An interruption—a consultation. Again Dr. Mather spoke:
'Bring the accused witch, Lois Barclay, near to this poor suffering child of Christ.'
They rushed forward to force Lois to the place where Prudence lay. But Lois walked forward of herself.
'Prudence,' she said, in such a sweet, touching voice, that, long afterwards, those who heard it that day, spoke of it to their children, 'have I ever said an unkind word to you, much less done you an ill turn? Speak, dear child. You did not know what you said just now, did you?'
But Prudence writhed away from her approach, and screamed out, as if stricken with fresh agony.
'Take her away! take her away! Witch Lois, witch Lois, who threw me down only this morning, and turned my arm black and blue.' And she bared her arm, as if in confirmation of her words. It was sorely bruised.
'I was not near you, Prudence!' said Lois, sadly. But that was only reckoned fresh evidence of her diabolical power.
Lois's brain began to get bewildered. Witch Lois! she a witch, abhorred of all men! Yet she would try to think, and make one more effort.
'Aunt Hickson,' she said, and Grace came forwards—'am I a witch, Aunt Hickson?' she asked; for her aunt, stern, harsh, unloving as she might be, was truth itself, and Lois thought—so near to delirium had she come—if her aunt condemned her, it was possible she might indeed be a witch.
Grace Hickson faced her unwillingly.