She avoided him carefully--as carefully as she could, without seeming

to dread him--for the next few days. Sometimes she thought it must have

been a bad dream; for if there had been no English lover in the case,

no other man in the whole world, she could never have thought of

Manasseh as her husband; indeed, till now, there had been nothing in

his words or actions to suggest such an idea. Now it had been

suggested, there was no telling how much she loathed him. He might be

good, and pious--he doubtless was--but his dark fixed eyes, moving so

slowly and heavily, his lank black hair, his grey coarse skin, all made

her dislike him now--all his personal ugliness and ungainliness struck

on her senses with a jar, since those few words spoken behind the

haystack.

She knew that sooner or later the time must come for further discussion

of this subject; but, like a coward, she tried to put it off, by

clinging to her aunt's apron-string, for she was sure that Grace

Hickson had far different views for her only son. As, indeed, she had,

for she was an ambitious, as well as a religious woman; and by an early

purchase of land in Salem village, the Hicksons had become wealthy

people, without any great exertions of their own; partly, also, by the

silent process of accumulation, for they had never cared to change

their manner of living from the time when it had been suitable to a far

smaller income than that which they at present enjoyed. So much for

worldly circumstances. As for their worldly character, it stood as

high. No one could say a word against any of their habits or actions.

The righteousness and godliness were patent to every one's eyes. So

Grace Hickson thought herself entitled to pick and choose among the

maidens, before she should meet with one fitted to be Manasseh's wife.

None in Salem came up to her imaginary standard. She had it in her mind

even at this very time--so soon after her husband's death--to go to

Boston, and take counsel with the leading ministers there, with worthy

Mr. Cotton Mather at their head, and see if they could tell her of a

well-favoured and godly young maiden in their congregations worthy of

being the wife of her son. But, besides good looks and godliness, the

wench must have good birth, and good wealth, or Grace Hickson would

have put her contemptuously on one side. When once this paragon was

found, the ministers had approved, Grace anticipated no difficulty on

her son's part. So Lois was right in feeling that her aunt would

dislike any speech of marriage between Manasseh and herself.

But the girl was brought to bay one day in this wise. Manasseh had

ridden forth on some business, which every one said would occupy him

the whole day; but, meeting the man with whom he had to transact his

affairs, he returned earlier than any one expected. He missed Lois from

the keeping-room where his sisters were spinning, almost immediately.

His mother sat by at her knitting--he could see Nattee in the kitchen

through the open door. He was too reserved to ask where Lois was, but

he quietly sought till he found her--in the great loft, already piled

with winter stores of fruit and vegetables. Her aunt had sent her there

to examine the apples one by one, and pick out such as were unsound,

for immediate use. She was stooping down, and intent upon this work,

and was hardly aware of his approach, until she lifted up her head and

saw him standing close before her. She dropped the apple she was

holding, went a little paler than her wont, and faced him in silence.

'Lois,' he said, 'thou rememberest the words that I spoke while we yet

mourned over my father. I think that I am called to marriage now, as

the head of this household. And I have seen no maiden so pleasant in my

sight as thou art, Lois!' He tried to take her hand. But she put it

behind her with a childish shake of her head, and, half-crying, said:

'Please, Cousin Manasseh, do not say this to me. I dare say you ought

to be married, being the head of the household now; but I don't want to

be married. I would rather not.'

'That is well spoken,' replied he, frowning a little, nevertheless. 'I

should not like to take to wife an over-forward maiden, ready to jump

at wedlock. Besides, the congregation might talk, if we were to be

married too soon after my father's death. We have, perchance, said

enough, even now. But I wished thee to have thy mind set at ease as to

thy future well-doing. Thou wilt have leisure to think of it, and to

bring thy mind more fully round to it.' Again he held out his hand.

This time she took hold of it with a free, frank gesture.

'I owe you somewhat for your kindness to me ever since I came, Cousin

Manasseh; and I have no way of paying you but by telling you truly I

can love you as a dear friend, if you will let me, but never as a

wife.'

He flung her hand away, but did not take his eyes off her face, though

his glance was lowering and gloomy. He muttered something which she did

not quite hear, and so she went on bravely although she kept trembling

a little, and had much ado to keep from crying.

'Please let me tell you all. There was a young man in Barford--nay,

Manasseh, I cannot speak if you are so angry; it is hard work to tell

you any how--he said that he wanted to marry me; but I was poor, and

his father would have none of it, and I do not want to marry any one;

but if I did, it would be--' Her voice dropped, and her blushes told

the rest. Manasseh stood looking at her with sullen, hollow eyes, that

had a glittering touch of wilderness in them, and then he said:

'It is borne in upon me--verily I see it as in a vision--that thou must

be my spouse, and no other man's. Thou canst not escape what is

foredoomed. Months ago, when I set myself to read the old godly books

in which my soul used to delight until thy coming, I saw no letters of

printers' ink marked on the page, but I saw a gold and ruddy type of

some unknown language, the meaning whereof was whispered into my soul;

it was, "Marry Lois! marry Lois!" And when my father died, I knew it

was the beginning of the end. It is the Lord's will, Lois, and thou

canst not escape from it.' And again he would have taken her hand and

drawn her towards him. But this time she eluded him with ready

movement.

'I do not acknowledge it be the Lord's will, Manasseh,' said she. 'It

is not "borne in upon me," as you Puritans call it, that I am to be

your wife. I am none so set upon wedlock as to take you, even though

there be no other chance for me. For I do not care for you as I ought

to care for my husband. But I could have cared for you very much as a

cousin--as a kind cousin.'

She stopped speaking; she could not choose the right words with which

to speak to him of her gratitude and friendliness, which yet could

never be any feeling nearer and dearer, no more than two parallel lines

can ever meet.

But he was so convinced, by what he considered the spirit of prophecy,

that Lois was to be his wife, that he felt rather more indignant at

what he considered to be her resistance to the preordained decree, than

really anxious as to the result. Again he tried to convince her that

neither he nor she had any choice in the matter, by saying:

'The voice said unto me "Marry Lois," and I said, "I will, Lord."'

'But,' Lois replied, 'the voice, as you call it, has never spoken such

a word to me.'

'Lois,' he answered, solemnly, 'it will speak. And then wilt thou obey,

even as Samuel did?'

'No, indeed I cannot!' she answered, briskly. 'I may take a dream to be

truth, and hear my own fancies, if I think about them too long. But I

cannot marry any one from obedience.'

'Lois, Lois, thou art as yet unregenerate; but I have seen thee in a

vision as one of the elect, robed in white. As yet thy faith is too

weak for thee to obey meekly, but it shall not always be so. I will

pray that thou mayest see thy preordained course. Meanwhile, I will

smooth away all worldly obstacles.'

'Cousin Manasseh! Cousin Manasseh!' cried Lois after him, as he was

leaving the room, 'come back. I cannot put it in strong enough words.

Manasseh, there is no power in heaven or earth that can make me love

thee enough to marry thee, or to wed thee without such love. And this I

say solemnly, because it is better that this should end at once.'

For a moment he was staggered; then he lifted up his hands, and said,

'God forgive thee thy blasphemy! Remember Hazael, who said, "Is thy

servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?" and went straight

and did it, because his evil courses were fixed and appointed for him

from before the foundation of the world. And shall not thy paths be

laid out among the godly as it hath been foretold to me?'

He went away; and for a minute or two Lois felt as if his words must

come true, and that, struggle as she would, hate her doom as she would,

she must become his wife; and, under the circumstances, many a girl

would have succumbed to her apparent fate. Isolated from all previous

connections, hearing no word from England, living in the heavy,

monotonous routine of a family with one man for head, and this man

esteemed a hero by most of those around him, simply because he was the

only man in the family,--these facts alone would have formed strong

presumptions that most girls would have yielded to the offers of such a

one. But, besides this, there was much to tell upon the imagination in

those days, in that place, and time. It was prevalently believed that

there were manifestations of spiritual influence--of the direct

influence both of good and bad spirits--constantly to be perceived in

the course of men's lives. Lots were drawn, as guidance from the Lord;

the Bible was opened, and the leaves allowed to fall apart, and the

first text the eye fell upon was supposed to be appointed from above a

direction. Sounds were heard that could not be accounted for; they were

made by the evil spirits not yet banished from the desert places of

which they had so long held possession. Sights, inexplicable and

mysterious, were dimly seen--Satan, in some shape, seeking whom he

might devour. And at the beginning of the long winter season, such

whispered tales, such old temptations and hauntings, and devilish

terrors, were supposed to be peculiarly rife. Salem was, as it were,

snowed up, and left to prey upon itself. The long, dark evenings, the

dimly-lighted rooms, the creaking passages, where heterogeneous

articles were piled away out of reach of the keen-piercing frost, and

where occasionally, in the dead of night, a sound was heard, as of some

heavy falling body, when, next morning, everything appeared to be in

its right place--so accustomed are we to measure noises by comparison

with themselves, and not with the absolute stillness of the

night-season--the white mist, coming nearer and nearer to the windows

every evening in strange shapes, like phantoms,--all these, and many

other circumstances, such as the distant fall of mighty trees in the

mysterious forests girdling them round, the faint whoop and cry of some

Indian seeking his camp, and unwittingly nearer to the white men's

settlement than either he or they would have liked could they have

chosen, the hungry yells of the wild beasts approaching the

cattle-pens,--these were the things which made that winter life in

Salem, in the memorable time of 1691-2, seem strange, and haunted, and

terrific to many: peculiarly weird and awful to the English girl in her

first year's sojourn in America.

