vain. Her mouth, nostrils, eyes and ears were full of water, and she
could only gasp. Poor Ann Linkon was humiliated and crushed. A ducking
was a light punishment, yet the disgrace which attached to it was
sufficient to break the spirit of one possessing any pride. The sheriff
turned to his assistants and said:

"Put her on shore."

The people gave way, and the stool swung round on the pivot and was
lowered to the sands. The sport was over, and the cavaliers began to
jest and laugh over the scene, which, to them, had been one of
amusement. Hugh and Roger once more retired to talk of politics, and the
Dame Woodley, turning to Sarah Drummond, asked if she thought public
morals had been improved by such a disgraceful scene. But few
expressions of sympathy were offered to the coughing, shivering,
dripping woman, who sat silently in the chair upon the sands. She was
meek enough now when the guards came to unbuckle the straps and free
her. Even after she was released, she sat in the chair, strangling,
coughing and shivering.

John Stevens made his way through the crowd and, going up to the woman,
who seemed almost lifeless, began:

"Dame Linkon, I am most truly sorry that this has been done--"

At sound of his voice, the half-inanimate form seemed suddenly inspired
with life and vigor, and, bounding to her feet with a shriek of rage,
she dealt him a blow with her open hand on the side of his head, which
made him see more stars than can usually be discerned on the clearest
night. He staggered and, but for the sheriff, would have fallen.