"I do! I do! My wife—my fair young bride. Why, Parris, that stern man parted us in less than a year. Living! loving! and I—are these tears, Samuel Parris? Am I a boy again?"
"There, there, my son; drive all these doubts away; for this life has joy for thee yet, and for her. I tell thee, my son, thy wife, who called herself Barbara Stafford, is a mate for thee, heart and soul, or for any man living."
"My love! my wife! Now I understand how it came about that this heart was so disturbed. But why did she keep away from me?"
"The father, who told thee that thy wife was dead, when thou soughtest her, practised a double deception, and, till his death, she believed herself a widow."
"But she was undeceived, and loved me still?" cried Sir William.
"She came to this country in search of her husband, and found him married to another."
"My poor wife! That was terrible! I understand: she would not claim me; but was ready to suffer doubt, contumely, death, rather than harm her husband. I was not faithless to her. God is my judge, in this soul I was not faithless. She knew how I had been deceived? She did not hate me?"
"Hate! nay, nay; does hate ever produce actions like hers?"
Sir William Phipps arose; his eyes bright, his face radiant. Even Samuel Parris gazed on him in wonder. Was that the grave, stern man, who had seemed so long incapable of a strong emotion?
"My friend, we will go to her. Where shall we search?"