“See,” said one, “the witch is guilty, she dare not touch the body.”

“Drown her,” shouted another.  “Drown her or burn her.”

The clouds which for some time had been gathering together, and which by this time had completely obscured the moon, now burst with a torrent of rain.  A flash of lightning for a brief moment illuminated the scene, and then died away again, leaving it more weird even than it had been before.  A faint roll of thunder broke upon the unpleasant reverie into which the company had fallen, and Sir George’s voice ordering the oil lamps to be lighted, somewhat reassured the more fearful among the spectators.  A long five minutes elapsed before the lights appeared, minutes of darkness and suspense, disturbed only by the flashes of lightning and peals of thunder, which rapidly grew louder in sound.

Nathan Grene had touched the body, and the trial had proclaimed him innocent.  Indeed, Sir George fully expected it would do so, seeing that Nathan had been fast bound in the stocks at the time the crime was perpetrated.  His name had only been called out because the baron had a standing dislike to the man.  But the woman still lay on the rough stones without offering a sign of life.

“Sir George, is that the witch?” asked De Lacey.

“It is.”

“Then she is praying to her master the devil.  Listen!”

In the dread stillness of those awful minutes it was not difficult to discover that she was moaning.  The crowd was stricken with terror, and catching up the words which Sir John had let fall, reiterated the cry which even yet added to the dismal terror of the scene.

“This cannot long endure,” said Sir George, as a vivid flash of lightning almost, for the moment, blinded him.

A long, loud roll of thunder, which terminated in a crashing peal, was the only answer he received, and while the noise was at its loudest, Mary Durden started to her feet and dashed forward to touch the body.

She just reached the bottom of the steps when, catching her foot on the uneven pavement of the yard, she over-balanced herself, and tumbled heavily upon the bier, almost knocking the body off as she fell.

“Guilty!” eagerly shouted Sir George; “she is guilty; seize her.”

But before he had finished the sentence, Mary had turned and fled, and far from attempting to hinder her in her headlong flight, the awe-struck people, one and all, shrunk eagerly back to escape being brought into contact with one who had just given such unmistakable proofs of witchcraft, and who had been condemned a murderess by the almost infallible ordeal of the bier.

CHAPTER V.

A visit to Nottingham.

  One sole desire, one passion now remains,
  To keep life’s fever still within his veins. 
  Vengeance, dire vengeance, on the wretch who cast
  On him and all he had the ruinous blast.