Hawthorn drew in its breath and shivered with that sermon. They said that it was the greatest that Master Clement had ever preached, and he had preached a-many great ones! Some of the simpler folk almost looked for fire to come down from heaven and consume the wicked leech and that vilest witch where they stood. It would have been a wonderful sight and lesson! But doubtless God wanted the forms of the law carried out—though they could not but still think how wonderful would have been a visible sign.... Joan and Aderhold were an hour in Hawthorn.... It passed; all hours passed, though some, and this among them, went on wounded feet. It passed. They were in motion again. The Hawthorn folk that cried bitter words behind them, the narrow street, the small, familiar houses with dooryards where the flowers were fading, the ale-house, the green, the sexton’s house, other houses, the elms and willows that marked the village end—all were overpassed, left behind. Here at last was the open road, and they had six miles to ride together.... Hawthorn faded from the mind. It was afternoon. The gold light lay softly over the country that had always seemed to them a very fair country—that seemed so still. The wind had fallen. They rode side by side. Those that guarded them were tired with the long day and its various excitements. These rode in silence or talked among themselves in voices somewhat subdued, and for a time let the prisoners go unmarked. When they came within sight of the town it would be different. Then all would straighten in their saddles and closely surround the two, assuming the proper air of vigilance. But now they allowed them to ride side by side and gave no heed to what words they might speak to each other. They were simple words that Joan and Aderhold spoke—old, old words of love and tenderness. They spoke of courage. And they spoke of Truth, the Origin and Goal. And they loved each other, and the light of all suns, and they found song and sweetness, promise and fulfilment even in this autumnal day.... The miles fell away like the leaves from the trees. The ground rose; they had a great view bathed in the amber light. There flowed a gleaming crescent. “The river!” said Joan. The town that they had seen from the south, now they saw from the north. They saw the river and the arched bridge, the climbing streets and many roofs; they saw the great church and near it the dark prison, and above the town the castle and the castle wood. The sun was sinking, the light was reddening; above, the sky sprang pure, without a stain, for the fleets of clouds had sailed away. The tall, lean man spoke. “Witch and blasphemer! do you see yon ragged field sloping down? That is where we will hang you.”