"I can trust you—and I will. Samuel Parris, look at me."
Barbara unwound the lace scarf that was usually twisted about her head like a turban, and the waves of magnificent hair thus fully exposed fell loose upon her shoulders. Throwing all these golden tresses back from her forehead with a sweep of her two hands, she turned her face full upon the minister.
"Samuel Parris, do you know me?" The old man looked at her in dumb bewilderment. The scarlet burning in her cheeks, the splendor of her eyes, made his heart leap toward a full recognition. He could not answer, but stood gazing upon her with a strange, doubtful look. She dropped her hands; the hair fell in curling masses down her back. Her face drooped forward. She was disappointed that he did not recognize her at once.
The thin features of Samuel Parris kindled up, first with doubt, then with fear, and again with positive conviction.
Her attitude and the disposal of her hair revealed her to him.
Samuel Parris stood dumb and pale, gazing at her resolutely.
Neither of the two spoke. They looked in each other's eyes afraid: at last the minister found voice.
"Alive!" he said, "alive! and here? Oh! my God, my God, what has thy servant done that he should see this day?"
"You know me then, Samuel Parris? You know me then?"
"Alas! alas!" The old man wrung his hands in wild excitement.