s in her face, and the little girl
clinging to a fold of her mother's dress by the left hand and pressing
the other brown fist close to her neck.

"You see," said the mother. "She is well! Run, Faith, and kiss the
gentleman's hand. Oh, sir, there can be no talk of payment between
us--we are deep in your debt; but if my child might keep this ancient
potent charm?"

The question hung in her voice. Harcourt delayed a moment, as if in
doubt, before he answered, smiling:

"I am loath to part from it," he said at last, "but since she has
proved it, let her keep it and believe in it for good--never for evil.
Come, little Faith, kiss me good-bye--no, not on the hand!"

When they were alone together, Barton turned upon his companion with
reproachful looks.

"What is this charm?" he asked.

"A secret," answered the other curtly.

"I like it not," said Barton, shaking his head; "you go too far, Jack.
You put a deception on these simple folk."

"Who knows?" laughed Harcourt. "At least I have done them no harm. We
leave them happy and ride on. How far to your nearest cousin?"

II

"The next case is a strange one," said Sir Richard Barton, Justice of
the Peace, sitting on the bench by his friend, the famous Judge who
was holding court for Market Farborough.

"How is it strange?" asked the Judge, whose face showed ruddy and
strong beneath his white wig.

"It is an accusation of witchcraft," answered Sir Richard, "and that
is a serious thing in these days. Yet it seems the woman has a good
heart and harms nobody."

"Beneficent witchcraft!" said the Judge--"that is a rarity indeed.
What do you make of it?"

"I am against all superstition," said Sir Richard solemnly; "it brings
disorder. For religion we have the clergy, and for justice the
lawyers, and for health the doctors. All outside of that partakes of
license and unreason."

"Yet outside of that," mused the Judge, "there are things that neither
clergy nor lawyers nor doctors can explain. Tell me, what do people
think concerning this witch?"

"The strict and godly folk," answered Sir Richard, "reckon her a
scandal to the town and an enemy of religion. They are of opinion that
she should be put away, whether by hanging or drowning, or by shutting
her in a madhouse. But many poor people have an affection for her,
because she has helped them."

"And you?" asked the Judge.

Sir Richard looked at him keenly. "I can better tell," said he, "when
you have seen he