"Hush!" said the governor, and his voice scarcely rose above a whisper, while his face turned coldly white. "If this thing is witchcraft may it not drag the memories we love out of the very grave to haunt us?"
"Even so I have reasoned," answered Parris.
"God help us!" exclaimed Phipps, rising and beginning to pace the room with long, powerful strides, "for we have fallen on evil times."
Samuel Parris followed his friend's tall figure as it strode to and fro in the room with wistful interest.
"I came hither for counsel of thy younger and more vigorous mind," he said, with touching melancholy, "but everywhere that my footsteps turn, doubt and terror spring up. It grieves me sorely, son William, that my words have driven the color from that face, and the calm from thy bosom. Forgive me before I go!"
Phipps broke off abruptly in his walk. His grand face had regained its composure: it was pale still, but resolutely calm.
"Father," he said, gently, using an old term of endearment, "I am unfit to give counsel in this matter. See you not how weak I am?"
Parris took the hand held out to him and pressed it with solemn fervor.
"William, I too will see this woman in prison: peradventure some light may be vouchsafed to me."
"After that, come to me again," said the governor.