Edith concealed her fears, and said, very quietly, "I will say it for you; and now, my child, go peaceably to bed, and pray to God to keep you from telling falsehoods." Phoebe was awed by her calm, decided manner, and, without further disturbance, went quietly to bed.
Full of anxiety, and even terror, Edith sought her humble friend, told her the circumstance, and besought her to fly and conceal herself. She had provided the means for flight and concealment, and entreated her to use them before it was too late.
"I do not fear for myself, my dear mistress," said Dinah. "If the child has such design, she has already formed her plan and already accused us; and she will not be content with accusing me; you are not safe. You do not know her hard and stubborn temper. She is like the young hawk in the nest of the dove."
Seeing Edith was dreadfully alarmed, Dinah added, "Do not fear; we are in his hand who feeds the young ravens, and numbers the hairs of our heads."
Edith began to be a little more composed, when a loud knocking was heard at the door. Two men entered, well known to Edith; the officials in all occasions of this nature. One was the deacon of the church, a heated fanatic, full of religious bigotry, whose head was too weak to govern the passionate and blind motions of his heart. While he had been under the restraint of Mr. Grafton's calm, enlightened reason, he had been only a zealous and useful officer of the church; but now, that he considered his own light as no longer hidden under a bushel, his zeal burned out with more violence, and he lent himself to all the wild fanaticism of the time. The other was an old man, an elder in the church; with much tenderness of heart; but he was timid, and relied little on his own judgment, which was so little enlightened that he easily yielded to what he afterwards, when the delusion passed away, bewailed with bitter tears.
Edith was perfectly acquainted with the characters of both. When she saw them enter, she turned deadly pale; but she pointed courteously to a seat, and placed herself instinctively between them and Dinah, to shield her, for she knew too well that there was no escape for her humble friend if once in their power. She felt, therefore, a sensible relief when she found that she was herself the object of their visit.
Edith had had time to recover a little from her first consternation, and, with much self-possession, she asked who were her accusers, and demanded the right of being confronted with them.
The men informed her that she would be taken in the morning to the meeting-house for examination, and then it would be time enough to know her accusers: in the mean time they should leave a guard in the house, to prevent all attempts to escape.
Escape! ah, there was none for her. But Edith answered that she wished not to escape; that she should demand an examination. Alas! she knew not yet the spirit of the times. She was deluded by her own consciousness of innocence, and she thought fanaticism itself could not attach a suspicion to harmlessness like hers.
Not so Dinah. She was seized with a terror and grief that, for one moment, shook her faith in God, and took away all self-possession. She knew that innocence, youth, piety, beauty, had been of no avail against the demoniac fury of the accusers. She besought, on her knees, and with floods of tears, her dear child—as, in her agitation, she called her—to avail herself of flight. She convinced Edith that they could easily elude the vigilance of their guard; that they could escape by water. Paul was an excellent boatman, the sea smooth as a mirror, the moon nearly full; they could reach Boston without suspicion. Or she would hide her in the woods: she herself knew a place where she could bring her food and clothing, and form a shelter for her, and keep her safe till all suspicion had ceased.