When I pressed forward
after and saw her bound there--she that had sat at meals with me and
lain in my bed at night--and that they were about to put a torch to the
faggots and kindle them, I fell back in a swoon. Some that were merciful
pulled me out of the throng, and cast water upon me; and William Penn
the Quaker, that stood by (whom I knew by sight--and a strange show this
was that he had come with the rest to look upon), spoke to me kindly,
and bid me away to my home, seeing that I had no courage for such
dreadful sights.
So I hurried away, ashamed of my own cowardice, and weeping sorely,
leaving behind me the tumult of the crowd, and smelling in the air the
smoke of the kindled faggots. I put my fingers in my ears and ran back
to the empty house: there to fall on my knees, to pray to God for mercy
for myself, and to cry aloud against the cruelty of men.
Then there happened a thing which I remember even now with shame.
The man who had betrayed my mistress came disguised (for he was now at
liberty to fly from the anger of the populace and the horror of his
friends) and he begged me to go with him and to share his fortunes,
telling me that he feared solitude above everything, and crying to me to
help him against his own dreadful thoughts.
I answered him with horror and indignation; but he said I should rather
pity him, seeing that many another man would have acted so in his place;
and others might have been in his place easily enough.
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