Elizabeth got up, and staggered away to the door and fell upon her sister’s neck and prayed her not to leave her.
I must leave thee ... I must, I must ... would thee have me forsake George Burroughs at the point of death?
O no—no—no!
We never shall meet again I do fear—I do hope, I might say, for of what avail is it in the extremity of our sorrow; but others may—he and thee may Elizabeth—and who knows but after the first shock of this thy approaching bereavement is over, thee may come to regard this very trial with joy, though we are torn by it, as by the agony of death now—let us pray.
The sisters now prayed together for a little time, each with her arm about the other’s neck, interchanged a farewell kiss and parted—-parted forever.
And Rachel was then led to the dungeons below, where she saw him that her sister loved, and that a score of other women had loved as it were in spite of their very natures—for they were bred up in fear of the dark Savage. He sat with his hands locked in his lap, and chained and rivetted with iron, his brow gathered, his teeth set, and his keen eyes fixed upon the door.
There is yet one hope my dear friend, whispered he after they had been together a good while without speaking a word or daring to look at each other—one hope—laying his pinioned arm lightly upon her shoulder, and pressing up to her side with all the affectionate seriousness of a brother—one hope, dear Rachel—
She shut her eyes and large drops ran down her cheeks.
—One hope—and but one—
Have a care George Burroughs. I would not have thee betray thyself anew—there is no hope.