Bess's o' th' Booth--for so the little hostel at Goldshaw was called,
after its mistress Bess Whitaker--was far more comfortable and
commodious than its unpretending exterior seemed to warrant. Stouter and
brighter ale was not to be drunk in Lancashire than Bess brewed; nor was
better sherris or clary to be found, go where you would, than in her
cellars. The traveller crossing those dreary wastes, and riding from
Burnley to Clithero, or from Colne to Whalley, as the case might be,
might well halt at Bess's, and be sure of a roast fowl for dinner, with
the addition, perhaps, of some trout from Pendle Water, or, if the
season permitted, a heath-cock or a pheasant; or, if he tarried there
for the night, he was equally sure of a good supper and fair linen. It
has already been mentioned, that at this period it was the custom of all
classes in the northern counties, men and women, to resort to the
alehouses to drink, and the hostel at Goldshaw was the general
rendezvous of the neighbourhood. For those who could afford it Bess
would brew incomparable sack; but if a guest called for wine, and she
liked not his looks, she would flatly tell him her ale was good enough
for him, and if it pleased him not he should have nothing. Submission
always followed in such cases, for there was no disputing with Bess.
Neither would she permit the frequenters of the hostel to sit later than
she chose, and would clear the house in a way equally characteristic and
effectual. At a certain hour, and that by no means a late one, she would
take down a large horsewhip, which hung on a convenient peg in the
principal room, and after bluntly ordering her guests to go home, if any
resistance were offered, she would lay the whip across their shoulders,
and forcibly eject them from the premises; but, as her determined
character was well known, this violence was seldom necessary. In
strength Bess was a match for any man, and assistance from her
cowherds--for she was a farmer as well as hostess--was at hand if
required. As will be surmised from the above, Bess was large and
masculine-looking, but well-proportioned nevertheless, and possessed a
certain coarse kind of beauty, which in earlier years had inflamed
Richard Baldwyn, the miller of Rough Lee, who made overtures of marriage
to her. These were favourably entertained, but a slight quarrel
occurring between them, the lover, in her own phrase, got "his jacket
soundly dusted" by her, and declared off, taking to wife a more docile
and light-handed maiden. As to Bess, though she had given this
unmistakable proof of her ability to manage a husband, she did not
receive a second offer, nor, as she had now attained the mature age of
forty, did it seem likely she would ever receive one.
Bess's o' th' Booth was an extremely clean and comfortable house. The
floor, it is true, was of hard clay, and the windows little more than
narrow slits, with heavy stone frames, further darkened by minute
diamond panes; but the benches were scrupulously clean, and so was the
long oak table in the centre of the principal and only large room in the
house. A roundabout fireplace occupied one end of the chamber, sheltered
from the draught of the door by a dark oak screen, with a bench on the
warm side of it; and here, or in the deep ingle-nooks, on winter nights,
the neighbours would sit and chat by the blazing hearth, discussing pots
of "nappy ale, good and stale," as the old ballad hath it; and as
persons of both sexes came thither, young as well as old, many a match
was struck up by Bess's cheery fireside. From the blackened rafters hung
a goodly supply of hams, sides of bacon, and dried tongues, with a
profusion of oatcakes in a bread-flake; while, in case this store should
be exhausted, means of replenishment were at hand in the huge,
full-crammed meal-chest standing in one corner. Altogether, there was a
look of abundance as well as of comfort about the place.
Great was Bess's consternation when the poor pedlar, who had quitted her
house little more than an hour ago, full of health and spirits, was
brought back to it in such a deplorable condition; and when she saw him
deposited at her door, notwithstanding her masculine character, she had
some difficulty in repressing a scream. She did not, however, yield to
the weakness, but seeing at once what was best to be done, caused him to
be transported by the grooms to the chamber he had occupied over-night,
and laid upon the bed. Medical assistance was fortunately at hand; for
it chanced that Master Sudall, the chirurgeon of Colne, was in the house
at the time, having been brought to Goldshaw by the great sickness that
prevailed at Sabden and elsewhere in the neighbourhood. Sudall was
immediately in attendance upon the sufferer, and bled him copiously,
after which the poor man seemed much easier; and Richard Assheton,
taking the chirurgeon aside, asked his opinion of the case, and was told
by Sudall that he did not think the pedlar's life in danger, but he
doubted whether he would ever recover the use of his limbs.
