“Nay,” I answered, “I was thinking of other matters. But I remarked that the few friends I passed in the road seemed not to know me. But what does it signify?”
“Much,” proceeded Willis. “Much in very truth. No man’s life nor liberty is safe now. It is a perilous time. Why, Salem gaol to-night holds two score poor wretches, whose only fault is some one has said they are witches.
“And more. The Governor has sent a special court with judges and constables and soldiers to attend to the trials. They are fearsome ordeals, too. It is ordained that if the accused one will confess that he is a witch that one may go free, for, it is said, that being a witch, by confession in the presence of a minister, the spirit of Satan is abashed, and leaves the body. But many will not confess, maintaining, even on the scaffold that they are innocent, and all such have been put to death. So many have been executed that there is fear in many hearts.
“Some are tried by water. They are thrown into the mill pond, and if they sink they are free from the accusation of witchcraft. Little good it does the poor souls though, for they never live to know that they are innocent. A true witch will float, ’tis said, and all such are killed.”
“Do you speak the truth?” I asked, for I could scarce believe what I heard.
“As I live,” answered Willis. “It is a time for every man to look to himself, especially if he has an enemy. Many of the witch trials, I believe, are but vents for the enmity which cannot be satisfied in other ways. A few of the accusers, however, seem in earnest, claiming that their maladies and troubles are spells of their enemies, and the afflicted ones call out the names in great agony.”
“Bah! Willis,” I said. “You are chicken-hearted from staying too much at home.”
“Wait and see,” replied the inn keeper. Then he left me.
I did not want to go to bed yet; there was no sleep in me; so I resolved to walk out to let some of my busy thoughts fly away, if they would. The moon was up, a big round silver disk, larger than the head of a cider barrel. It cast long shadows across the road and fields.
As I tramped on toward, I knew not where, nor cared, I found my steps leading, unconsciously, to the home of the woman I loved.