriously clambered into the cart and knelt beside her, he took one of the poor wretch's wasted hands in his, and she raised her head to look up at him half-wonderingly, before letting it fall once more, and remaining apparently nerveless and flaccid, waiting for the end. The procession passed within fifty yards of the Moat gate, where Anne Beckley was waiting--not to cry out in reviling tones against the wretched woman, but to see her pass, hidden awhile amidst the dense evergreens, and trembling lest she should be seen. Anne Beckley's heart beat fast as the procession came nearer and nearer, and she crouched down trembling as she fancied that Mother Goodhugh must see her; while the cold dew stood upon her brow as she waited for the curses the old woman would fling upon her head. But there was no curse hurled at her; there was the trampling of feet, and the buzz of many voices, beating hoofs, and grinding wheels coming nearer and nearer, till all appeared to stay close by, and Anne's heart seemed to stop its pulse as well. She had come to see her enemy, and would gladly have witnessed the execution, only that she dared not express a wish so to do; and even now, so great was her trepidation, that in place of gazing at the broken, half-dead object in the cart, she shrank down lower and lower till the leaves completely sheltered her head. What were they stopping for? Were they going to bring Mother Goodhugh there? No: there had been no stoppage at all; it was only her fancy. They were going slowly on, and that was Master Peasegood's voice praying beside the wretched creature so near her end. The buzzing and trampling seemed to grow louder and the grating of the wheels more defined, till it seemed to Anne as if they would never pass away; but they grew fainter at last, and after some ten minutes of agony she hurried out of the clump of shrubs, and hastened to her room, too faint and heartsick to think of dressing for the ceremony to come. Sir Mark and his men would be at the execution she knew, and when he returned it would be a signal to her that her enemy was no more, and she told herself that she would be able to go to the little church with a lighter heart. In imagination she followed the procession to the narrow lane, and up to the front of Mother Goodhugh's cottage, where the great stake had been placed. She saw the wretched woman bound there, the faggots fired, and seemed to hear her shrieks as she waved her hands and wildly cursed those around. Now she strained at the chain, and strove to tear it away as it grew red hot and burned into her thin white flesh, while the flames rose higher and higher, the faggots crackled, and she even fancied that she could hear the shouting of the people.