"You do not attribute the attack to witchcraft, I suppose, Master
Sudall?" said Richard.
"I do not like to deliver an opinion, sir," replied the chirurgeon. "It
is impossible to decide, when all the appearances are precisely like
those of an ordinary attack of paralysis. But a sad case has recently
come under my observation, as to which I can have no doubt--I mean as to
its being the result of witchcraft--but I will tell you more about it
presently, for I must now return to my patient."
It being agreed among the party to rest for an hour at the little
hostel, and partake of some refreshment, Nicholas went to look after the
horses, while Roger Nowell and Richard remained in the room with the
pedlar. Bess Whitaker owned an extensive farm-yard, provided with
cow-houses, stables, and a large barn; and it was to the latter place
that the two grooms proposed to repair with Sparshot and play a game at
loggats on the clay floor. No one knew what had become of the reeve;
for, on depositing the poor pedlar at the door of the hostel, he had
mounted his horse and ridden away. Having ordered some fried eggs and
bacon, Nicholas wended his way to the stable, while Bess, assisted by a
stout kitchen wench, busied herself in preparing the eatables, and it
was at this juncture that Master Potts entered the house.
Bess eyed him narrowly, and was by no means prepossessed by his looks,
while the muddy condition of his habiliments did not tend to exalt him
in her opinion.
"Yo mey yersel a' whoam, mon, ey mun say," she observed, as the attorney
seated himself on the bench beside her.
"To be sure," rejoined Potts; "where should a man make himself at home,
if not at an inn? Those eggs and bacon look very tempting. I'll try some
presently; and, as soon as you've done with the frying-pan, I'll have a
pottle of sack."
"Neaw, yo winna," replied Bess. "Yo'n get nother eggs nor bacon nor sack
here, ey can promise ye. Ele an whoat-kekes mun sarve your turn. Go to
t' barn wi' t' other grooms, and play at kittle-pins or nine-holes wi'
hin, an ey'n send ye some ele."
"I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you, hostess," replied Potts,
"and have no desire to play at kittle-pins or nine-holes. But what does
this bottle contain?"
"Sherris," replied Bess.
"Sherris!" echoed Potts, "and yet you say I can have no sack. Get me
some sugar and eggs, and I'll show you how to brew the drink. I was
taught the art by my friend, Ben Jonson--rare Ben--ha, ha!"
"Set the bottle down," cried Bess, angrily.
"What do you mean, woman!" said Potts, staring at her in surprise. "I
told you to fetch sugar and eggs, and I now repeat the order--sugar, and
half-a-dozen eggs at least."
"An ey repeat my order to yo," cried Bess, "to set the bottle down, or
ey'st may ye."
"Make me! ha, ha! I like that," cried Potts. "Let me tell you, woman, I
am not accustomed to be ordered in this way. I shall do no such thing.
If you will not bring the eggs I shall drink the wine, neat and
unsophisticate." And he filled a flagon near him.
"If yo dun, yo shan pay dearly for it," said Bess, putting aside the
frying-pan and taking down the horsewhip.
"I daresay I shall," replied Potts merrily; "you hostesses generally do
make one pay dearly. Very good sherris this, i' faith!--the true nutty
flavour. Now do go and fetch me some eggs, my good woman. You must have
plenty, with all the poultry I saw in the farm-yard; and then I'll teach
you the whole art and mystery of brewing sack."
"Ey'n teach yo to dispute my orders," cried Bess. And, catching the
attorney by the collar, she began to belabour him soundly with the whip.
"Holloa! ho! what's the meaning of this?" cried Potts, struggling to get
free. "Assault and battery; ho!"
"Ey'n sawt an batter yo, ay, an baste yo too!" replied Bess, continuing
to lay on the whip.
"Why, zounds! this passes a joke," cried the attorney. "How desperately
strong she is! I shall be murdered! Help! help! The woman must be a
witch."
"A witch! Ey'n teach yo' to ca' me feaw names," cried the enraged
hostess, laying on with greater fury.
"Help! help!" roared Potts.
At this moment Nicholas returned from the stables, and, seeing how
matters stood, flew to the attorney's assistance.
"Come, come, Bess," he cried, laying hold of her arm, "you've given him
enough. What has Master Potts been about? Not insulting you, I hope?"
