“Where is the rescued fair one?” continued the gentleman who, for his own pleasure, had led the conservers of law and order.  “Produce the sibyl, honest Dogberry!  Faith, if the lady be not an ingrate, you’ve henceforth a friend at court!”

“My name is Saunders,—­Dick Saunders, your Honor,” quoth the constable.  “For the witch, she lies quiet on the ground beneath the cedar yonder.”

“She won’t speak!” cried another.  “She just lies there trembling, with her face in her hands.”

“But she said, ‘O Christ!’ when we took her from the water,” put in a third.

“She was nigh drowned,” ended the constable.  “And I’m a-tremble myself, the water was that cold.  Wauns!  I wish I were in the chimney corner at the Court House ordinary!”

The master of Westover flung his riding cloak to one of the constable’s men.  “Wrap it around the shivering iniquity on the ground yonder; and you, Tom Hope, that brought warning of what your neighbors would do, mount and take the witch behind you.  Master Constable, you will lodge Hecate in the gaol to-night, and in the morning bring her up to the great house.  We would inquire why a lady so accomplished that she can dry a mill stream to plague a miller cannot drain a pool to save herself from drowning!”

At a crossing of the ways, shortly before Court House, gaol, and ordinary were reached, the adventurous Colonel gave a good-night to the constable and his company, and, with a negro servant at his heels, rode gayly on beneath the stars to his house at Westover.  Hardy, alert, in love with living, he was well amused by the night’s proceedings.  The incident should figure in his next letter to Orrery or to his cousin Taylor.

It figured largely in the table-talk next morning, when the sprightly gentleman sat at breakfast with his daughter and his second wife, a fair and youthful kinswoman of Martha and Teresa Blount.  The gentleman, launched upon the subject of witchcraft, handled it with equal wit and learning.  The ladies thought that the water must have been very cold, and trusted that the old dame was properly grateful, and would, after such a lesson, leave her evil practices.  As they were rising from table, word was brought to the master that constable and witch were outside.

The Colonel kissed his wife, promised his daughter to be merciful, and, humming a song, went through the hall to the open house door and the broad, three-sided steps of stone.  The constable was awaiting him.

“Here be mysteries, your Honor!  As I serve the King, ’t weren’t Goody Price for whom I ruined my new frieze, but a slip of a girl!” He waved his hand.  “Will your Honor please to look?”

Audrey sat in the sunshine upon the stone steps with her head bowed upon her arms.  The morning that was so bright was not bright for her; she thought that life had used her but unkindly.  A great tree, growing close to the house, sent leaves of dull gold adrift, and they lay at her feet and upon the skirt of her dress.  The constable spoke to her:  “Now, mistress, here’s a gentleman as stands for the King and the law.  Look up!”