And now imagine Lois worked upon perpetually by Manasseh's conviction

that it was decreed that she should be his wife, and you will see that

she was not without courage and spirit to resist as she did, steadily,

firmly, and yet sweetly. Take one instance out of many, when her nerves

were subjected to a shock, slight in relation it is true, but then

remember that she had been all day, and for many days, shut up within

doors, in a dull light, that at mid-day was almost dark with a

long-continued snow-storm. Evening was coming on, and the wood fire was

more cheerful than any of the human beings surrounding it; the

monotonous whirr of the smaller spinning-wheels had been going on all

day, and the store of flax down stairs was nearly exhausted, when Grace

Hickson bade Lois fetch down some more from the store-room, before the

light so entirely waned away that it could not be found without a

candle, and a candle it would be dangerous to carry into that apartment

full of combustible materials, especially at this time of hard frost,

when every drop of water was locked up and bound in icy hardness. So

Lois went, half-shrinking from the long passage that led to the stairs

leading up into the storeroom, for it was in this passage that the

strange night sounds were heard, which every one had begun to notice,

and speak about in lowered tones. She sang, however, as she went, 'to

keep her courage up'--sang, however, in a subdued voice, the evening

hymn she had so often sung in Barford church:

'Glory to Thee, my God, this night--'

and so it was, I suppose, that she never heard the breathing or motion

of any creature near her till, just as she was loading herself with

flax to carry down, she heard some one--it was Manasseh--say close to

her ear:

'Has the voice spoken yet? Speak, Lois! Has the voice spoken yet to

thee--that speaketh to me day and night, "Marry Lois?"'

She started and turned a little sick, but spoke almost directly in a

brave, clear manner:

'No! Cousin Manasseh. And it never will.'

'Then I must wait yet longer,' he replied, hoarsely, as if to himself.

'But all submission--all submission.'

At last a break came upon the monotony of the long, dark winter. The

parishioners once more raised the discussion whether--the parish

extending as it did--it was not absolutely necessary for Pastor Tappau

to have help. This question had been mooted once before; and then

Pastor Tappau had acquiesced in the necessity, and all had gone on

smoothly for some months after the appointment of his assistant, until

a feeling had sprung up on the part of the elder minister, which might

have been called jealousy of the younger, if so godly a man as Pastor

Tappau could have been supposed to entertain so evil a passion. However

that might be, two parties were speedily formed, the younger and more

ardent being in favour of Mr. Nolan, the elder and more

persistent--and, at the time, the more numerous--clinging to the old

grey-headed, dogmatic Mr. Tappau, who had married them, baptized their

children, and was to them literally as a 'pillar of the church.' So Mr.

Nolan left Salem, carrying away with him, possibly, more hearts than

that of Faith Hickson's; but certainly she had never been the same

creature since.

But now--Christmas, 1691--one or two of the older members of the

congregation being dead, and some who were younger men having come to

settle in Salem--Mr. Tappau being also older, and, some charitably

supposed, wiser--a fresh effort had been made, and Mr. Nolan was

returning to labour in ground apparently smoothed over. Lois had taken

a keen interest in all the proceedings for Faith's sake,--far more than

the latter did for herself, any spectator would have said. Faith's

wheel never went faster or slower, her thread never broke, her colour

never came, her eyes were never uplifted with sudden interest, all the

time these discussions respecting Mr. Nolan's return were going on. But

Lois, after the hint given by Prudence, had found a clue to many a sigh

and look of despairing sorrow, even without the help of Nattee's

improvised songs, in which, under strange allegories, the helpless love

of her favourite was told to ears heedless of all meaning, except those

of the tender-hearted and sympathetic Lois. Occasionally, she heard a

strange chant of the old Indian woman's--half in her own language, half

in broken English--droned over some simmering pipkin, from which the

smell was, to say the least, unearthly. Once, on perceiving this odour

in the keeping-room, Grace Hickson suddenly exclaimed:

'Nattee is at her heathen ways again; we shall have some mischief

unless she is stayed.'

But Faith, moving quicker than ordinary, said something about putting a

stop to it, and so forestalled her mother's evident intention of going

into the kitchen. Faith shut the door between the two rooms, and

entered upon some remonstrance with Nattee; but no one could hear the

words used. Faith and Nattee seemed more bound together by love and

common interest, than any other two among the self-contained

individuals comprising this household. Lois sometimes felt as if her

presence as a third interrupted some confidential talk between her

cousin and the old servant. And yet she was fond of Faith, and could

almost think that Faith liked her more than she did either mother,

brother, or sister; for the first two were indifferent as to any

unspoken feelings, while Prudence delighted in discovering them only to

make an amusement to herself out of them.

One day Lois was sitting by herself at her sewing table, while Faith

and Nattee were holding one of the secret conclaves from which Lois

felt herself to be tacitly excluded, when the outer door opened, and a

tall, pale young man, in the strict professional habit of a minister,

entered. Lois sprang up with a smile and a look of welcome for Faith's

sake, for this must be the Mr. Nolan whose name had been on the tongue

of every one for days, and who was, as Lois knew, expected to arrive

the day before.

He seemed half surprised at the glad alacrity with which he was

received by this stranger: possibly he had not heard of the English

girl, who was an inmate in the house where formerly he had seen only

grave, solemn, rigid, or heavy faces, and had been received with a

stiff form of welcome, very different from the blushing, smiling,

dimpled looks that innocently met him with the greeting almost of an

old acquaintance. Lois having placed a chair for him, hastened out to

call Faith, never doubting but that the feeling which her cousin

entertained for the young pastor was mutual, although it might be

unrecognised in its full depth by either.

'Faith!' said she, bright and breathless. 'Guess--no,' checking herself

to an assumed unconsciousness of any particular importance likely to be

affixed to her words, 'Mr. Nolan, the new pastor, is in the

keeping-room. He has asked for my aunt and Manasseh. My aunt is gone to

the prayer meeting at Pastor Tappau's, and Manasseh is away.' Lois went

on speaking to give Faith time, for the girl had become deadly white at

the intelligence, while, at the same time, her eyes met the keen,

cunning eyes of the old Indian with a peculiar look of half-wondering

awe, while Nattee's looks expressed triumphant satisfaction.

'Go,' said Lois, smoothing Faith's hair, and kissing the white, cold

cheek, 'or he will wonder why no one comes to see him, and perhaps

think he is not welcome.' Faith went without another word into the

keeping-room, and shut the door of communication. Nattee and Lois were

left together. Lois felt as happy as if some piece of good fortune had

befallen herself. For the time, her growing dread of Manasseh's wild,

ominous persistence in his suit, her aunt's coldness, her own

loneliness, were all forgotten, and she could almost have danced with

joy. Nattee laughed aloud, and talked and chuckled to herself: 'Old

Indian woman great mystery. Old Indian woman sent hither and thither;

go where she is told, where she hears with her ears. But old Indian

woman'--and here she drew herself up, and the expression of her face

quite changed--'know how to call, and then white man must come; and old

Indian have spoken never a word, and white man have hear nothing with

his ears.' So, the old crone muttered.

All this time, things were going on very differently in the

keeping-room to what Lois imagined. Faith sat stiller even than usual;

her eyes downcast, her words few. A quick observer might have noticed a

certain tremulousness about her hands, and an occasional twitching

throughout all her frame. But Pastor Nolan was not a keen observer upon

this occasion; he was absorbed with his own little wonders and

perplexities. His wonder was that of a carnal man--who that pretty

stranger might be, who had seemed, on his first coming, so glad to see

him, but had vanished instantly, apparently not to reappear. And,

indeed, I am not sure if his perplexity was not that of a carnal man

rather than that of a godly minister, for this was his dilemma. It was

the custom of Salem (as we have already seen) for the minister, on

entering a household for the visit which, among other people and in

other times, would have been termed a 'morning call,' to put up a

prayer for the eternal welfare of the family under whose roof-tree he

was. Now this prayer was expected to be adapted to the individual

character, joys, sorrows, wants, and failings of every member present;

and here was he, a young pastor, alone with a young woman, and he

thought--vain thoughts, perhaps, but still very natural--that the

implied guesses at her character, involved in the minute supplications

above described, would be very awkward in a tête-à-tête prayer; so,

whether it was his wonder or his perplexity, I do not know, but he did

not contribute much to the conversation for some time, and at last, by

a sudden burst of courage and impromptu hit, he cut the Gordian knot by

making the usual proposal for prayer, and adding to it a request that

the household might be summoned. In came Lois, quiet and decorous; in

came Nattee, all one impassive, stiff piece of wood,--no look of

intelligence or trace of giggling near her countenance. Solemnly

recalling each wandering thought, Pastor Nolan knelt in the midst of

these three to pray. He was a good and truly religious man, whose name

here is the only thing disguised, and played his part bravely in the

awful trial to which he was afterwards subjected; and if at the time,

before he went through his fiery persecutions, the human fancies which

beset all young hearts came across his, we at this day know that these

fancies are no sin. But now he prays in earnest, prays so heartily for

himself, with such a sense of his own spiritual need and spiritual

failings, that each one of his hearers feels as if a prayer and a

supplication had gone up for each of them. Even Nattee muttered the few

words she knew of the Lord's Prayer; gibberish though the disjointed

nouns and verbs might be, the poor creature said them because she was

stirred to unwonted reverence. As for Lois, she rose up comforted and

strengthened, as no special prayers of Pastor Tappau had ever made her

feel. But Faith was sobbing, sobbing aloud, almost hysterically, and

made no effort to rise, but lay on her outstretched arms spread out

upon the settle. Lois and Pastor Nolan looked at each other for an

instant. Then Lois said:

'Sir, you must go. My cousin has not been strong for some time, and

doubtless she needs more quiet than she has had to-day.'

Pastor Nolan bowed, and left the house; but in a moment he returned.

Half opening the door, but without entering, he said:

'I come back to ask, if perchance I may call this evening to inquire

how young Mistress Hickson finds herself?'

But Faith did not hear this; she was sobbing louder than ever.

'Why did you send him away, Lois? I should have been better directly,

and it is so long since I have seen him.'

She had her face hidden as she uttered these words, and Lois could not

hear them distinctly. She bent her head down by her cousin's on the

settle, meaning to ask her to repeat what she had said. But in the

irritation of the moment, and prompted possibly by some incipient

jealousy, Faith pushed Lois away so violently that the latter was hurt

against the hard, sharp corner of the wooden settle. Tears came into

her eyes; not so much because her cheek was bruised, as because of the

surprised pain she felt at this repulse from the cousin towards whom

she was feeling so warmly and kindly. Just for the moment, Lois was as

angry as any child could have been; but some of the words of Pastor

Nolan's prayer yet rang in her ears, and she thought it would be a

shame if she did not let them sink into her heart. She dared not,

however, stoop again to caress Faith, but stood quietly by her,

sorrowfully waiting, until a step at the outer door caused Faith to

rise quickly, and rush into the kitchen, leaving Lois to bear the brunt

of the new-comer. It was Manasseh, returned from hunting. He had been

two days away, in company with other young men belonging to Salem. It

was almost the only occupation which could draw him out of his secluded

habits. He stopped suddenly at the door on seeing Lois, and alone, for

she had avoided him of late in every possible way.