"Neaw, ey'd tak keare he didna do that, squoire," replied the hostess.
"Ey towd him he'd get nowt boh ele here, an' he made free wi't wine
bottle, so ey brought down t' whip jist to teach him manners."
"You teach me! you ignorant and insolent hussy," cried Potts, furiously;
"do you think I'm to be taught manners by an overgrown Lancashire witch
like you? I'll teach you what it is to assault a gentleman. I'll prefer
an instant complaint against you to my singular good friend and client,
Master Roger, who is in your house, and you'll soon find whom you've got
to deal with--"
"Marry--kem--eawt!" exclaimed Bess; "who con it be? Ey took yo fo' one
o't grooms, mon."
"Fire and fury!" exclaimed Potts; "this is intolerable. Master Nowell
shall let you know who I am, woman."
"Nay, I'll tell you, Bess," interposed Nicholas, laughing. "This little
gentleman is a London lawyer, who is going to Rough Lee on business with
Master Roger Nowell. Unluckily, he got pitched into a quagmire in Read
Park, and that is the reason why his countenance and habiliments have
got begrimed."
"Eigh! ey thowt he wur i' a strawnge fettle," replied Bess; "an so he be
a lawyer fro' Lunnon, eh? Weel," she added, laughing, and displaying two
ranges of very white teeth, "he'll remember Bess Whitaker, t' next time
he comes to Pendle Forest."
"And she'll remember me," rejoined Potts.
"Neaw more sawce, mon," cried Bess, "or ey'n raddle thy boans again."
"No you won't, woman," cried Potts, snatching up his horsewhip, which he
had dropped in the previous scuffle, and brandishing it fiercely. "I
dare you to touch me."
Nicholas was obliged once more to interfere, and as he passed his arms
round the hostess's waist, he thought a kiss might tend to bring matters
to a peaceable issue, so he took one.
"Ha' done wi' ye, squoire," cried Bess, who, however, did not look very
seriously offended by the liberty.
"By my faith, your lips are so sweet that I must have another," cried
Nicholas. "I tell you what, Bess, you're the finest woman in Lancashire,
and you owe it to the county to get married."
"Whoy so?" said Bess.
"Because it would be a pity to lose the breed," replied Nicholas. "What
say you to Master Potts there? Will he suit you?"
"He--pooh! Do you think ey'd put up wi' sich powsement os he! Neaw; when
Bess Whitaker, the lonleydey o' Goldshey, weds, it shan be to a mon, and
nah to a ninny-hommer."
"Bravely resolved, Bess," cried Nicholas. "You deserve another kiss for
your spirit."
"Ha' done, ey say," cried Bess, dealing him a gentle tap that sounded
very much like a buffet. "See how yon jobberknow is grinning at ye."
"Jobberknow and ninny-hammer," cried Potts, furiously; "really, woman, I
cannot permit such names to be applied to me."
"Os yo please, boh ey'st gi' ye nah better," rejoined the hostess.
"Come, Bess, a truce to this," observed Nicholas; "the eggs and bacon
are spoiling, and I'm dying with hunger. There--there," he added,
clapping her on the shoulder, "set the dish before us, that's a good
soul--a couple of plates, some oatcakes and butter, and we shall do."
And while Bess attended to these requirements, he observed, "This sudden
seizure of poor John Law is a bad business."
"'Deed on it is, squoire," replied Bess, "ey wur quite glopp'nt at seet
on him. Lorjus o' me! whoy, it's scarcely an hour sin he left here,
looking os strong an os 'earty os yersel. Boh it's a kazzardly onsartin
loife we lead. Here to-day an gone the morrow, as Parson Houlden says.
Wall-a-day!"
"True, true, Bess," replied the squire, "and the best plan therefore is,
to make the most of the passing moment. So brew us each a lusty pottle
of sack, and fry us some more eggs and bacon."
And while the hostess proceeded to prepare the sack, Potts remarked to
Nicholas, "I have got another case of witchcraft, squire. Mary Baldwyn,
the miller's daughter, of Rough Lee."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Nicholas. "What, is the poor girl bewitched?"
"Bewitched to death--that's all," said Potts.
"Eigh--poor Meary! hoo's to be berried here this mornin," observed Bess,
emptying the bottle of sherris into a pot, and placing the latter on the
fire.
"And you think she was forespoken?" said Nicholas, addressing her.
