"Hush!" she said; "it must be so. The gold for yourself—the jewels for your wife. I will not be disputed in this."
"Oh, lady! I shall never have the heart to wear them," said Elizabeth; "they burn my temples even now."
"Yes, child, you will learn to wear them for my sake; and because I loved you—for my sake, remember."
"Oh! this kindness is breaking my heart!" sobbed the bride. "Only reproach me, and I can bear it better."
"Reproach you! Come, come, we will lock the gems in their case again," said Barbara, smoothing Elizabeth's golden tresses with her hands, as she took off the coronet. "They do seem like a mockery in a dungeon. When this dark passage of our lives is over, they will not seem so out of place."
As she spoke, Barbara locked the leathern casket again and, taking its key from her neck, gave both to Samuel Parris.
"When you go forth take them with you," she said; "but they must not be otherwise disposed of."
Parris took the case in silence. He knew, far better than the others, how sacredly these young people would hold her wishes hereafter.
"Now, my child, farewell! We must not see each other again on this earth," said the prisoner, kissing Elizabeth on the forehead. "When we do meet, be able to look in my face and say, 'I have been a faithful and good wife to the man who blessed me with his love.'"
Bathed in tears, and trembling under the solemn effect of these words, Elizabeth left the dungeon with her father. Lovel remained behind.