"One would think you were a Roundhead, from the respect with which you mention the old enemy's name. At all events, witches don't live, like saints, on air and prayers. We'll get some warmth and comfort this bitter night out of the old hag's stores. Some sack or malmsey, perchance, and a fat capon or two bewitched from good men's cellars and larders. Stay here, if you are afraid. And I will storm this witch's castle for you," And his long heavy stride approached the door. We sat with beating hearts, expecting the rickety door to be shaken or forced in by a strong hand. But instead, the steps suddenly ceased, and the intruder seemed to start back as if struck by an invisible hand on the threshold. Then there was an exclamation of amazement and horror, ending in a fearful oath in a low deep tone, very different from Sir Launcelot's usual bravado. Afterwards a few hasty retreating steps, and as he rejoined his men, some words in the old light tone, but hurried and wild as of one overacting his part. "Belike you are right, lads. Black art or white, better keep to beer of mortal brewing than seize anything from a witch's caldron, or touch anything of a witch's brood. Besides, the country will be awake, and it's as well we were in safe quarters with the booty. Steady, and look out tor pitfalls in this cursed place." After which there was a splashing of horses' feet on the reedy margin of the Mere. Then a heavy trampling as they reached firmer ground, succeeded by a sharp gallop across the meadow, until every sound was lost in the distance, and we were left in the silence to listen once more to the cold plashing of the water among the rushes, and to the breathing of poor old Gammer in her heavy sleep, as we watched the slow breaking of the morning. We had not sat half an hour after the last tramp of the horsemen had died away, when we heard a faint sound as of something stirring on the threshold. Aunt Gretel laid her hand on mine. "What made Sir Launcelot turn back, Olive?" she whispered. "He is scarcely a man likely to dream dreams or see visions." By one impulse we softly removed the logs with which we had barricaded the door, and opened it. There was a rude porch outside to keep off the beat of the weather, and under it a low seat where Gammer used to sit in summer and carry on any work that needed more light than could be had in the hut. Across this lay stretched, in a death-like swoon, the form of a woman. She was half kneeling, half prostrate, her head towards the door, resting on the seat, one arm beneath it, the other fallen helpless by her side, half hidden in a heavy mass of long hair. A puny little child lay cuddled up close to her, clasping the unconscious form with both arms, asleep.