"Folk sayn so," replied Bess; "boh I'd leyther howd my tung about it."
"Then I suppose you pay tribute to Mother Chattox, hostess?" cried
Potts,--"butter, eggs, and milk from the farm, ale and wine from the
cellar, with a flitch of bacon now and then, ey?"
"Nay, by th' maskins! ey gi' her nowt," cried Bess.
"Then you bribe Mother Demdike, and that comes to the same thing," said
Potts.
"Weel, yo're neaw so fur fro' t' mark this time," replied Bess, adding
eggs, sugar, and spice to the now boiling wine, and stirring up the
compound.
"I wonder where your brother, the reeve of the forest, can be, Master
Potts!" observed Nicholas. "I did not see either him or his horse at the
stables."
"Perhaps the arch impostor has taken himself off altogether," said
Potts; "and if so, I shall be sorry, for I have not done with him."
The sack was now set before them, and pronounced excellent, and while
they were engaged in discussing it, together with a fresh supply of eggs
and bacon, fried by the kitchen wench, Roger Nowell came out of the
inner room, accompanied by Richard and the chirurgeon.
"Well, Master Sudall, how goes on your patient?" inquired Nicholas of
the latter.
"Much more favourably than I expected, squire," replied the chirurgeon.
"He will be better left alone for awhile, and, as I shall not quit the
village till evening, I shall be able to look well after him."
"You think the attack occasioned by witchcraft of course, sir?" said
Potts.
"The poor fellow affirms it to be so, but I can give no opinion,"
replied Sudall, evasively.
"You must make up your mind as to the matter, for I think it right to
tell you your evidence will be required," said Potts. "Perhaps, you may
have seen poor Mary Baldwyn, the miller's daughter of Rough Lee, and can
speak more positively as to her case."
"I can, sir," replied the chirurgeon, seating himself beside Potts,
while Roger Nowell and Richard placed themselves on the opposite side of
the table. "This is the case I referred to a short time ago, when
answering your inquiries on the same subject, Master Richard, and a most
afflicting one it is. But you shall have the particulars. Six months
ago, Mary Baldwyn was as lovely and blooming a lass as could be seen,
the joy of her widowed father's heart. A hot-headed, obstinate man is
Richard Baldwyn, and he was unwise enough to incur the displeasure of
Mother Demdike, by favouring her rival, old Chattox, to whom he gave
flour and meal, while he refused the same tribute to the other. The
first time Mother Demdike was dismissed without the customary dole, one
of his millstones broke, and, instead of taking this as a warning, he
became more obstinate. She came a second time, and he sent her away with
curses. Then all his flour grew damp and musty, and no one would buy it.
Still he remained obstinate, and, when she appeared again, he would have
laid hands upon her. But she raised her staff, and the blows fell short.
'I have given thee two warnings, Richard,' she said, 'and thou hast paid
no heed to them. Now I will make thee smart, lad, in right earnest. That
which thou lovest best thou shalt lose.' Upon this, bethinking him that
the dearest thing he had in the world was his daughter Mary, and afraid
of harm happening to her, Richard would fain have made up his quarrel
with the old witch; but it had now gone too far, and she would not
listen to him, but uttering some words, with which the name of the girl
was mingled, shook her staff at the house and departed. The next day
poor Mary was taken ill, and her father, in despair, applied to old
Chattox, who promised him help, and did her best, I make no doubt--for
she would have willingly thwarted her rival, and robbed her of her prey;
but the latter was too strong for her, and the hapless victim got daily
worse and worse. Her blooming cheek grew white and hollow, her dark eyes
glistened with unnatural lustre, and she was seen no more on the banks
of Pendle water. Before this my aid had been called in by the afflicted
father--and I did all I could--but I knew she would die--and I told him
so. The information I feared had killed him, for he fell down like a
stone--and I repented having spoken. However he recovered, and made a
last appeal to Mother Demdike; but the unrelenting hag derided him and
cursed him, telling him if he brought her all his mill contained, and
added to that all his substance, she would not spare his child. He
returned heart-broken, and never quitted the poor girl's bedside till
she breathed her last."
"Poor Ruchot! Robb'd o' his ownly dowter--an neaw woife to cheer him! Ey
pity him fro' t' bottom o' my heart," said Bess, whose tears had flowed
freely during the narration.
