"No, no, I am not ill," she sobbed, "but I can bear this no longer: send me away—let me go back to my father's house—I will not remain under the same roof with her."
"With whom?" asked Sir William; "what means this agitation, little one?"
"With this Mistress Stafford; I will not live another day in the same house with her—I believe that she is a witch."
Samuel Parris suddenly unclasped the wild girl from his embrace, and held her at arm's length, with horror in his face. The other listeners started at her passionate utterance of a word which had already grown so terrible throughout New England. Sir William spoke first; but even his usually firm voice was husky.
"What has she done, my daughter, that you should speak thus?"
"She has made me wretched; nobody loves me, nobody cares for me now, and it is all her work!"
"Shame, child, shame!" expostulated Lady Phipps.
"Where is Mistress Stafford now?"
"Where?" exclaimed Elizabeth, with increased violence; "go into the garden, and you will find her seated by Master Norman, looking into his face with her wicked eyes, and charming him with her serpent tongue."
"Is this true?" cried Sir William; "girl, is this true? Why did you leave them?"