“Tush, man, don’t mention it,” laughingly returned the baron.  “There’s no question of thanks betwixt me and thee.”

“They gave me some hot sack, and then rolled me in the river,” whined De Lacey, “and the pity of it is I cannot remember which of them it was, or else I’d—­I’d—­”

Sir John de Lacey paused to consider what course of action he would have taken, but ere he had resolved, the door opened, and Sir Thomas Stanley entered, bringing in with him the Lady Margaret.

“Well, well,” returned Sir George, “since it baffles thy wits to discover whom it was, thou hadst best have the grace of forgiveness, it will become thee well.  But a truce to this.  I came to counsel with you of the murder.  Any more news, Sir Thomas?”

“I hear that the old hag, Durden, had a quarrel with the pedlar the day before his death,” answered Stanley, “and she told him to his face that he would come to no gentle end.”

“They have often quarrelled,” added Margaret, who felt bound to add something to her lover’s statement.

“Yes, then,” said Sir George, “I have it now.  I guessed it was her from the very beginning.”

“Nay, nay,” interrupted Dorothy, “you suspected the smith at first.”

“Well, Doll, it makes no matter of difference if I did.  ’Tis the old witch, sure enough, and she will either hang or drown for it, I swear.”

“Not so fast, either though, worthy knight,” interrupted Stanley.  “I am not yet satisfied that it really was the witch, for she seems to have been at home all day, except when she was by the side of the stocks.”

“Courting the proud smith,” added Lady Vernon, referring to a rumour in the neighbourhood.

“But he was killed in the woods,” said Dorothy.

“Tut, there’s not a doubt about the matter,” pursued Sir George, “not the shadow of a doubt.”

“Nevertheless there is something in what Dorothy urges, and we had better make some sort of inquiry,” suggested the more cautious Stanley; “for thou hast many jealous enemies, Sir George, who would gladly score a triumph over thee an they had but half a chance.”

“Sir Ronald Bury, for instance,” added Margaret.

“But why Sir Ronald?” asked De Lacey.  “He is a simple enough knight, I trow.”

“Pooh, I care naught for him,” replied Sir George Vernon; “he is jealous of the beauty of my daughters.”

“And wants a husband for his child,” added Lady Maude.

“Let him want, then,” testily returned the baron.  “He may turn green with envy for aught I care.  I’ll do it to his face, I will.”

But in the end wiser counsels prevailed, and the knight gave way so far as to order a trial of touch—­a superstitious form of trial much relied upon in the times when witchcraft was commonly believed in.

The witching hour of twilight was chosen for this crude but solemn trial, and at the time appointed a large crowd was gathered in the great courtyard of Haddon in obedience to a mandate of the King of the Peak, which they dared not disobey.