If she floats, she's a witch.

If she drowns, her heart was pure.

Cadfael turns away from the mob, sickened. If Melena wasn't beautiful, wasn't strong, didn't make men laugh, their wives might not have accused her–and wouldn't now be gathering wood for her burning.

A hard rain would dowse the flames and set her free.

A hard rain would destroy the new crops and make for a hungry year.

If, if, if.

He doesn't know what to pray for, only that he must intercede soon.

But he gets only as far as Dear God before he hears the splash.