Joan and Aderhold, going toward the river, looked upon the ragged field with steadfastness, but gave but few moments to that sight. Before them was the arched bridge, and they saw, even on this side of it, people gathering. Presently the sheriff’s men would come between them, surrounding each, making one go before the other. Now they had these last few moments side by side. Their hands might touch, their eyes be eloquent. Farewell—and farewell—and oh, fare you well, love—my love!... The road descended to the river and the bridge. There arose the sound they knew from the crowd they knew. The sheriff’s men pushed between them; they must go one before the other. So each might be better seen as well as better guarded. They crossed the river; they mounted the steep street; they came to the town square, past the great church’s sculptured portal.... The two had been ordered to dismount, were now afoot.... Here was the pillory—here was the black prison’s frowning front, the prison steps, the open door.... The setting sun flooded the place with red light. A flint, flung by some strong arm, had cut Aderhold’s forehead. With his hand he wiped the blood away and looked to see Joan. She was upon the prison steps, lifted so that the roaring crowd might see her. That great light from the sun beat strongly upon face and form. The form was drawn to its height, the face was high, resolved, and beautiful. But the crowd shouted, “The witch! The witch! Look at the light as of fire! The fire has her already! Witch—Witch—Witch!” Joan mounted the last step, the black prison gaped for her, she entered. Aderhold, mounting, met also that great shaft of light. The voice of the crowd swelled, grew phrensied, but he heeded it not, and with a face lit from within followed Joan into the prison. THE END The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS U·S·A End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Witch, by Mary Johnston