'Where is my mother?'

'At a prayer meeting at Pastor Tappau's. She has taken Prudence. Faith

has left the room this minute. I will call her.' And Lois was going

towards the kitchen, when he placed himself between her and the door.

'Lois,' said he, 'the time is going by, and I cannot wait much longer.

The visions come thick upon me, and my sight grows clearer and clearer.

Only this last night, camping out in the woods, I saw in my soul,

between sleeping and waking, the spirit come and offer thee two lots,

and the colour of the one was white, like a bride's, and the other was

black and red, which is, being interpreted, a violent death. And when

thou didst choose the latter the spirit said unto me, 'Come!' and I

came, and did as I was bidden. I put it on thee with mine own hands, as

it is preordained, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice and be my

wife. And when the black and red dress fell to the ground, thou wert

even as a corpse three days old. Now, be advised, Lois, in time. Lois,

my cousin, I have seen it in a vision, and my soul cleaveth unto

thee--I would fain spare thee.'

He was really in earnest--in passionate earnest; whatever his visions,

as he called them, might be, he believed in them, and this belief gave

something of unselfishness to his love for Lois. This she felt at this

moment, if she had never done so before, and it seemed like a contrast

to the repulse she had just met with from his sister. He had drawn near

her, and now he took hold of her hand, repeating in his wild, pathetic,

dreamy way:

'And the voice said unto me, "Marry Lois!"' And Lois was more inclined

to soothe and reason with him than she had ever been before, since the

first time of his speaking to her on the subject,--when Grace

Hickson--and Prudence entered the room from the passage. They had

returned from the prayer meeting by the back way, which had prevented

the sound of their approach from being heard.

But Manasseh did not stir or look round; he kept his eyes fixed on

Lois, as if to note the effect of his words. Grace came hastily

forwards, and lifting up her strong right arm, smote their joined hands

in twain, in spite of the fervour of Manasseh's grasp.

'What means this?' said she, addressing herself more to Lois than to

her son, anger flashing out of her deep-set eyes.

Lois waited for Manasseh to speak. He seemed, but a few minutes before,

to be more gentle and less threatening than he had been of late on this

subject, and she did not wish to irritate him. But he did not speak,

and her aunt stood angrily waiting for an answer.

'At any rate,' thought Lois, 'it will put an end to the thought in his

mind when my aunt speaks out about it.'

'My cousin seeks me in marriage,' said Lois.

'Thee!' and Grace struck out in the direction of her niece with a

gesture of supreme contempt. But now Manasseh spoke forth:

'Yea! it is preordained. The voice has said it, and the spirit has

brought her to me as my bride.'

'Spirit! an evil spirit then. A good spirit would have chosen out for

thee a godly maiden of thine own people, and not a prelatist and a

stranger like this girl. A pretty return, Mistress Lois, for all our

kindness.'

'Indeed, Aunt Hickson, I have done all I could--Cousin Manasseh knows

it--to show him I can be none of his. I have told him,' said she,

blushing, but determined to say the whole out at once, 'that I am all

but troth-plight to a young man of our own village at home; and, even

putting all that on one side, I wish not for marriage at present.'

'Wish rather for conversion and regeneration. Marriage is an unseemly

word in the mouth of a maiden. As for Manasseh, I will take reason with

him in private; and, meanwhile, if thou hast spoken truly, throw not

thyself in his path, as I have noticed thou hast done but too often of

late.'

Lois's heart burnt within her at this unjust accusation, for she knew

how much she had dreaded and avoided her cousin, and she almost looked

to him to give evidence that her aunt's last words were not true. But,

instead, he recurred to his one fixed idea, and said:

'Mother, listen! If I wed not Lois, both she and I die within the year.

I care not for life; before this, as you know, I have sought for death'

(Grace shuddered, and was for a moment subdued by some recollection of

past horror); 'but if Lois were my wife I should live, and she would be

spared from what is the other lot. That whole vision grows clearer to

me day by day. Yet, when I try to know whether I am one of the elect,

all is dark. The mystery of Free-Will and Fore-Knowledge is a mystery

of Satan's devising, not of God's.'

'Alas, my son! Satan is abroad among the brethren even now; but let the

old vexed topics rest. Sooner than fret thyself again, thou shalt have

Lois to be thy wife, though my heart was set far differently for thee.'

'No, Manasseh,' said Lois. 'I love you well as a cousin, but wife of

yours I can never be. Aunt Hickson, it is not well to delude him so. I

say, if ever I marry man, I am troth-plight to one in England.'

'Tush, child! I am your guardian in my dead husband's place. Thou

thinkest thyself so great a prize that I would clutch at thee whether

or no, I doubt not. I value thee not, save as a medicine for Manasseh,

if his mind get disturbed again, as I have noted signs of late.'

This, then, was the secret explanation of much that had alarmed her in

her cousin's manner: and if Lois had been a physician of modern times,

she might have traced somewhat of the same temperament in his sisters

as well--in Prudence's lack of natural feeling and impish delight in

mischief, in Faith's vehemence of unrequited love. But as yet Lois did

not know, any more than Faith, that the attachment of the latter to Mr.

Nolan was not merely unreturned, but even unperceived, by the young

minister.

He came, it is true--came often to the house, sat long with the family,

and watched them narrowly, but took no especial notice of Faith. Lois

perceived this, and grieved over it; Nattee perceived it, and was

indignant at it, long before Faith slowly acknowledged it to herself,

and went to Nattee the Indian woman, rather than to Lois her cousin,

for sympathy and counsel.

'He cares not for me,' said Faith. 'He cares more for Lois's little

finger than for my whole body,' the girl moaned out in the bitter pain

of jealousy.

'Hush thee, hush thee, prairie bird! How can he build a nest, when the

old bird has got all the moss and the feathers? Wait till the Indian

has found means to send the old bird flying far away.' This was the

mysterious comfort Nattee gave.

Grace Hickson took some kind of charge over Manasseh that relieved Lois

of much of her distress at his strange behaviour. Yet at times he

escaped from his mother's watchfulness, and in such opportunities he

would always seek Lois, entreating her, as of old, to marry

him--sometimes pleading his love for her, oftener speaking wildly of

his visions and the voices which he heard foretelling a terrible

futurity.

We have now to do with events which were taking place in Salem, beyond

the narrow circle of the Hickson family; but as they only concern us in

as far as they bore down in their consequences on the future of those

who formed part of it, I shall go over the narrative very briefly. The

town of Salem had lost by death, within a very short time preceding the

commencement of my story, nearly all its venerable men and leading

citizens--men of ripe wisdom and sound counsel. The people had hardly

yet recovered from the shock of their loss, as one by one the

patriarchs of the primitive little community had rapidly followed each

other to the grave. They had been beloved as fathers, and looked up to

as judges in the land. The first bad effect of their loss was seen in

the heated dissension which sprang up between Pastor Tappau and the

candidate Nolan. It had been apparently healed over; but Mr. Nolan had

not been many weeks in Salem, after his second coming, before the

strife broke out afresh, and alienated many for life who had till then

been bound together by the ties of friendship or relationship. Even in

the Hickson family something of this feeling soon sprang up; Grace

being a vehement partisan of the elder pastor's more gloomy doctrines,

while Faith was a passionate, if a powerless, advocate of Mr. Nolan.

Manasseh's growing absorption in his own fancies, and imagined gift of

prophecy, making him comparatively indifferent to all outward events,

did not tend to either the fulfilment of his visions, or the

elucidation of the dark mysterious doctrines over which he had pondered

too long for the health either of his mind or body; while Prudence

delighted in irritating every one by her advocacy of the views of

thinking to which they were most opposed, and retailing every gossiping

story to the person most likely to disbelieve, and be indignant at what

she told, with an assumed unconsciousness of any such effect to be

produced. There was much talk of the congregational difficulties and

dissensions being carried up to the general court, and each party

naturally hoped that, if such were the course of events, the opposing

pastor and that portion of the congregation which adhered to him might

be worsted in the struggle.

Such was the state of things in the township when, one day towards the

end of the month of February, Grace Hickson returned from the weekly

prayer meeting; which it was her custom to attend at Pastor Tappau's

house, in a state of extreme excitement. On her entrance into her own

house she sat down, rocking her body backwards and forwards, and

praying to herself: both Faith and Lois stopped their spinning, in

wonder at her agitation, before either of them ventured to address her.

At length Faith rose, and spoke:

'Mother, what is it? Hath anything happened of an evil nature?'

The brave, stern, old woman's face was blenched, and her eyes were

almost set in horror, as she prayed; the great drops running down her

cheeks.

It seemed almost as if she had to make a struggle to recover her sense

of the present homely accustomed life, before she could find words to

answer:

'Evil nature! Daughters, Satan is abroad,--is close to us. I have this

very hour seen him afflict two innocent children, as of old he troubled

those who were possessed by him in Judea. Hester and Abigail Tappau

have been contorted and convulsed by him and his servants into such

shapes as I am afeard to think on; and when their father, godly Mr.

Tappau, began to exhort and to pray, their howlings were like the wild

beasts of the field. Satan is of a truth let loose amongst us. The

girls kept calling upon him as if he were even then present among us.

Abigail screeched out that he stood at my very back in the guise of a

black man; and truly, as I turned round at her words, I saw a creature

like a shadow vanishing, and turned all of a cold sweat. Who knows

where he is now? Faith, lay straws across on the door-sill.'

'But if he be already entered in,' asked Prudence, 'may not that make

it difficult for him to depart?'

