He looked at her oddly. “Good-day, Joan.” “Good-day, Goodman.” “Where have you been?” “I walked to the castle to see Mistress Borrow. But she was not there.” Goodman Cole propped himself upon his stick, full in her way in the sunny road. “We are seeing strange doings in Hawthorn Parish! Aye, strange doings we are seeing! Have you heard about Master Harry Carthew?” “No.—Heard what?” “Then I’ll tell you,” said the old man. “Yesterday afternoon Master Carthew rode a part of the way with the men who were taking the leech to the town.—And there,” said Goodman Cole, “is another strange thing! That we could like an atheist well enough, and think him skilled and kindly, and all the time he was mankind’s deadliest foe! ’Twas the Devil sure that blinded us!—Well, as I was telling you, Master Carthew rode a part of the way. Then, having seen them well started, he turns his horse, meaning to go first to Master Clement’s to consult about having a commission named, before the next assize, to look into a many things that have happened about Hawthorn, some in connection with the leech and some by themselves—and then to ride from the minister’s home to Carthew House. It was stormy as we know, the kind of hot and dark storm they say witches brew. He was riding, looking straight before him, and thinking what a darkness like the darkness of the sky was over England, when what does his horse do but start aside and begin to rear and plunge—and yet there was nothing there! It lightened, and the road on all sides lay bare. And yet, in an instant, just like that! Master Carthew was struck in the side and wounded as by a sword or dagger. It lightened again and he had time to see a tall black man dressed, bit for bit, like the leech,—and it lightened the third time and the road was bare as a blade, only he saw on the top of a bank a figure like a woman making signs to the sky. Then it fell dark, and there burst a great roar of thunder and wind and the horse began to run. He checked it just outside Hawthorn and rode around by Old Path and the fields, for he felt himself bleeding and did not wish to frighten people. So, going slowly, he got home at last, and they laid him in bed and found a great wound in his side.... Joan!” “Will he die?” said Joan. “And will you be glad if he does?... Wench, wench, why do you look like that?”