a great curiosity entered into him to know whence she drew her
strength, which even then he tried to satisfy.

"Are you mad or drugged, Cicely Foterell?" he asked. "Do you not know
how fire will feel when it eats up that delicate flesh of yours?"

"I do not know and I shall never know," she answered quietly.

"Do you mean that you will die before it touches you, building on some
promise of your master, Satan?"

"Yes, I shall die before the fire touches me; but not here and now, and
I build upon a promise from the Master of us all in heaven."

He laughed, a shrill, nervous laugh, and called out loud to the people
around--

"This witch says that she will not burn, for Heaven has promised it to
her. Do you not, Witch?"

"Yes, I say so; bear witness to my words, good people all," replied
Cicely in clear and ringing tones.

"Well, we'll see," shouted the Abbot. "Man, bring flame, and let
Heaven--or hell--help her if it can!"

The cook-executioner blew at his brands, but he was nervous, or clumsy,
and a minute or more went by before they flamed. At length one was fit
for the task, and unwillingly enough he stooped to lift it up.

Then it was that in the midst of the intense silence, for of all that
multitude none seemed even to breathe, and old Bridget, who had fainted,
cried no more, a bull's voice was heard beyond the brow of the hill,
roaring--

"_In the King's name, stay! In the King's name, stay!_"

All turned to look, and there between the trees appeared a white horse,
its sides streaked with blood, that staggered rather than galloped
towards them, and on the horse a huge, red-bearded man, clad in mail and
holding in his hand a woodman's axe.

"Fire the faggots!" shouted the Abbot, but the cook, who was not by
nature brave, had already let fall his torch, which went out on the damp
ground.

By now the horse was rushing through them, treading them under foot.
With great, convulsive bounds it reached the ring and, as the rider
leapt from its back, rolled over and lay there panting, for its strength
was done.

"It is Thomas Bolle!" exclaimed a voice, while the Abbot cried again--

"Fire the faggots! Fire the faggots!" and a soldier ran to fetch another
brand.

But Thomas was before him. Snatching up the brazier by its legs he
smote downwards with it so that the burning charcoal fell all about the
soldier and the iron cage remained fixed upon his head, shouting as he
smote--

"You sought fire--take