Ah, sighed the chief judge, and all his brethren shook their heads with a look of pity and sorrow.
But as if this were not enough—as if they were afraid he might escape after all (for it had begun to grow very dark over-head) though the meshes of death were about him on every side like a net of iron; as if the very judges were screwed up to the expectation of a terrible issue, and prepared to deal with a creature of tremendous power, whom it would be lawful to destroy any how, no matter how, they introduced another troop of witnesses, who swore that they had frequently heard the two wives of the prisoner say that their house which stood in a very cheerful path of the town was haunted by evil spirits; and after they had finished their testimony Judith Hubbard swore that the two wives of the prisoner had appeared to her, since their death, and charged him with murder....
Repeat the story that you told brother Winthrop and me, said Judge Sewall.
Whereupon she stood forth and repeated the story she had sworn to before the committal of Burroughs—repeated it in the very presence of God, and of his angels—repeated it while it thundered and lightened in her face, and the big sweat rolled off the forehead of a man, for whose love, but a few years before, she would have laid down her life—
That man was George Burroughs. He appeared as if his heart were broken by her speech, though about his mouth was a patient proud smile—for near him were Mary Elizabeth Dyer and Rachel Dyer, with their eyes fixed upon him and waiting to be called up in their turn to abide the trial of death; but so waiting before their judges and their accusers that, women though they were, he felt supported by their presence, trebly fortified by their brave bearing—Elizabeth pale—very pale, and watching his look as if she had no hope on earth but in him, no fear but for him—Rachel standing up as it were with a new stature—up, with her forehead flashing to the sky and her coarse red hair shining and shivering about her huge head with a frightful fixed gleam,—her cap off, her cloak thrown aside and her distorted shape, for the first time, in full view of the awe-struck multitude. Every eye was upon her—every thought—her youthful and exceedingly fair sister, the pride of the neighborhood was overlooked now, and so was the prisoner at the bar, and so were the judges and the jury, and the witnesses and the paraphernalia of death. It was Rachel Dyer—the red-haired witch—the freckled witch—the hump-backed witch they saw now—but they saw not her ugliness, they saw not that she was either unshapely or unfair. They saw only that she was brave. They saw that although she was a woman upon the very threshold of eternity, she was not afraid of the aspect of death.
And the story that Judith Hubbard repeated under such circumstances and at such a time was—that the two wives of the prisoner at the bar, who were buried years and years before, with a show of unutterable sorrow, had appeared to her, face to face, and charged him with having been the true cause of their death; partly promising if he denied the charge, to reappear in full court. Nor should I wonder if they did, whispered the chief judge throwing a hurried look toward the graves which lay in full view of the judgment seat, as if he almost expected to see the earth open.
The multitude who saw the look of the judge, and who were so eager but a few minutes before to get nigh the prisoner, though it were only to hear him breathe, now recoiled from the bar, and left a free path-way from the graveyard up to the witness-box, and a visible quick shudder ran throughout the assembly as they saw the judges consult together, and prepare to address the immoveable man, who stood up—whatever were the true cause, whether he felt assured of that protection which the good pray for night and day, or of that which the evil and the mighty among the evil have prepared for, when they enter into a league of death—up—as if he knew well that they had no power to harm either him or his.
What say you to that? said major Saltonstall. You have heard the story of Judith Hubbard. What say you to a charge like that, Sir?
Ay, ay—no evasion will serve you now, added the Lieutenant Governor.
Evasion!