different route from that which I had taken, to a village inn not far
from Coldholme, only the night before. This was the first interview
between ancestress and descendant.

All through the sultry noon I wandered along the tangled brush-wood
of the old neglected forest, thinking where to turn for remedy in a
matter so complicated and mysterious. Meeting a countryman, I asked
my way to the nearest clergyman, and went, hoping to obtain some
counsel from him. But he proved to be a coarse and common-minded
man, giving no time or attention to the intricacies of a case, but
dashing out a strong opinion involving immediate action. For
instance, as soon as I named Bridget Fitzgerald, he exclaimed:-

"The Coldholme witch! the Irish papist! I'd have had her ducked long
since but for that other papist, Sir Philip Tempest. He has had to
threaten honest folk about here over and over again, or they'd have
had her up before the justices for her black doings. And it's the
law of the land that witches should be burnt! Ay, and of Scripture,
too, sir! Yet you see a papist, if he's a rich squire, can overrule
both law and Scripture. I'd carry a faggot myself to rid the country
of her!"

Such a one could give me no help. I rather drew back what I had
already said; and tried to make the parson forget it, by treating him
to several pots of beer, in the village inn, to which we had
adjourned for our conference at his suggestion. I left him as soon
as I could, and returned to Coldholme, shaping my way past deserted
Starkey Manor-house, and coming upon it by the back. At that side
were the oblong remains of the old moat, the waters of which lay
placid and motionless under the crimson rays of the setting sun; with