Then the door opened, revealing a tall man, white-bearded, ancient, and clad in a frayed, furred robe worn over a priest's cassock, who held a lantern in his hand.
"Who knocks ?" he asked.

"Does some soul pass that you disturb me after curfew ?" "Ay, Father Andrew," answered Hugh, "souls have passed, and souls are near to passing.

Let us in, and we will tell you all." Without waiting for an answer he entered with the others, pushed to the massive door and bolted it again.
"What's this?
A woman ?" said the old priest.

"Eve of Clavering, by the Saints!" "Yes," she answered calmly, though her teeth chattered; "Eve of Clavering, Eve the Red, this time with the blood of men, soaked with the waters of the Blythe, frozen with the snows of Dunwich Heath, where she has lain hid for hours with a furze bush for shelter.

Eve who seeks shriving, a dry rag for her back, a morsel for her lips, and fire to warm her, which in the Name of Christ and of charity she prays you will not refuse to her." So she spoke, and laughed recklessly.
Almost before she had finished her wild words the old man, who looked what he was, a knight arrayed in priestly robes, had run to a door at the end of the hall and was calling through it, "Mother Agnes! Mother Agnes!" "Be not so hasty, Sir Andrew," answered a shrill voice.