"He is wellnigh crazed with grief," said the chirurgeon. "I hope he will
commit no rash act."
Expressions of deep commiseration for the untimely death of the miller's
daughter had been uttered by all the party, and they were talking over
the strange circumstances attending it, when they were roused by the
trampling of horses' feet at the door, and the moment after, a
middle-aged man, clad in deep mourning, but put on in a manner that
betrayed the disorder of his mind, entered the house. His looks were
wild and frenzied, his cheeks haggard, and he rushed into the room so
abruptly that he did not at first observe the company assembled.
"Why, Richard Baldwyn, is that you?" cried the chirurgeon.
"What! is this the father?" exclaimed Potts, taking out his
memorandum-book; "I must prepare to interrogate him."
"Sit thee down, Ruchot,--sit thee down, mon," said Bess, taking his hand
kindly, and leading him to a bench. "Con ey get thee onny thing?"
"Neaw--neaw, Bess," replied the miller; "ey ha lost aw ey vallied i'
this warlt, an ey care na how soon ey quit it mysel."
"Neigh, dunna talk on thus, Ruchot," said Bess, in accents of sincere
sympathy. "Theaw win live to see happier an brighter days."
"Ey win live to be revenged, Bess," cried the miller, rising suddenly,
and stamping his foot on the ground,--"that accursed witch has robbed me
o' my' eart's chief treasure--hoo has crushed a poor innocent os never
injured her i' thowt or deed--an has struck the heaviest blow that could
be dealt me; but by the heaven above us ey win requite her! A feyther's
deep an lasting curse leet on her guilty heoad, an on those of aw her
accursed race. Nah rest, neet nor day, win ey know, till ey ha brought
em to the stake."
"Right--right--my good friend--an excellent resolution--bring them to
the stake!" cried Potts.
But his enthusiasm was suddenly checked by observing the reeve of the
forest peeping from behind the wainscot, and earnestly regarding the
miller, and he called the attention of the latter to him.
Richard Baldwyn mechanically followed the expressive gestures of the
attorney,--but he saw no one, for the reeve had disappeared.
The incident passed unnoticed by the others, who had been, too deeply
moved by poor Baldwyn's outburst of grief to pay attention to it.
After a little while Bess Whitaker succeeded in prevailing upon the
miller to sit down, and when he became more composed he told her that
the funeral procession, consisting of some of his neighbours who had
undertaken to attend his ill-fated daughter to her last home, was coming
from Rough Lee to Goldshaw, but that, unable to bear them company, he
had ridden on by himself. It appeared also, from his muttered threats,
that he had meditated some wild project of vengeance against Mother
Demdike, which he intended to put into execution, before the day was
over; but Master Potts endeavoured to dissuade him from this course,
assuring him that the most certain and efficacious mode of revenge he
could adopt would be through the medium of the law, and that he would
give him his best advice and assistance in the matter. While they were
talking thus, the bell began to toll, and every stroke seemed to vibrate
through the heart of the afflicted father, who was at last so
overpowered by grief, that the hostess deemed it expedient to lead him
into an inner room, where he might indulge his sorrow unobserved.
Without awaiting the issue of this painful scene, Richard, who was much
affected by it, went forth, and taking his horse from the stable, with
the intention of riding on slowly before the others, led the animal
towards the churchyard. When within a short distance of the grey old
fabric he paused. The bell continued to toll mournfully, and deepened
the melancholy hue of his thoughts. The sad tale he had heard held
possession of his mind, and while he pitied poor Mary Baldwyn, he began
to entertain apprehensions that Alizon might meet a similar fate. So
many strange circumstances had taken place during the morning's ride; he
had listened to so many dismal relations, that, coupled with the dark
and mysterious events of the previous night, he was quite bewildered,
and felt oppressed as if by a hideous nightmare, which it was impossible
to shake off. He thought of Mothers Demdike and Chattox. Could these
dread beings be permitted to exercise such baneful influence over
mankind? With all the apparent proofs of their power he had received, he
still strove to doubt, and to persuade himself that the various cases of
witchcraft described to him were only held to be such by the timid and
the credulous.