Her mother, taking no notice of her question, went on rocking herself,

and praying, till again she broke out into narration:

'Reverend Mr. Tappau says, that only last night he heard a sound as of

a heavy body dragged all through the house by some strong power; once

it was thrown against his bedroom door, and would, doubtless, have

broken it in, if he had not prayed fervently and aloud at that very

time; and a shriek went up at his prayer that made his hair stand on

end; and this morning all the crockery in the house was found broken

and piled up in the middle of the kitchen floor; and Pastor Tappau

says, that as soon as he began to ask a blessing on the morning's meal,

Abigail and Hester cried out, as if some one was pinching them. Lord,

have mercy upon us all! Satan is of a truth let loose.'

'They sound like the old stories I used to hear in Barford,' said Lois,

breathless with affright.

Faith seemed less alarmed; but then her dislike to Pastor Tappau was so

great, that she could hardly sympathise with any misfortunes that

befell him or his family.

Towards evening Mr. Nolan came in. In general, so high did party spirit

run, Grace Hickson only tolerated his visits, finding herself often

engaged at such hours, and being too much abstracted in thought to show

him the ready hospitality which was one of her most prominent virtues.

But to-day, both as bringing the latest intelligence of the new horrors

sprung up in Salem, and as being one of the Church militant (or what

the Puritans considered as equivalent to the Church militant) against

Satan, he was welcomed by her in an unusual manner.

He seemed oppressed with the occurrences of the day: at first it

appeared to be almost a relief to him to sit still, and cogitate upon

them, and his hosts were becoming almost impatient for him to say

something more than mere monosyllables, when he began:

'Such a day as this, I pray that I may never see again. It is as if the

devils whom our Lord banished into the herd of swine, had been

permitted to come again upon the earth. And I would it were only the

lost spirits who were tormenting us; but I much fear, that certain of

those whom we have esteemed as God's people have sold their souls to

Satan, for the sake of a little of his evil power, whereby they may

afflict others for a time. Elder Sherringham hath lost this very day a

good and valuable horse, wherewith he used to drive his family to

meeting, his wife being bedridden.'

'Perchance,' said Lois, 'the horse died of some natural disease.'

'True,' said Pastor Nolan; 'but I was going on to say, that as he

entered into his house, full of dolour at the loss of his beast, a

mouse ran in before him so sudden that it almost tripped him up, though

an instant before there was no such thing to be seen; and he caught at

it with his shoe and hit it, and it cried out like a human creature in

pain, and straight ran up the chimney, caring nothing for the hot flame

and smoke.'

Manasseh listened greedily to all this story, and when it was ended he

smote upon his breast, and prayed aloud for deliverance from the power

of the Evil One; and he continually went on praying at intervals

through the evening, with every mark of abject terror on his face and

in his manner--he, the bravest, most daring hunter in all the

settlement. Indeed, all the family huddled together in silent fear,

scarcely finding any interest in the usual household occupations. Faith

and Lois sat with arms entwined, as in days before the former had

become jealous of the latter; Prudence asked low, fearful questions of

her mother and of the pastor as to the creatures that were abroad, and

the ways in which they afflicted others; and when Grace besought the

minister to pray for her and her household, he made a long and

passionate supplication that none of that little flock might ever so

far fall away into hopeless perdition as to be guilty of the sin

without forgiveness--the sin of Witchcraft.

Chapter 3

'The sin of witchcraft.' We read about it, we look on it from the

outside; but we can hardly realize the terror it induced. Every

impulsive or unaccustomed action, every little nervous affection, every

ache or pain was noticed, not merely by those around the sufferer, but

by the person himself, whoever he might be, that was acting, or being

acted upon, in any but the most simple and ordinary manner. He or she

(for it was most frequently a woman or girl that was the supposed

subject) felt a desire for some unusual kind of food--some unusual

motion or rest her hand twitched, her foot was asleep, or her leg had

the cramp; and the dreadful question immediately suggested itself, 'Is

any one possessing an evil power over me, by the help of Satan?' and

perhaps they went on to think, 'It is bad enough to feel that my body

can be made to suffer through the power of some unknown evil-wisher to

me, but what if Satan gives them still further power, and they can

touch my soul, and inspire me with loathful thoughts leading me into

crimes which at present I abhor?' and so on, till the very dread of

what might happen, and the constant dwelling of the thoughts, even with

horror, upon certain possibilities, or what were esteemed such, really

brought about the corruption of imagination at least, which at first

they had shuddered at. Moreover, there was a sort of uncertainty as to

who might be infected--not unlike the overpowering dread of the plague,

which made some shrink from their best-beloved with irrepressible fear.

The brother or sister, who was the dearest friend of their childhood

and youth, might now be bound in some mysterious deadly pact with evil

spirits of the most horrible kind--who could tell? And in such a case

it became a duty, a sacred duty, to give up the earthly body which had

been once so loved, but which was now the habitation of a soul corrupt

and horrible in its evil inclinations. Possibly, terror of death might

bring on confession and repentance, and purification. Or if it did not,

why away with the evil creature, the witch, out of the world, down to

the kingdom of the master, whose bidding was done on earth in all

manner of corruption and torture of God's creatures! There were others

who, to these more simple, if more ignorant, feelings of horror at

witches and witchcraft, added the desire, conscious or unconscious, of

revenge on those whose conduct had been in any way displeasing to them.

Where evidence takes a supernatural character, there is no disproving

it. This argument comes up: 'You have only the natural powers; I have

supernatural. You admit the existence of the supernatural by the

condemnation of this very crime of witchcraft. You hardly know the

limits of the natural powers; how then can you define the supernatural?

I say that in the dead of night, when my body seemed to all present to

be lying in quiet sleep, I was, in the most complete and wakeful

consciousness, present in my body at an assembly of witches and wizards

with Satan at their head; that I was by them tortured in my body,

because my soul would not acknowledge him as its king; and that I

witnessed such and such deeds. What the nature of the appearance was

that took the semblance of myself, sleeping quietly in my bed, I know

not; but admitting, as you do, the possibility of witchcraft, you

cannot disprove my evidence.' This evidence might be given truly or

falsely, as the person witnessing believed it or not; but every one

must see what immense and terrible power was abroad for revenge. Then,

again, the accused themselves ministered to the horrible panic abroad.

Some, in dread of death, confessed from cowardice to the imaginary

crimes of which they were accused, and of which they were promised a

pardon on confession. Some, weak and terrified, came honestly to

believe in their own guilt, through the diseases of imagination which

were sure to be engendered at such a time as this.

Lois sat spinning with Faith. Both were silent, pondering over the

stories that were abroad. Lois spoke first.

'Oh, Faith! this country is worse than ever England was, even in the

days of Master Matthew Hopkins, the witch-finder. I grow frightened of

every one, I think. I even get afeard sometimes of Nattee!'

Faith coloured a little. Then she asked,

'Why? What should make you distrust the Indian woman?'

'Oh! I am ashamed of my fear as soon as it arises in my mind. But, you

know, her look and colour were strange to me when first I came; and she

is not a christened woman; and they tell stories of Indian wizards; and

I know not what the mixtures are which she is sometimes stirring over

the fire, nor the meaning of the strange chants she sings to herself.

And once I met her in the dusk, just close by Pastor Tappau's house, in

company with Hota, his servant--it was just before we heard of the sore

disturbance in his house--and I have wondered if she had aught to do

with it.'

Faith sat very still, as if thinking. At last she said:

'If Nattee has powers beyond what you and I have, she will not use them

for evil; at least not evil to those whom she loves.'

'That comforts me but little,' said Lois. 'If she has powers beyond

what she ought to have, I dread her, though I have done her no evil;

nay, though I could almost say she bore me a kindly feeling. But such

powers are only given by the Evil One; and the proof thereof is, that,

as you imply, Nattee would use them on those who offend her.'

'And why should she not?' asked Faith, lifting her eyes, and flashing

heavy fire out of them at the question.

'Because,' said Lois, not seeing Faith's glance, 'we are told to pray

for them that despitefully use us, and to do good to them that

persecute us. But poor Nattee is not a christened woman. I would that

Mr. Nolan would baptize her; it would, maybe, take her out of the power

of Satan's temptations.'

'Are you never tempted?' asked Faith, half scornfully; 'and yet I doubt

not you were well baptized!'

'True,' said Lois, sadly; 'I often do very wrong, but, perhaps, I might

have done worse, if the holy form had not been observed.'

They were again silent for a time.

'Lois,' said Faith, 'I did not mean any offence. But do you never feel

as if you would give up all that future life, of which the parsons

talk, and which seems so vague and so distant, for a few years of real,

vivid blessedness to begin to-morrow--this hour, this minute? Oh! I

could think of happiness for which I would willingly give up all those

misty chances of heaven----'

'Faith, Faith!' cried Lois, in terror, holding her hand before her

cousin's mouth, and looking around in fright. 'Hush! you know not who

may be listening; you are putting yourself in his power.'

But Faith pushed her hand away, and said, 'Lois, I believe in him no

more than I believe in heaven. Both may exist, but they are so far away

that I defy them. Why, all this ado about Mr. Tappau's house--promise

me never to tell living creature, and I will tell you a secret.'

'No!' said Lois, terrified. 'I dread all secrets. I will hear none. I

will do all that I can for you, cousin Faith, in any way; but just at

this time, I strive to keep my life and thoughts within the strictest

bounds of godly simplicity, and I dread pledging myself to aught that

is hidden and secret.'

'As you will, cowardly girl, full of terrors, which, if you had

listened to me, might have been lessened, if not entirely done away

with.' And Faith would not utter another word, though Lois tried meekly

to entice her into conversation on some other subject.

The rumour of witchcraft was like the echo of thunder among the hills.

It had broken out in Mr. Tappau's house, and his two little daughters

were the first supposed to be bewitched; but round about, from every

quarter of the town, came in accounts of sufferers by witchcraft. There

was hardly a family without one of these supposed victims. Then arose a

growl and menaces of vengeance from many a household--menaces deepened,

not daunted by the terror and mystery of the suffering that gave rise

to them.

