“I hope you are satisfied now, Master Potts,” cried Richard Assheton.  “By your own trial her innocence is approved.”

“Your pardon, Master Richard, this is Squire Nicholas’s trial, not mine,” replied Potts.  “I am for the ordeal of swimming.  How say you, masters!  Shall we be content with this doubtful experiment?”

“Neaw—­neaw,” responded Jem Device, who acted as spokesman to the crowd, “swim her—­swim her!”

“I knew you would have it so,” said Potts, approvingly.  “Where is a fitting place for the trial?”

“Th’ Abbey pool is nah fur off,” replied Jem, “or ye con tay her to th’ Calder.”

“The river, by all means—­nothing like a running stream,” said Potts.  “Let cords be procured to bind her.”

“Run fo ’em quickly, Ben,” said Jem to Baggiley, who was very zealous in the cause.

“Oh!” groaned Nance, again losing courage, and glancing piteously at Richard.

“No outrage like this shall be perpetrated,” cried the young man, firmly; “I call upon you, cousin Nicholas, to help me.  Go into the church,” he added, thrusting Nance backward, and presenting his sword at the breast of Jem Device, who attempted to follow her, and who retired muttering threats and curses; “I will run the first man through the body who attempts to pass.”

As Nan Redferne made good her retreat, and shut the church-door after her, Master Potts, pale with rage, cried out to Richard, “You have aided the escape of a desperate and notorious offender—­actually in custody, sir, and have rendered yourself liable to indictment for it, sir, with consequences of fine and imprisonment, sir:—­heavy fine and long imprisonment, sir.  Do you mark me, Master Richard?”

“I will answer the consequences of my act to those empowered to question it, sir,” replied Richard, sternly.

“Well, sir, I have given you notice,” rejoined Potts, “due notice.  We shall hear what Sir Ralph will say to the matter, and Master Roger Nowell, and—­”

“You forget me, good Master Potts,” interrupted Nicholas, laughingly; “I entirely disapprove of it.  It is a most flagrant breach of duty.  Nevertheless, I am glad the poor wench has got off.”

“She is safe within the church,” said Potts, “and I command Master Richard, in the king’s name, to let us pass.  Beadle!  Sharpshot, Sparshot, or whatever be your confounded name do your duty, sirrah.  Enter the church, and bring forth the witch.”

“Ey darna, mester,” replied Simon; “young mester Ruchot ud slit mey weasand os soon os look ot meh.”

Richard put an end to further altercation, by stepping back quickly, locking the door, and then taking out the key, and putting it into his pocket.

“She is quite safe now,” he cried, with a smile at the discomfited lawyer.

“Is there no other door?” inquired Potts of the beadle, in a low tone.

“Yeigh, theere be one ot t’other soide,” replied Sparshot, “boh it be locked, ey reckon, an maybe hoo’n getten out that way.”