A woman, holding a heavy Bible after the fashion of a shield, was stooping and striking at her knees with a stick, striving to bring her to the ground; and with the cruel laughter that hailed the hag's ungainly efforts were mingled other and more ugly sounds, low curses, execrations, and always one fatal word, "Witch! Witch!"-- fatal word spat at her by writhing mouths, hissed at her by pale lips, tossed broadcast on the cold morning wind, to breed wherever it flew fear and hate and suspicion.

For, even while they mocked her they feared her, and shielded themselves against her power with signs and crossings and the Holy Book.
To all, curse and blow and threat, she had only one word.

Striving patiently to shield her face, "Let me go!" she wailed pitifully.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Strange to say, she cried even that but softly; as who should say, "If you will not, kill me quietly, kill me without noise!" Ay, even then, with the blood running down her face, and with those eyes more cruel than men's eyes hemming her in, she was thinking of the mother whom she had sheltered so long.
"Let me go! Let me go!" she repeated.
"Witch, you shall go!" they answered ruthlessly.

"To hell!" "Ay, with her dam! To the water with her! To the water!" "Look for the devil's mark! Search her! Again, Martha! Bring her down! Bring her down, and we'll soon see whether----" Then he reached them.