Carthew moistened his lips. They parted, but at first there came forth only an uncertain and broken sound. Then,—“You were long sought. But when the Silver Queen came back from Virginia we learned that you had escaped upon her, but had been thrown from her for what you were, and were dead. Years ago ... and you stand there....” The mate of the Eagle came to the door. “Sir, may we be going now?” The agent crossed to him. “Not yet. Wait a little, there without—” A voice spoke from behind the mate. “I am with Master Carthew. I may enter, sir?” The agent turned back into the room, and with him came a slight man with a steeple-crowned hat and a Geneva cloak. Joan and Aderhold faced Master Thomas Clement. At last there came from the minister’s lips, “Thou witch! Thou atheist and sorcerer!” The agent of the Company struck his hand against the table. “Who are these?” Harry Carthew turned and walked stiffly to the window-seat. When he reached it he sank down, rested his locked arms against the sill, and his forehead upon his arms. But Master Clement was of more iron make. His long forefinger shot out toward the two; he raised his arms, the black cloak falling away from them, his small figure dilated; he shook his lean and nervous hands; his voice, beginning on a low tone, grew shrill and rapid; his eyes burned. Zeal for the honour of his God had him. “Who are they? Scorners of God and deniers of Revelation! Yoke-fellows with Satan and blaspheming workers and doers of evil! Who are they? Breakers forth from prison and just doom—cheaters of stake and gallows—froth of hell! Who are they? Say not that you have forgotten the Hawthorn trials!” “The Hawthorn trials!” “Who in England heard not of them? Of the wicked certain ones were hanged, but there broke gaol and escaped the unbeliever and sorcerer Gilbert Aderhold and the witch Joan Heron!” He stretched his arms higher, he shook his hands more vehemently. “But God for his glory,” he said, “bringeth them back!” Aderhold and Joan stood straight and silent. The shock of the encounter had driven the colour from cheek and lip, but there was no other sign of cowing. They knew now that they were in the arms of death. The knowledge did not frighten. This very day they had taken their direction—they were moving now as they had determined.... The agent leaned against the table, pale and staring.