At length a day was appointed when, after solemn fasting and prayer,

Mr. Tappau invited the neighbouring ministers and all godly people to

assemble at his house, and unite with him in devoting a day to solemn

religious services, and to supplication for the deliverance of his

children, and those similarly afflicted, from the power of the Evil

One. All Salem poured out towards the house of the minister. There was

a look of excitement on all their faces; eagerness and horror were

depicted on many, while stern resolution, amounting to determined

cruelty, if the occasion arose, was seen on others.

In the midst of the prayer, Hester Tappau, the younger girl, fell into

convulsions; fit after fit came on, and her screams mingled with the

shrieks and cries of the assembled congregation. In the first pause,

when the child was partially recovered, when the people stood around

exhausted and breathless, her father, the Pastor Tappau, lifted his

right hand, and adjured her, in the name of the Trinity, to say who

tormented her. There was a dead silence; not a creature stirred of all

those hundreds. Hester turned wearily and uneasily, and moaned out the

name of Hota, her father's Indian servant. Hota was present, apparently

as much interested as any one; indeed, she had been busying herself

much in bringing remedies to the suffering child. But now she stood

aghast, transfixed, while her name was caught up and shouted out in

tones of reprobation and hatred by all the crowd around her. Another

moment and they would have fallen upon the trembling creature and torn

her limb from limb--pale, dusky, shivering Hota, half guilty-looking

from her very bewilderment. But Pastor Tappau, that gaunt, grey man,

lifting himself to his utmost height, signed to them to go back, to

keep still while he addressed them; and then he told them, that instant

vengeance was not just, deliberate punishment; that there would be need

of conviction, perchance of confession--he hoped for some redress for

his suffering children from her revelations, if she were brought to

confession. They must leave the culprit in his hands, and in those of

his brother ministers, that they might wrestle with Satan before

delivering her up to the civil power. He spoke well, for he spoke from

the heart of a father seeing his children exposed to dreadful and

mysterious suffering, and firmly believing that he now held the clue in

his hand which should ultimately release them and their

fellow-sufferers. And the congregation moaned themselves into

unsatisfied submission, and listened to his long, passionate prayer,

which he uplifted even while the hapless Hota stood there, guarded and

bound by two men, who glared at her like bloodhounds ready to slip,

even while the prayer ended in the words of the merciful Saviour.

Lois sickened and shuddered at the whole scene; and this was no

intellectual shuddering at the folly and superstition of the people,

but tender moral shuddering at the sight of guilt which she believed

in, and at the evidence of men's hatred and abhorrence, which, when

shown even to the guilty, troubled and distressed her merciful heart.

She followed her aunt and cousins out into the open air, with downcast

eyes and pale face. Grace Hickson was going home with a feeling of

triumphant relief at the detection of the guilty one. Faith alone

seemed uneasy and disturbed beyond her wont, for Manasseh received the

whole transaction as the fulfilment of a prophecy, and Prudence was

excited by the novel scene into a state of discordant high spirits.

'I am quite as old as Hester Tappau,' said she; 'her birthday is in

September and mine in October.'

'What has that to do with it?' said Faith, sharply.

'Nothing, only she seemed such a little thing for all those grave

ministers to be praying for, and so many folk come from a

distance--some from Boston they said--all for her sake, as it were.

Why, didst thou see, it was godly Mr. Henwick that held her head when

he wriggled so, and old Madam Holbrook had herself helped upon a chair

to see the better. I wonder how long I might wriggle, before great and

godly folk would take so much notice of me? But, I suppose, that comes

of being a pastor's daughter. She'll be so set up there'll be no

speaking to her now. Faith! thinkest thou that Hota really had

bewitched her? She gave me corn-cakes, the last time I was at Pastor

Tappau's, just like any other woman, only, perchance, a trifle more

good-natured; and to think of her being a witch after all!'

But Faith seemed in a hurry to reach home, paid no attention to

Prudence's talking. Lois hastened on with Faith, for Manasseh was

walking alongside of his mother, and she kept steady to her plan of

avoiding him, even though she pressed her company upon Faith, who had

seemed of late desirous of avoiding her.

That evening the news spread through Salem, that Hota had confessed her

sin--had acknowledged that she was a witch. Nattee was the first to

hear the intelligence. She broke into the room where the girls were

sitting with Grace Hickson, solemnly doing nothing, because of the

great prayer-meeting in the morning, and cried out, 'Mercy, mercy,

mistress, everybody! take care of poor Indian Nattee, who never do

wrong, but for mistress and the family! Hota one bad wicked witch, she

say so herself; oh, me! oh me!' and stooping over Faith, she said

something in a low, miserable tone of voice, of which Lois only heard

the word 'torture.' But Faith heard all, and turning very pale, half

accompanied, half led Nattee back to her kitchen.

Presently, Grace Hickson came in. She had been out to see a neighbour;

it will not do to say that so godly a woman had been gossiping; and,

indeed, the subject of the conversation she had held was of too serious

and momentous a nature for me to employ a light word to designate it.

There was all the listening to and repeating of small details and

rumours, in which the speakers have no concern, that constitutes

gossiping; but in this instance, all trivial facts and speeches might

be considered to bear such dreadful significance, and might have so

ghastly an ending, that such whispers were occasionally raised to a

tragic importance. Every fragment of intelligence that related to Mr.

Tappau's household was eagerly snatched at; how his dog howled all one

long night through, and could not be stilled; how his cow suddenly

failed in her milk only two months after she had calved; how his memory

had forsaken him one morning, for a minute or two, in repeating the

Lord's Prayer, and he had even omitted a clause thereof in his sudden

perturbation; and how all these forerunners of his children's strange

illness might now be interpreted and understood--this had formed the

staple of the conversation between Grace Hickson and her friends. There

had arisen a dispute among them at last, as to how far these

subjections to the power of the Evil One were to be considered as a

judgment upon Pastor Tappau for some sin on his part; and if so, what?

It was not an unpleasant discussion, although there was considerable

difference of opinion; for as none of the speakers had had their

families so troubled, it was rather a proof that they had none of them

committed any sin. In the midst of this talk, one, entering in from the

street, brought the news that Hota had confessed all--had owned to

signing a certain little red book which Satan had presented to her--had

been present at impious sacraments--had ridden through the air to

Newbury Falls--and, in fact, had assented to all the questions which

the elders and magistrates, carefully reading over the confessions of

the witches who had formerly been tried in England, in order that they

might not omit a single inquiry, had asked of her. More she had owned

to, but things of inferior importance, and partaking more of the nature

of earthly tricks than of spiritual power. She had spoken of carefully

adjusted strings, by which all the crockery in Pastor Tappau's house

could be pulled down or disturbed; but of such intelligible

malpractices the gossips of Salem took little heed. One of them said

that such an action showed Satan's prompting, but they all preferred to

listen to the grander guilt of the blasphemous sacraments and

supernatural rides. The narrator ended with saying that Hota was to be

hung the next morning, in spite of her confession, even although her

life had been promised to her if she acknowledged her sin; for it was

well to make an example of the first-discovered witch, and it was also

well that she was an Indian, a heathen, whose life would be no great

loss to the community. Grace Hickson on this spoke out. It was well

that witches should perish off the face of the earth, Indian or

English, heathen or, worse, a baptized Christian who had betrayed the

Lord, even as Judas did, and had gone over to Satan. For her part, she

wished that the first-discovered witch had been a member of a godly

English household, that it might be seen of all men that religious folk

were willing to cut off the right hand, and pluck out the right eye, if

tainted with this devilish sin. She spoke sternly and well. The last

comer said, that her words might be brought to the proof, for it had

been whispered that Hota had named others, and some from the most

religious families of Salem, whom she had seen among the unholy

communicants at the sacrament of the Evil One. And Grace replied that

she would answer for it, all godly folk would stand the proof, and

quench all natural affection rather than that such a sin should grow

and spread among them. She herself had a weak bodily dread of

witnessing the violent death even of an animal; but she would not let

that deter her from standing amidst those who cast the accursed

creature out from among them on the morrow morning.

Contrary to her wont, Grace Hickson told her family much of this

conversation. It was a sign of her excitement on the subject that she

thus spoke, and the excitement spread in different forms through her

family. Faith was flushed and restless, wandering between the

keeping-room and the kitchen, and questioning her mother particularly

as to the more extraordinary parts of Hota's confession, as if she

wished to satisfy herself that the Indian witch had really done those

horrible and mysterious deeds.

Lois shivered and trembled with affright at the narration, and the idea

that such things were possible. Occasionally she found herself

wandering off into sympathetic thought for the woman who was to die,

abhorred of all men, and unpardoned by God, to whom she had been so

fearful a traitor, and who was now, at this very time--when Lois sat

among her kindred by the warm and cheerful firelight, anticipating many

peaceful, perchance happy, morrows--solitary, shivering,

panic-stricken, guilty, with none to stand by her and exhort her, shut

up in darkness between the cold walls of the town prison. But Lois

almost shrank from sympathising with so loathsome an accomplice of

Satan, and prayed for forgiveness for her charitable thought; and yet,

again, she remembered the tender spirit of the Saviour, and allowed

herself to fall into pity, till at last her sense of right and wrong

became so bewildered that she could only leave all to God's disposal,

and just ask that He would take all creatures and all events into His

hands.

Prudence was as bright as if she were listening to some merry

story--curious as to more than her mother would tell her--seeming to

have no particular terror of witches or witchcraft, and yet to be

especially desirous to accompany her mother the next morning to the

hanging. Lois shrank from the cruel, eager face of the young girl as

she begged her mother to allow her to go. Even Grace was disturbed and

perplexed by her daughter's pertinacity.

'No!' said she. 'Ask me no more. Thou shalt not go. Such sights are not

for the young. I go, and I sicken at the thoughts of it. But I go to

show that I, a Christian woman, take God's part against the devil's.

Thou shalt not go, I tell thee. I could whip thee for thinking of it.'

'Manasseh says Hota was well whipped by Pastor Tappau ere she was

brought to confession,' said Prudence, as if anxious to change the

subject of discussion.

Manasseh lifted up his head from the great folio Bible, brought by his

father from England, which he was studying. He had not heard what

Prudence said, but he looked up at the sound of his name. All present

were startled at his wild eyes, his bloodless face. But he was

evidently annoyed at the expression of their countenances.

