The next day it ended—the Hawthorn apostasy-sorcery-witchcraft trial. Judgement was given, sentence passed. The court, the crowd, the bishop, Hawthorn, the town, all seemed well of a mind. Death for six of the eight. For the youth who read too much and for the boy, old Dorothy’s nephew, pillory and imprisonment; but for the six, death. Burning for the apostate and sorcerer, the leech Aderhold, though, so squeamish grew the times, he might be strangled first. For the five witches the gallows—though it was said that the old woman Dorothy had sickened with gaol-fever and would not live to be hanged. The sheriff would see to it that the execution took place within the month. In the mean time close prison for the evil-doers, and some thought, maybe, on how the Church and the Law for ever overmatched the Devil. CHAPTER XXII ESCAPE JOAN sat on the edge of her straw bed, with her arms around her knees and her eyes upon the blank wall. For something to do she had been plaiting straws, making braids of many strands and laying them beside her in squares and triangles and crosses. That had palled, and now she was determinedly using the inner vision. The one thing she was bent upon was neither to think nor to feel these past days, weeks, and months, not to think or to feel at all closer than a year ago. She could bring back, she could recompose, she could live again, though with much subtle difference, where she had lived before. She could image forth, too; she could guide a waking dream. Now, with all the might that was in her, she made her prison cell to grow what once as a child she had seen, the sandy shore of the boundless sea. That was freedom, that was light and wind and space! Then she had raced along the beach, and in mind she ran now, long-limbed, with flying hair, only she turned not, came not back.... The Joan Heron here in gaol sat motionless.... One by one she added the other prisoners, until they all ran away by the sea beach, all hastening with the cool wind at their back and the free blue sky before. She drew ahead. They were free and running to some happy land, but their presence made it harder not to think or feel, and so she ran ahead. Sea and sky, and harm forgot.... One was running beside her, leaving, too, the others. She would not image this one plainly, but they ran and ran, the sand beneath their feet.... It never occurred to her that this _was_ magic, nor, if it had occurred, would she have cared. It was good magic. The rainbow vanished, the storm returned. Here was the creaking, creaking of the dungeon door; here came again the hateful gaoler, the man who had watched her that she should not sleep! She did not turn her head or speak; perhaps to-day he would put down the jug of water and the crust of bread and go without attempt at parley. But he was standing waiting, his hand upon the door which he had drawn to behind him. “Hist!” he said; “Joan Heron!”