Elizabeth answered more consistently than her state of terror would seem to warrant. She had evidently thought deeply on the matter, and reasoned with an intellect rendered keen by the alarm of a loving heart. She was very pale, and sharp, nervous quivers shook her now and then, but the pretty wilfulness of her character had entirely disappeared. She was like a priestess preparing for some solemn oracle.
"First, let me ask you, father, who is this woman whom you and Norman Lovel dragged up from the depths of the sea?"
"In truth I do not know," answered the minister, greatly troubled. "Did I not tell you, Elizabeth, that it happened on the second day of my arrival in Boston?"
"The second day; and I had not seen you then."
"Truly, these words are sooth, my child. I was beset by this weak heart to visit thee at once, but some feeling, which seemed from above, held me back, whispering ever, 'Do not make to thyself an idol of this fair child, for thy God is a jealous God, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children.' Then, feeling that the great love in my bosom might fall upon thee in wrath for mine offence, I dared not come within sight of thee, mine only child; but was driven by the storm, as it were, on to the heights overlooking the ocean."
"And what did you see there, my father?"
"A ship, breaking through the clouds, afar off, that waved and surged around and above it like fiery banners."
"And this woman came down the sides, entered a boat, and was whelmed in the waves, from which you and Norman Lovel, my betrothed, rescued her. All the rest I know. But who is she? Where is her country, and from what good or evil influence did she get that wonderful power, which wins every heart to her glance?"
"Elizabeth, I do not know!"
"Father, let us be just. From the depth of my soul I believe this woman an emissary of the Evil One, sent hither to break up the harmony of our lives. But speak to her, father; question her, as a judge might do, when afraid to sentence unholily. If the conviction fastened in this poor heart springs from the selfishness of too keen affections, let me have the proof, and I will kneel at Barbara Stafford's feet till she pardons me. But if there is truth in these things—if she possesses no power to sweep suspicion of diabolical influence away from her—then will I, of my own strength, surrender her to the magistrates, that the evil spirit may be driven from our house."