The past came back to her, not like an ugly dream, but as a fearful reality threatening sure destruction.

Between her and the accusation which she felt certain had been fulminated against her before the council, there stood henceforth no one, and at the end of the mourning she expected to be dragged before the council at once and condemned to death! And what sort of death?
Exposed to public wrath as a witch, bound and gagged, tied to a tree, with the rough bark lacerating her breast, and then beaten, beaten to a jelly, rib broken after rib, limb after limb, until the soul left the body's wreck under the curses of bystanders.

Oh, if she could only die now a swift, an honourable death like that of her father! If she could only have seen Shotaye! She expected the cave-woman surely to come down to cheer her up.

She felt a longing for her friend, a desire to see her, to hear her voice.

But day after day ran on, night after night followed, and Shotaye did not come.