It was a vaulted place that had been hollowed out of the ruddy sandstone either by some freak of nature or by the device of men, and had plainly been adapted by the wandering gipsy tribes as a place of refuge and resort.

There were several rude pieces of furniture about--a few pallet beds, some benches, and a table.

On this table was now spread the wherewithal for a modest repast--some cold venison, some wheaten bread, a piece of cheese, and a flagon of wine.

Cuthbert, who had fared but scantily all that day, was ready enough to obey the gipsy's hospitable invitation, and seated himself at the board.
She helped him liberally to all that was there, but appeared to want nothing herself; and whilst Cuthbert satisfied his hunger she commenced the tale, part of which in its bare outline was already known to him.
"Thou knowest the story of the witch burned on the village common, nigh to Trevlyn Chase, by the order of the knight then ruling in that house?
Dost know too that that woman was my grandam, the mother of Miriam and of Esther ?" "I knew that not," answered Cuthbert.
"But so it was," pursued Joanna, her big dark eyes fixed upon the flickering flame of the lamp she had kindled.

"I never saw my grandam myself; she had met her doom before I saw the light.