Full of these meditations, he tied his horse to a tree and entered the
churchyard, and while pursuing a path shaded by a row of young
lime-trees leading to the porch, he perceived at a little distance from
him, near the cross erected by Abbot Cliderhow, two persons who
attracted his attention. One was the sexton, who was now deep in the
grave; and the other an old woman, with her back towards him. Neither
had remarked his approach, and, influenced by an unaccountable feeling
of curiosity, he stood still to watch their proceedings. Presently, the
sexton, who was shovelling out the mould, paused in his task; and the
old woman, in a hoarse voice, which seemed familiar to the listener,
said, "What hast found, Zachariah?"
[Illustration: RICHARD OVERHEARS THE MOTHER CHATTOX AND THE SEXTON.]
"That which yo lack, mother," replied the sexton, "a mazzard wi' aw th'
teeth in't."
"Pluck out eight, and give them me," replied the hag.
And, as the sexton complied with her injunction, she added, "Now I must
have three scalps."
"Here they be, mother," replied Zachariah, uncovering a heap of mould
with his spade. "Two brain-pans bleached loike snow, an the third wi'
more hewr on it than ey ha' o' my own sconce. Fro' its size an shape ey
should tak it to be a female. Ey ha' laid these three skulls aside fo'
ye. Whot dun yo mean to do wi' 'em?"
"Question me not, Zachariah," said the hag, sternly; "now give me some
pieces of the mouldering coffin, and fill this box with the dust of the
corpse it contained."
The sexton complied with her request.
"Now yo ha' getten aw yo seek, mother," he said, "ey wad pray you to tay
your departure, fo' the berrin folk win be here presently."
"I'm going," replied the hag, "but first I must have my funeral rites
performed--ha! ha! Bury this for me, Zachariah," she said, giving him a
small clay figure. "Bury it deep, and as it moulders away, may she it
represents pine and wither, till she come to the grave likewise!"
"An whoam doth it represent, mother?" asked the sexton, regarding the
image with curiosity. "Ey dunna knoa the feace?"
"How should you know it, fool, since you have never seen her in whose
likeness it is made?" replied the hag. "She is connected with the race I
hate."
"Wi' the Demdikes?" inquired the sexton.
"Ay," replied the hag, "with the Demdikes. She passes for one of
them--but she is not of them. Nevertheless, I hate her as though she
were."
"Yo dunna mean Alizon Device?" said the sexton. "Ey ha' heerd say hoo be
varry comely an kind-hearted, an ey should be sorry onny harm befell
her."
"Mary Baldwyn, who will soon lie there, was quite as comely and
kind-hearted as Alizon," cried the hag, "and yet Mother Demdike had no
pity on her."
"An that's true," replied the sexton. "Weel, weel; ey'n do your
bidding."
"Hold!" exclaimed Richard, stepping forward. "I will not suffer this
abomination to be practised."
"Who is it speaks to me?" cried the hag, turning round, and disclosing
the hideous countenance of Mother Chattox. "The voice is that of Richard
Assheton."
"It is Richard Assheton who speaks," cried the young man, "and I command
you to desist from this wickedness. Give me that clay image," he cried,
snatching it from the sexton, and trampling it to dust beneath his feet.
"Thus I destroy thy impious handiwork, and defeat thy evil intentions."
"Ah! think'st thou so, lad," rejoined Mother Chattox. "Thou wilt find
thyself mistaken. My curse has already alighted upon thee, and it shall
work. Thou lov'st Alizon.--I know it. But she shall never be thine. Now,
go thy ways."
"I will go," replied Richard--"but you shall come with me, old woman."
"Dare you lay hands on me?" screamed the hag.
"Nay, let her be, mester," interposed the sexton, "yo had better."
"You are as bad as she is," said Richard, "and deserve equal punishment.
You escaped yesterday at Whalley, old woman, but you shall not escape me
now."
"Be not too sure of that," cried the hag, disabling him for the moment,
by a severe blow on the arm from her staff. And shuffling off with an
agility which could scarcely have been expected from her, she passed
through a gate near her, and disappeared behind a high wall.
Richard would have followed, but he was detained by the sexton, who
besought him, as he valued his life, not to interfere, and when at last
he broke away from the old man, he could see nothing of her, and only
heard the sound of horses' feet in the distance. Either his eyes
deceived him, or at a turn in the woody lane skirting the church he
descried the reeve of the forest galloping off with the old woman behind
him. This lane led towards Rough Lee, and, without a moment's
hesitation, Richard flew to the spot where he had left his horse, and,
mounting him, rode swiftly along it.