"Charles!" the deep sepulchral voice at last spoke.
"Well?"
"Look up."
With a sigh, the young prisoner raised his head. Every movement he made was accompanied by the rattling of chains.
"Charles, you will not believe me, when I tell you I am sorry for this."
"No; I will not."
"Nevertheless, I am. Charles Stevens, you do not know me; the world misjudges me, and all future generations will do the same. Some things which I have done may seem harsh; yet I was commanded of Heaven to do them."
"Samuel Parris, if you have come to upbraid me, to gloat over my captivity and add to my misery, do so. I am powerless and cannot resist you; but I do entreat you not to blaspheme your Maker."
The great eyes of Parris gleamed with sullen fire; his thin lips parted; his breath came short and quick, and for a few moments he was unable to answer. At last, becoming calmer, he said, in his deep sepulchral voice:
"Charles, you do not like me?"