'Why look ye at me in that manner?' asked he. And his manner was

anxious and agitated. His mother made haste to speak:

'It was but that Prudence said something that thou hast told her--that

Pastor Tappau defiled his hands by whipping the witch Hota. What evil

thought has got hold of thee? Talk to us, and crack not thy skull

against the learning of man.'

'It is not the learning of man that I study: it is the word of God. I

would fain know more of the nature of this sin of witchcraft, and

whether it be, indeed, the unpardonable sin against the Holy Ghost. At

times I feel a creeping influence coming over me, prompting all evil

thoughts and unheard-of deeds, and I question within myself, "Is not

this the power of witchcraft?" and I sicken, and loathe all that I do

or say, and yet some evil creature hath the mastery over me, and I must

needs do and say what I loathe and dread. Why wonder you, mother, that

I, of all men, strive to learn the exact nature of witchcraft, and for

that end study the word of God? Have you not seen me when I was, as it

were, possessed with a devil?'

He spoke calmly, sadly, but as under deep conviction. His mother rose

to comfort him.

'My son,' she said, 'no one ever saw thee do deeds, or heard thee utter

words, which any one could say were prompted by devils. We have seen

thee, poor lad, with thy wits gone astray for a time, but all thy

thoughts sought rather God's will in forbidden places, than lost the

clue to them for one moment in hankering after the powers of darkness.

Those days are long past; a future lies before thee. Think not of

witches or of being subject to the power of witchcraft. I did evil to

speak of it before thee. Let Lois come and sit by thee, and talk to

thee.'

Lois went to her cousin, grieved at heart for his depressed state of

mind, anxious to soothe and comfort him, and yet recoiling more than

ever from the idea of ultimately becoming his wife--an idea to which

she saw her aunt reconciling herself unconsciously day by day, as she

perceived the English girl's power of soothing and comforting her

cousin, even by the very tones of her sweet cooing voice.

He took Lois's hand.

'Let me hold it. It does me good,' said he. 'Ah, Lois, when I am by you

I forget all my troubles--will the day never come when you will listen

to the voice that speaks to me continually?'

'I never hear it, Cousin Manasseh,' she said, softly; 'but do not think

of the voices. Tell me of the land you hope to enclose from the

forest--what manner of trees grow on it?'

Thus, by simple questions on practical affairs, she led him back, in

her unconscious wisdom, to the subjects on which he had always shown

strong practical sense. He talked on these with all due discretion till

the hour for family prayer came round, which was early in those days.

It was Manasseh's place to conduct it, as head of the family; a post

which his mother had always been anxious to assign to him since her

husband's death. He prayed extempore; and to-night his supplications

wandered off into wild, unconnected fragments of prayer, which all

those kneeling around began, each according to her anxiety for the

speaker, to think would never end. Minutes elapsed, and grew to

quarters of an hour, and his words only became more emphatic and

wilder, praying for himself alone, and laying bare the recesses of his

heart. At length his mother rose, and took Lois by the hand, for she

had faith in Lois's power over her son, as being akin to that which the

shepherd David, playing on his harp, had over king Saul sitting on his

throne. She drew her towards him, where he knelt facing into the

circle, with his eyes upturned, and the tranced agony of his face

depicting the struggle of the troubled soul within.

'Here is Lois,' said Grace, almost tenderly; 'she would fain go to her

chamber.' (Down the girl's face the tears were streaming.) 'Rise, and

finish thy prayer in thy closet.'

But at Lois's approach he sprang to his feet,--sprang aside.

'Take her away, mother! Lead me not into temptation. She brings me evil

and sinful thoughts. She overshadows me, even in the presence of my

God. She is no angel of light, or she would not do this. She troubles

me with the sound of a voice bidding me marry her, even when I am at my

prayers. Avaunt! Take her away!'

He would have struck at Lois if she had not shrunk back, dismayed and

affrighted. His mother, although equally dismayed, was not affrighted.

She had seen him thus before; and understood the management of his

paroxysm.

'Go, Lois! the sight of thee irritates him, as once that of Faith did.

Leave him to me.'

And Lois rushed away to her room, and threw herself on her bed, like a

panting, hunted creature. Faith came after her slowly and heavily.

'Lois,' said she, 'wilt thou do me a favour? It is not much to ask.

Wilt thou arise before daylight, and bear this letter from me to Pastor

Nolan's lodgings? I would have done it myself, but mother has bidden me

to come to her, and I may be detained until the time when Hota is to be

hung; and the letter tells of matters pertaining to life and death.

Seek out Pastor Nolan wherever he may be, and have speech of him after

he has read the letter.'

'Cannot Nattee take it?' asked Lois.

'No!' Faith answered, fiercely. 'Why should she?'

But Lois did not reply. A quick suspicion darted through Faith's mind,

sudden as lightning. It had never entered there before.

'Speak, Lois. I read thy thoughts. Thou wouldst fain not be the bearer

of this letter?'

'I will take it,' said Lois, meekly. 'It concerns life and death, you

say?'

'Yes!' said Faith, in quite a different tone of voice. But, after a

pause of thought, she added: 'Then, as soon as the house is still, I

will write what I have to say, and leave it here, on this chest; and

thou wilt promise me to take it before the day is fully up, while there

is yet time for action.'

'Yes! I promise,' said Lois. And Faith knew enough of her to feel sure

that the deed would be done, however reluctantly.

The letter was written--laid on the chest; and, ere day dawned, Lois

was astir, Faith watching her from between her half-closed

eyelids--eyelids that had never been fully closed in sleep the livelong

night. The instant Lois, cloaked and hooded, left the room, Faith

sprang up, and prepared to go to her mother, whom she heard already

stirring. Nearly every one in Salem was awake and up on this awful

morning, though few were out of doors, as Lois passed along the

streets. Here was the hastily erected gallows, the black shadow of

which fell across the street with ghastly significance; now she had to

pass the iron-barred gaol, through the unglazed windows of which she

heard the fearful cry of a woman, and the sound of many footsteps. On

she sped, sick almost to faintness, to the widow woman's where Mr.

Nolan lodged. He was already up and abroad, gone, his hostess believed,

to the gaol. Thither Lois, repeating the words 'for life and for

death!' was forced to go. Retracing her steps, she was thankful to see

him come out of those dismal portals, rendered more dismal for being in

heavy shadow, just as she approached. What his errand had been she knew

not; but he looked grave and sad, as she put Faith's letter into his

hands, and stood before him quietly waiting, until he should read it,

and deliver the expected answer. But, instead of opening it, he held it

in his hand, apparently absorbed in thought. At last he spoke aloud,

but more to himself than to her:

'My God! and is she then to die in this fearful delirium? It must

be--can be--only delirium, that prompts such wild and horrible

confessions. Mistress Barclay, I come from the presence of the Indian

woman appointed to die. It seems, she considered herself betrayed last

evening by her sentence not being respited, even after she had made

confession of sin enough to bring down fire from heaven; and, it seems

to me, the passionate, impotent anger of this helpless creature has

turned to madness, for she appalls me by the additional revelations she

has made to the keepers during the night--to me this morning. I could

almost fancy that she thinks, by deepening the guilt she confesses, to

escape this last dread punishment of all, as if, were a tithe of what

she say true, one could suffer such a sinner to live. Yet to send her

to death in such a state of mad terror! What is to be done?'

'Yet Scripture says that we are not to suffer witches in the land,'

said Lois, slowly.

'True; I would but ask for a respite till the prayers of God's people

had gone up for His mercy. Some would pray for her, poor wretch as she

is. You would, Mistress Barclay, I am sure?' But he said it in a

questioning tone.

'I have been praying for her in the night many a time,' said Lois, in a

low voice. 'I pray for her in my heart at this moment; I suppose; they

are bidden to put her out of the land, but I would not have her

entirely God-forsaken. But, sir, you have not read my cousin's letter.

And she bade me bring back an answer with much urgency.'

Still he delayed. He was thinking of the dreadful confession he came

from hearing. If it were true, the beautiful earth was a polluted

place, and he almost wished to die, to escape from such pollution, into

the white innocence of those who stood in the presence of God.

Suddenly his eyes fell on Lois's pure, grave face, upturned and

watching his. Faith in earthly goodness came over his soul in that

instant, 'and he blessed her unaware.'

He put his hand on her shoulder, with an action half paternal--although

the difference in their ages was not above a dozen years--and, bending

a little towards her, whispered, half to himself, 'Mistress Barclay,

you have done me good.'

'I!' said Lois, half affrighted--'I done you good! How?'

'By being what you are. But, perhaps, I should rather thank God, who

sent you at the very moment when my soul was so disquieted.'

At this instant, they were aware of Faith standing in front of them,

with a countenance of thunder. Her angry look made Lois feel guilty.

She had not enough urged the pastor to read his letter, she thought;

and it was indignation at this delay in what she had been commissioned

to do with the urgency of life or death, that made her cousin lower at

her so from beneath her straight black brows. Lois explained how she

had not found Mr. Nolan at his lodgings, and had had to follow him to

the door of the gaol. But Faith replied, with obdurate contempt:

'Spare thy breath, cousin Lois. It is easy seeing on what pleasant

matters thou and the Pastor Nolan were talking. I marvel not at thy

forgetfulness. My mind is changed. Give me back my letter, sir; it was

about a poor matter--an old woman's life. And what is that compared to

a young girl's love?'

Lois heard but for an instant; did not understand that her cousin, in

her jealous anger, could suspect the existence of such a feeling as

love between her and Mr. Nolan. No imagination as to its possibility

had ever entered her mind; she had respected him, almost revered

him--nay, had liked him as the probable husband of Faith. At the

thought that her cousin could believe her guilty of such treachery, her

grave eyes dilated, and fixed themselves on the flaming countenance of

Faith. That serious, unprotesting manner of perfect innocence must have

told on her accuser, had it not been that, at the same instant, the

latter caught sight of the crimsoned and disturbed countenance of the

pastor, who felt the veil rent off the unconscious secret of his heart.

