"Even so, or to-morrow would break his heart."
The old man went out. He had not far to go, for Elizabeth had accompanied him to the jail, afraid to be separated from him for a moment, and hoping, poor child, to obtain forgiveness for the honest evidence she had borne against the unhappy prisoner before the death hour. She that moment sat shivering in the jailor's room, waiting to be summoned into Barbara's dungeon. Norman Lovel was by her side, but she refused to be comforted even by the voice of her lover, who would not leave her till the minister came. Thus, hand in hand, they were found together when the old man entered the room, where they sat; and solemnly, as if he had been summoning them to a funeral, bade them follow him.
CHAPTER LIII.
THE PRISON WEDDING.
That was a gloomy, almost terrible wedding. There those young people stood waiting for the ceremony, pale as death, their trembling hands linked together, shivering with nervous chills, as if it were a doom of judgment about to be pronounced upon them, rather than those sacred words which should make love immortal.
When she entered the dungeon, Elizabeth had cast herself at Barbara's feet, and meekly begged the pardon that young heart would never grant itself. All the doubt and bitterness which had blinded her so long were swept away. The true-hearted young creature would have found courage to die in the place of her victim, and think that too little atonement for the evil she had done. But, alas! alas! the power of restitution is not always vouchsafed to our crimes or our mistakes in this world. The inexorable law had seized upon its victim, and Elizabeth Parris might moan her life away in unavailing regret without aiding her, or arresting, for one moment, the doom that was darkly closing around her.
"Nay," said Barbara, lifting the wretched girl from her feet and resting that beautiful head on her bosom; "it is not your fault that I am here, simple child; destiny wove its own cruel links around me. Do not mourn for the harmless part assigned to you in the tragedy which will close to-morrow. The evidence you gave was true in all its parts. If superstition blinded my judges, the fault rests with them only, my daughter."
A strange thrill connected the two women as Barbara uttered the word daughter. Elizabeth lifted her blue eyes with a sudden glow of pleasure, and the prisoner kissed her twice upon the white forehead, as if she were sealing that young heart for its baptism of love.
"Norman, come hither, and take your wife from my arms," said the prisoner, turning her face, all glowing with generous exaltation, on the young secretary. "I give her to you. Love her—trust her; and remember on this earth God has no more precious gift for any man than the love of a good woman."