Early morning, as bright and glowing autumn time as ever shone over the
weald of Sussex. The harvest was gathered in; the trees were heavy
beneath the red and golden crop of apples, and in hedgerow and
plantation the brown and cream-husked nuts peered out in clusters from
the leafy stubs.
There was a suspicion here and there of the coming fall, but only in
bright touches of beauty--golds, and russets, and reds--bloody crimson,
and orange scarlet, where the sun-kissed leaves yet burned beneath the
caresses of the ardent god. The sky above was of the richest, purest
blue, and the eye rested on naught but beauty, so long as it kept to
nature, and not to art, for winding along the narrow lane towards
Roehurst was a procession of armed men, preceding and following a rough
country tumbril, drawn by a clumsy horse. The load was apparently a
heap of shabby garments, dropped in one corner of the cart.
But the crowd that pressed upon the armed men, striving to get a glimpse
of the interior of the vehicle, could see that the bundle of clothes in
the cart moved slightly from time to time, lifting a thin white hand and
letting it fall heavily once more; and as they buzzed, and talked, and
shouted to one another, they made out further that there was a grey head
raised from the heap, and a white, scared face looked round partly in
wonder, partly seeking for pity, as its owner seemed to realise her
position, and then crouched lower and lower as she heard shouts and
voices crying out the words, "Mother Goodhugh! Witch! The stake, the
stake!"
The escort took the pressure of the eager little crowd very
good-humouredly, but had to keep waving the sight-seers back, or some
would have been trampled beneath the horse's feet, and as it was the
procession was greatly delayed.
"I don't believe they'll burn her after all," said one rough specimen of
a peasant to another.
"Nay, they will. Stake be all ready, and faggots enough to burn a dozen
such witches as old Mother there."
"I'll believe it when I see it, lad. See if she don't go off in a
flash, or else make the rain come so as the faggots won't burn. Nay,
lad, she won't be done for yet. Look there. Did'st see her wicked old
eyes glowering round when she raised her head? Don't let her look at
thee, or she'll put a curse in thy face."
"Ay, but she be a wicked looking one, and it will be a glad riddance for
Roehurst when she be gone, for she did naught but curse."
"Mas' Cobbe ought to be glad to see her burnt, for she's cursed him oft
enough, poor soul."
"But why don't they make haste? I want to see the burning, and then get
back to the wedding games."
"Oh, they won't wed till Mother Goodhugh's all in ash, lad. See, there
be the bridegroom. He be going to see it done."
"But what be they stopping for?"
"Don't know," said the other, climbing up the bank and holding on by the
branch of a tree. "Why, it be parson come, and he be getting into the
cart with Mother Goodhugh. Say, look there! He be gone down on his
knees aside her, and takes her hand. Look out, parson, as she don't fly
at thee like a cat."
But there was no cat-like spring in Mother Goodhugh, for torture and
starvation had reduced her so that the little life left in her was
likely to flutter away before the torch was placed to the faggots. As
Master Peasegood laboriously clambered into the cart and knelt beside
her, he took one of the poor wretch's wasted hands in his, and she
raised her head to look up at him half-wonderingly, before letting it
fall once more, and remaining apparently nerveless and flaccid, waiting
for the end.
The procession passed within fifty yards of the Moat gate, where Anne
Beckley was waiting--not to cry out in reviling tones against the
wretched woman, but to see her pass, hidden awhile amidst the dense
evergreens, and trembling lest she should be seen.
Anne Beckley's heart beat fast as the procession came nearer and nearer,
and she crouched down trembling as she fancied that Mother Goodhugh must
see her; while the cold dew stood upon her brow as she waited for the
curses the old woman would fling upon her head.
But there was no curse hurled at her; there was the trampling of feet,
and the buzz of many voices, beating hoofs, and grinding wheels coming
nearer and nearer, till all appeared to stay close by, and Anne's heart
seemed to stop its pulse as well.
She had come to see her enemy, and would gladly have witnessed the
execution, only that she dared not express a wish so to do; and even
now, so great was her trepidation, that in place of gazing at the
broken, half-dead object in the cart, she shrank down lower and lower
till the leaves completely sheltered her head.
What were they stopping for? Were they going to bring Mother Goodhugh
there?
No: there had been no stoppage at all; it was only her fancy. They were
going slowly on, and that was Master Peasegood's voice praying beside
the wretched creature so near her end.
The buzzing and trampling seemed to grow louder and the grating of the
wheels more defined, till it seemed to Anne as if they would never pass
away; but they grew fainter at last, and after some ten minutes of agony
she hurried out of the clump of shrubs, and hastened to her room, too
faint and heartsick to think of dressing for the ceremony to come.
Sir Mark and his men would be at the execution she knew, and when he
returned it would be a signal to her that her enemy was no more, and she
told herself that she would be able to go to the little church with a
lighter heart.
In imagination she followed the procession to the narrow lane, and up to
the front of Mother Goodhugh's cottage, where the great stake had been
placed. She saw the wretched woman bound there, the faggots fired, and
seemed to hear her shrieks as she waved her hands and wildly cursed
those around. Now she strained at the chain, and strove to tear it away
as it grew red hot and burned into her thin white flesh, while the
flames rose higher and higher, the faggots crackled, and she even
fancied that she could hear the shouting of the people.
How the smoke curled up, half suffocating her at times, and making her
hang her head as if dead! Then it was swept away, and the flames rose
higher, half hiding the hideously contorted face with a ruddy lurid
veil. The flames fluttered and danced, and seemed to Anne as if
rejoicing at their task of purifying the earth from the presence of a
witch. Then the smoke rose higher, till it formed a heavy canopy above
the stake, while the flames played wildly on its lower surface.
Again the flames opened to reveal the figure of Mother Goodhugh. She
had ceased to curse now, and with blackened, outstretched hands was
appealing to her executioners to set her free.
As she did so Anne started forward with a wild cry.
"It is too horrible--too horrible!" she shrieked. "Father, father, save
her before it is too late!" and then, overpowered by the imaginary scene
she had conjured up, she tottered a step or two, and sank fainting upon
the floor.
Volume 3, Chapter XIII.