Faith snatched her letter out of his hands, and said:

'Let the witch hang! What care I? She has done harm enough with her

charms and her sorcery on Pastor Tappau's girls. Let her die, and let

all other witches look to themselves; for there be many kinds of

witchcraft abroad. Cousin Lois, thou wilt like best to stop with Pastor

Nolan, or I would pray thee to come back with me to breakfast.'

Lois was not to be daunted by jealous sarcasm. She held out her hand to

Pastor Nolan, determined to take no heed of her cousin's mad words, but

to bid him farewell in her accustomed manner. He hesitated before

taking it, and when he did, it was with a convulsive squeeze that

almost made her start. Faith waited and watched all, with set lips and

vengeful eyes. She bade no farewell; she spake no word; but grasping

Lois tightly by the back of the arm, she almost drove her before her

down the street till they reached their home.

The arrangement for the morning was this: Grace Hickson and her son

Manasseh were to be present at the hanging of the first witch executed

in Salem, as pious and godly heads of a family. All the other members

were strictly forbidden to stir out, until such time as the low-tolling

bell announced that all was over in this world for Hota, the Indian

witch. When the execution was ended, there was to be a solemn

prayer-meeting of all the inhabitants of Salem; ministers had come from

a distance to aid by the efficacy of their prayers in these efforts to

purge the land of the devil and his servants. There was reason to think

that the great old meeting-house would be crowded, and when Faith and

Lois reached home, Grace Hickson was giving her directions to Prudence,

urging her to be ready for an early start to that place. The stern old

woman was troubled in her mind at the anticipation of the sight she was

to see, before many minutes were over, and spoke in a more hurried and

incoherent manner than was her wont. She was dressed in her Sunday

best; but her face was very grey and colourless, and she seemed afraid

to cease speaking about household affairs, for fear she should have

time to think. Manasseh stood by her, perfectly, rigidly still; he also

was in his Sunday clothes. His face, too, was paler than its wont, but

it wore a kind of absent, rapt expression, almost like that of a man

who sees a vision. As Faith entered, still holding Lois in her fierce

grasp, Manasseh started and smiled; but still dreamily. His manner was

so peculiar, that even his mother stayed her talking to observe him

more closely; he was in that state of excitement which usually ended in

what his mother and certain of her friends esteemed a prophetic

revelation. He began to speak, at first very low, and then his voice

increased in power:

'How beautiful is the land of Beulah, far over the sea, beyond the

mountains! Thither the angels carry her, lying back in their arms like

one fainting. They shall kiss away the black circle of death, and lay

her down at the feet of the Lamb. I hear her pleading there for those

on earth who consented to her death. O Lois! pray also for me, pray for

me, miserable!'

When he uttered his cousin's name all their eyes turned towards her. It

was to her that his vision related! She stood among them, amazed,

awe-stricken, but not like one affrighted or dismayed. She was the

first to speak:

'Dear friends, do not think of me; his words may or may not be true. I

am in God's hands all the same, whether he have the gift of prophecy or

not. Besides, hear you not that I end where all would fain end? Think

of him, and of his needs. Such times as these always leave him

exhausted and weary, when he comes out of them.'

And she busied herself in cares for his refreshment, aiding her aunt's

trembling hands to set before him the requisite food, as he now sat

tired and bewildered, gathering together with difficulty his scattered

senses.

Prudence did all she could to assist and speed their departure. But

Faith stood apart, watching in silence with her passionate, angry eyes.

As soon as they had set out on their solemn, fatal errand, Faith left

the room. She had not tasted food or touched drink. Indeed, they all

felt sick at heart. The moment her sister had gone up stairs, Prudence

sprang to the settle on which Lois had thrown down her cloak and hood:

'Lend me your muffles and mantle, Cousin Lois. I never yet saw a woman

hanged, and I see not why I should not go. I will stand on the edge of

the crowd; no one will know me, and I will be home long before my

mother.'

'No!' said Lois, 'that may not be. My aunt would be sore displeased. I

wonder at you, Prudence, seeking to witness such a sight.' And as she

spoke she held fast her cloak, which Prudence vehemently struggled for.

Faith returned, brought back possibly by the sound of the struggle. She

smiled--a deadly smile.

'Give it up, Prudence. Strive no more with her. She has bought success

in this world, and we are but her slaves.'

'Oh, Faith!' said Lois, relinquishing her hold of the cloak, and

turning round with passionate reproach in her look and voice, 'what

have I done that you should speak so of me; you, that have loved as I

think one love a sister?'

Prudence did not lose her opportunity, but hastily arrayed herself in

the mantle, which was too large for her, and which she had, therefore,

considered as well adapted for concealment; but, as she went towards

the door, her feet became entangled in the unusual length, and she

fell, bruising her arm pretty sharply.

'Take care, another time, how you meddle with a witch's things,' said

Faith, as one scarcely believing her own words, but at enmity with all

the world in her bitter jealousy of heart. Prudence rubbed her arm and

looked stealthily at Lois.

'Witch Lois! Witch Lois!' said she at last, softly, pulling a childish

face of spite at her.

'Oh, hush, Prudence! Do not bandy such terrible words. Let me look at

thine arm. I am sorry for thy hurt, only glad that it has kept thee

from disobeying thy mother.'

'Away, away!' said Prudence, springing from her. 'I am afeard of her in

very truth, Faith. Keep between me and the witch, or I will throw a

stool at her.'

Faith smiled--it was a bad and wicked smile--but she did not stir to

calm the fears she had called up in her young sister. Just at this

moment, the bell began to toll. Hota, the Indian witch, was dead. Lois

covered her face with her hands. Even Faith went a deadlier pale than

she had been, and said, sighing, 'Poor Hota! But death is best.'

Prudence alone seemed unmoved by any thoughts connected with the

solemn, monotonous sound. Her only consideration was, that now she

might go out into the street and see the sights, and hear the news, and

escape from the terror which she felt at the presence of her cousin.

She flew up stairs to find her own mantle, ran down again, and past

Lois, before the English girl had finished her prayer, and was speedily

mingled among the crowd going to the meetinghouse. There also Faith and

Lois came in due course of time, but separately, not together. Faith so

evidently avoided Lois, that she, humbled and grieved, could not force

her company upon her cousin, but loitered a little behind,--the quiet

tears stealing down her face, shed for the many causes that had

occurred this morning.

The meeting-house was full to suffocation; and, as it sometimes happens

on such occasions, the greatest crowd was close about the doors, from

the fact that few saw, on their first entrance, where there might be

possible spaces into which they could wedge themselves. Yet they were

impatient of any arrivals from the outside, and pushed and hustled

Faith, and after her Lois, till the two were forced on to a conspicuous

place in the very centre of the building, where there was no chance of

a seat, but still space to stand in. Several stood around, the pulpit

being in the middle, and already occupied by two ministers in Geneva

bands and gowns, while other ministers, similarly attired, stood

holding on to it, almost as if they were giving support instead of

receiving it. Grace Hickson and her son sat decorously in their own

pew, thereby showing that they had arrived early from the execution.

You might almost have traced out the number of those who had been at

the hanging of the Indian witch, by the expression of their

countenances. They were awestricken into terrible repose; while the

crowd pouring in, still pouring in, of those who had not attended the

execution, looked all restless, and excited, and fierce. A buzz went

round the meeting, that the stranger minister who stood along with

Pastor Tappau in the pulpit was no other than Dr. Cotton Mather

himself, come all the way from Boston to assist in purging Salem of

witches.

And now Pastor Tappau began his prayer, extempore, as was the custom.

His words were wild and incoherent, as might be expected from a man who

had just been consenting to the bloody death of one who was, but a few

days ago, a member of his own family; violent and passionate, as was to

be looked for in the father of children, whom he believed to suffer so

fearfully from the crime he would denounce before the Lord. He sat down

at length from pure exhaustion. Then Dr. Cotton Mather stood forward:

he did not utter more than a few words of prayer, calm in comparison

with what had gone before, and then he went on to address the great

crowd before him in a quiet, argumentative way, but arranging what he

had to say with something of the same kind of skill which Antony used

in his speech to the Romans after Cæsar's murder. Some of Dr. Mather's

words have been preserved to us, as he afterwards wrote them down in

one of his works. Speaking of those 'unbelieving Sadducees' who doubted

the existence of such a crime, he said: 'Instead of their apish shouts

and jeers at blessed Scripture, and histories which have such undoubted

confirmation as that no man that has breeding enough to regard the

common laws of human society will offer to doubt of them, it becomes us

rather to adore the goodness of God, who from the mouths of babes and

sucklings has ordained truth, and by the means of the sore-afflicted

children of your godly pastor, has revealed the fact that the devils

have with most horrid operations broken in upon your neighbourhood. Let

us beseech Him that their power may be restrained, and that they go not

so far in their evil machinations as they did but four years ago in the

city of Boston, where I was the humble means, under God, of loosing

from the power of Satan the four children of that religious and blessed

man, Mr. Goodwin. These four babes of grace were bewitched by an Irish

witch; there is no end to the narration of the torments they had to

submit to. At one time they would bark like dogs, at another purr like

cats; yea, they would fly like geese, and be carried with an incredible

swiftness, having but just their toes now and then upon the ground,

sometimes not once in twenty feet, and their arms waved like those of a

bird. Yet at other times, by the hellish devices of the woman who had

bewitched them, they could not stir without limping, for, by means of

an invisible chain, she hampered their limbs, or, sometimes, by means

of a noose, almost choked them. One in especial was subjected by this

woman of Satan to such heat as of an oven, that I myself have seen the

sweat drop from off her, while all around were moderately cold and well

at ease. But not to trouble you with more of my stories, I will go on

to prove that it was Satan himself that held power over her. For a very

remarkable thing it was, that she was not permitted by that evil spirit

to read any godly or religious book, speaking the truth as it is in

Jesus. She could read Popish books well enough, while both sight and

speech seemed to fail her when I gave her the Assembly's Catechism.

Again, she was fond of that prelatical Book of Common Prayer, which is

but the Roman mass-book in an English and ungodly shape. In the midst

of her sufferings, if one put the Prayer-book into her hands it

relieved her. Yet mark you, she could never be brought to read the

Lord's Prayer, whatever book she met with it in, proving thereby

distinctly that she was in league with the devil. I took her into my

own house, that I, even as Dr. Martin Luther did, might wrestle with

the devil and have my fling at him. But when I called my household to

prayer, the devils that possessed her caused her to whistle, and sing,

and yell in a discordant and hellish fashion.'

