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strength enough to stand. She sighed a little, and bore on, the clamour against
her and the other accused increasing every moment; the only way she could
keep herself from utterly losing consciousness was by distracting herself from
present pain and danger, and saying to herself verses of the Psalms as she
could remember them, expressive of trust in God. At length, she was ordered
back to gaol, and dimly understood that she and others were sentenced to be
hanged for witchcraft. Many people now looked eagerly at Lois, to see if she
would weep at this doom. If she had had strength to cry, it might - it was just
possible that it might - have been considered a plea in her favour, for witches
could not shed tears; but she was too exhausted and dead. All she wanted was
to lie down once more on her prison-bed, out of the reach of men's cries of
abhorrence, and out of shot of their cruel eyes. So they led her back to prison,
speechless and tearless.
But rest gave her back her power of thought and suffering. Was it indeed true
that she was to die? She, Lois Barclay, only eighteen, so well, so young, so full of
love and hope as she had been, till but these few days past! What would they
think of it at home - real, dear home at Barford, in England? There they had loved
her; there she had gone about singing and rejoicing, all the day long, in the
pleasant meadows by the Avon side. Oh, why did father and mother die, and
leave her their bidding to come her to this cruel New England shore, where no
one had wanted her, no one had cared for her, and where now they were going
to put her to a shameful death as a witch? And there would be no one to send
kindly messages by, to those she should never see more. Never more! Young
Lucy was living, and joyful - probably thinking of her, and of his declared intention
of coming to fetch her home to be his wife this very spring. Possibly he had
forgotten her; no one knew. A week before, she would have been indignant at
her own distrust in thinking for a minute that he could forget. Now, she doubted
all men's goodness for a time; for those around her were deadly, and cruel, and
relentless.
Then she turned round, and beat herself with angry blows (to speak in images)
for ever doubting her lover. Oh! if she were but with him! Oh! if she might but be
with him! He would not let her die, but would hide her in his bosom from the
wrath of this people, and carry her back to the old home at Barford. And he might
even now be sailing on the wide blue sea, coming nearer, nearer every moment,
and yet be too late after all.
So the thoughts chased each other through her head all that feverish night, till
she clung almost deliriously to life, and wildly prayed that she might not die; at
least, not just yet, and she so young!
Pastor Tappau and certain elders roused her up from a heavy sleep, late on the
morning of the following day. All night long, she had trembled and cried, till
morning light had come peering in through the square grating up above. It
soothed her, and she fell asleep, to be awakened, as I have said, by Pastor
Tappau.
'Arise!' said he, scrupling to touch her, from his superstitious idea of her evil
powers. 'It is noonday.'
'Where am I?' said she, bewildered at this unusual wakening and the array of
severe faces, all gazing upon her with reprobation.
'You are in Salem gaol, condemned for a witch.'
'Alas! I had forgotten for an instant,' said she, dropping her head upon her breast.
'She has been out on a devilish ride all night long, doubtless, and is weary and
perplexed this morning,' whispered one in so low a voice that he did not think she
could hear; but she lifted up her eyes, and looked at him, with mute reproach.
'We are come,' said Pastor Tappau, 'to exhort you to confess your great and
manifold sin.'
'My great and manifold sin!' repeated Lois to herself, shaking her head.
'Yea, your sin of witchcraft. If you will confess, there may yet be balm in Gilead.'
One of the elders, struck with pity at the young girl's wan, shrunken look, said
that if she confessed and repented, and did penance, possibly her life might yet
be spared.
A sudden flash of light came into her sunk, dulled eye. Might she yet live? Was it
in her power? Why, no one knew how soon Hugh Lucy might be here, to take her
away for ever into the peace of a new home! Life! Oh, then, all hope was not over
- perhaps she might still live, and not die. Yet the truth came once more out of
her lips, almost without exercise of her will.
'I am not a witch,' she said.
Then Pastor Tappau blindfolded her, all unresisting, but with languid wonder in
her heart as to what was to come next. She heard people enter the dungeon
softly, and heard whispering voices; then her hands were lifted up and made to
touch some one near, and in an instant she heard a noise of struggling, and the
well-known voice of Prudence shrieking out in one of her hysterical fits, and
screaming to be taken away and out of that place. It seemed to Lois as if some of
her judges must have doubted of her guilt, and demanded yet another test. She
sat down heavily on her bed, thinking she must be in a horrible dream, so
compassed about with dangers and enemies did she seem. Those in the
dungeon - and, by the oppression of the air, she perceived that there were many
- kept on eager talking in low voices. She did not try to make out the sense of the
fragments of sentences that reached her dulled brain, till, all at once, a word or
two made her understand they were discussing the desirableness of applying the
whip or the torture to make her confess, and reveal by what means the spell she
had cast upon those whom she had bewitched could be dissolved. A thrill of
affright ran through her; and she cried out beseechingly - [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]