At this very instant, a shrill, clear whistle pierced all ears. Dr.

Mather stopped for a moment:

'Satan is among you!' he cried. 'Look to yourselves!' And he prayed

with fervour, as if against a present and threatening enemy; but no one

heeded him. Whence came that ominous, unearthly whistle? Every man

watched his neighbour. Again the whistle, out of their very midst! And

then a bustle in a corner of the building, three or four people

stirring, without any cause immediately perceptible to those at a

distance, the movement spread, and, directly after, a passage even in

that dense mass of people was cleared for two men, who bore forwards

Prudence Hickson, lying rigid as a log of wood, in the convulsive

position of one who suffered from an epileptic fit. They laid her down

among the ministers who were gathered round the pulpit. Her mother came

to her, sending up a wailing cry at the sight of her distorted child.

Dr. Mather came down from the pulpit and stood over her, exorcising the

devil in possession, as one accustomed to such scenes. The crowd

pressed forward in mute horror. At length, her rigidity of form and

feature gave way, and she was terribly convulsed--torn by the devil, as

they called it. By-and-by the violence of the attack was over, and the

spectators began to breathe once more, though still the former horror

brooded over them, and they listened as if for the sudden ominous

whistle again, and glanced fearfully around, as if Satan were at their

backs picking out his next victim.

Meanwhile, Dr. Mather, Pastor Tappau, and one or two others were

exhorting Prudence to reveal, if she could, the name of the person, the

witch, who, by influence over Satan, had subjected the child to such

torture as that which they had just witnessed. They bade her speak in

the name of the Lord. She whispered a name in the low voice of

exhaustion. None of the congregation could hear what it was. But the

Pastor Tappau, when he heard it, drew back in dismay, while Dr. Mather,

knowing not to whom the name belonged, cried out, in a clear, cold

voice,

'Know ye one Lois Barclay; for it is she who hath bewitched this poor

child?'

The answer was given rather by action than by word, although a low

murmur went up from many. But all fell back, as far as falling back in

such a crowd was possible, from Lois Barclay, where she stood,--and

looked on her with surprise and horror. A space of some feet, where no

possibility of space had seemed to be not a minute before, left Lois

standing alone, with every eye fixed upon her in hatred and dread. She

stood like one speechless, tongue-tied, as if in a dream. She a witch!

accursed as witches were in the sight of God and man! Her smooth,

healthy face became contracted into shrivel and pallor, but she uttered

not a word, only looked at Dr. Mather with her dilated, terrified eyes.

Some one said, 'She is of the household of Grace Hickson, a God-fearing

woman.' Lois did not know if the words were in her favour or not. She

did not think about them, even; they told less on her than on any

person present. She a witch! and the silver glittering Avon, and the

drowning woman she had seen in her childhood at Barford,--at home in

England,--were before her, and her eyes fell before her doom. There was

some commotion--some rustling of papers; the magistrates of the town

were drawing near the pulpit and consulting with the ministers. Dr.

Mather spoke again:

'The Indian woman, who was hung this morning, named certain people,

whom she deposed to having seen at the horrible meetings for the

worship of Satan; but there is no name of Lois Barclay down upon the

paper, although we are stricken at the sight of the names of some----'

An interruption--a consultation. Again Dr. Mather spoke:

'Bring the accused witch, Lois Barclay, near to this poor suffering

child of Christ.'

They rushed forward to force Lois to the place where Prudence lay. But

Lois walked forward of herself.

'Prudence,' she said, in such a sweet, touching voice, that, long

afterwards, those who heard it that day, spoke of it to their children,

'have I ever said an unkind word to you, much less done you an ill

turn? Speak, dear child. You did not know what you said just now, did

you?'

But Prudence writhed away from her approach, and screamed out, as if

stricken with fresh agony.

'Take her away! take her away! Witch Lois, witch Lois, who threw me

down only this morning, and turned my arm black and blue.' And she

bared her arm, as if in confirmation of her words. It was sorely

bruised.

'I was not near you, Prudence!' said Lois, sadly. But that was only

reckoned fresh evidence of her diabolical power.

Lois's brain began to get bewildered. Witch Lois! she a witch, abhorred

of all men! Yet she would try to think, and make one more effort.

'Aunt Hickson,' she said, and Grace came forwards--'am I a witch, Aunt

Hickson?' she asked; for her aunt, stern, harsh, unloving as she might

be, was truth itself, and Lois thought--so near to delirium had she

come--if her aunt condemned her, it was possible she might indeed be a

witch.

Grace Hickson faced her unwillingly.

'It is a stain upon our family for ever,' was the thought in her mind.

'It is for God to judge whether thou art a witch, or not. Not for me.'

'Alas, alas!' moaned Lois; for she had looked at Faith, and learnt that

no good word was to be expected from her gloomy face and averted eyes.

The meeting-house was full of eager voices, repressed, out of reverence

for the place, into tones of earnest murmuring that seemed to fill the

air with gathering sounds of anger, and those who had at first fallen

back from the place where Lois stood were now pressing forwards and

round about her, ready to seize the young friendless girl, and bear her

off to prison. Those who might have been, who ought to have been, her

friends, were either averse or indifferent to her; though only Prudence

made any open outcry upon her. That evil child cried out perpetually

that Lois had cast a devilish spell upon her, and bade them keep the

witch away from her; and, indeed, Prudence was strangely convulsed when

once or twice Lois's perplexed and wistful eyes were turned in her

direction. Here and there girls, women uttering strange cries, and

apparently suffering from the same kind of convulsive fit as that which

had attacked Prudence, were centres of a group of agitated friends, who

muttered much and savagely of witchcraft, and the list which had been

taken down only the night before from Hota's own lips. They demanded to

have it made public, and objected to the slow forms of the law. Others,

not so much or so immediately interested in the sufferers, were

kneeling around, and praying aloud for themselves and their own safety,

until the excitement should be so much quelled as to enable Dr. Cotton

Mather to be again heard in prayer and exhortation.

And where was Manasseh? What said he? You must remember, that the stir

of the outcry, the accusation, the appeals of the accused, all seemed

to go on at once amid the buzz and din of the people who had come to

worship God, but remained to judge and upbraid their fellow-creature.

Till now Lois had only caught a glimpse of Manasseh, who was apparently

trying to push forwards, but whom his mother was holding back with word

and action, as Lois knew she would hold him back; for it was not for

the first time that she was made aware how carefully her aunt had

always shrouded his decent reputation among his fellow-citizens from

the least suspicion of his seasons of excitement and incipient

insanity. On such days, when he himself imagined that he heard

prophetic voices, and saw prophetic visions, his mother would do much

to prevent any besides his own family from seeing him; and now Lois, by

a process swifter than reasoning, felt certain, from her one look at

his face, when she saw it, colourless and deformed by intensity of

expression, among a number of others all simply ruddy and angry, that

he was in such a state that his mother would in vain do her utmost to

prevent his making himself conspicuous. Whatever force or argument

Grace used, it was of no avail. In another moment he was by Lois's

side, stammering with excitement, and giving vague testimony, which

would have been of little value in a calm court of justice, and was

only oil to the smouldering fire of that audience.

'Away with her to gaol!' 'Seek out the witches!' 'The sin has spread

into all households!' 'Satan is in the very midst of us!' 'Strike and

spare not!' In vain Dr. Cotton Mather raised his voice in loud prayers,

in which he assumed the guilt of the accused girl; no one listened, all

were anxious to secure Lois, as if they feared she would vanish from

before their very eyes; she, white, trembling, standing quite still in

the tight grasp of strange, fierce men, her dilated eyes only wandering

a little now and then in search of some pitiful face--some pitiful face

that among all those hundreds was not to be found. While some fetched

cords to bind her, and others, by low questions, suggested new

accusations to the distempered brain of Prudence, Manasseh obtained a

hearing once more. Addressing Dr. Cotton Mather, he said, evidently

anxious to make clear some new argument that had just suggested itself

to him: 'Sir, in this matter, be she witch or not, the end has been

foreshown to me by the spirit of prophecy. Now, reverend sir, if the

event be known to the spirit, it must have been foredoomed in the

councils of God. If so, why punish her for doing that in which she had

no free will?'

'Young man,' said Dr. Mather, bending down from the pulpit and looking

very severely upon Manasseh, 'take care! you are trenching on

blasphemy.'

'I do not care. I say it again. Either Lois Barclay is a witch, or she

is not. If she is, it has been foredoomed for her, for I have seen a

vision of her death as a condemned witch for many months past--and the

voice has told me there was but one escape for her, Lois--the voice you

know--' In his excitement he began to wander a little, but it was

touching to see how conscious he was that by giving way he would lose

the thread of the logical argument by which he hoped to prove that Lois

ought not to be punished, and with what an effort he wrenched his

imagination away from the old ideas, and strove to concentrate all his

mind upon the plea that, if Lois was a witch, it had been shown him by

prophecy; and if there was prophecy there must be foreknowledge; if

foreknowledge, foredoom; if foredoom, no exercise of free will, and,

therefore, that Lois was not justly amenable to punishment.

On he went, plunging into heresy, caring not--growing more and more

passionate every instant, but directing his passion into keen argument,

desperate sarcasm, instead of allowing it to excite his imagination.

Even Dr. Mather felt himself on the point of being worsted in the very

presence of this congregation, who, but a short half-hour ago, looked

upon him as all but infallible. Keep a good heart, Cotton Mather! your

opponent's eye begins to glare and flicker with a terrible yet

uncertain light--his speech grows less coherent, and his arguments are

mixed up with wild glimpses at wilder revelations made to himself

alone. He has touched on the limits,--he has entered the borders of

blasphemy, and with an awful cry of horror and reprobation the

congregation rise up, as one man, against the blasphemer. Dr. Mather

smiled a grim smile, and the people were ready to stone Manasseh, who

went on, regardless, talking and raving.