Stephen Hopkins, Giles, and Constance came, the two little children with them, because there was no one at home to look after them. Not the least suspicion of what they were to hear entered the mind of these three, or it might never have been heard.
Elder Brewster, William Bradford, Edward Winslow sat in utmost gravity at the end of the room. It crossed Stephen Hopkins's mind to wonder a little at his exclusion from this tribunal, for it had the effect of a tribunal, but it was only a passing thought, and instantly it was answered.
Dame Eliza Hopkins entered the room, with Mistress Brewster, and seated herself before the three heads of the colony.
"My brethren," said William Brewster, rising, "it hath been said on Authority which one may not dispute that a broken and contrite heart will not be despised. You have been called together this night for what purpose none but my colleagues and myself knew. It is to harken to the public acknowledgment of a grave fault, and by your hearing of a public confession to lend your part to the wiping out of this sin, which is surely forgiven, being repented of, yet which is thus atoned for. We have vainly endeavoured to persuade the person thus coming before you that this course was not necessary; since her fault affected no one but her family, to them alone need confession be made. As she insisted upon this course, needs must we consent to it. Dame Eliza Hopkins, we are ready to harken to you."
He sat down, and Dame Eliza, rising, came forward. Stephen Hopkins's face was a study, and Giles and Constance, crimson with distress, looked appealingly at their father, but the situation was beyond his control.
"Friends, neighbours, fellow pilgrims," began Dame Eliza, manifestly in real agony of shamed distress, yet half enjoying herself, through her love for drama and excitement, "I am a sinner. I cannot continue in your membership unless you know the truth, and admit me thereto. My anger, my wicked jealousy hath persecuted the innocent children of my husband, they whose mother died and whose place I should have tried in some measure to make good. But at all times, and in all ways have I used them ill, not with blows upon the body, but upon their hearts. Jealousy was my temptation, and I yielded to it. But, not content with sharp and cruel words, I did plot against them to turn their father from them, especially from his son, because I wanted for my son the inheritance in England which Stephen Hopkins hath power to distribute. I succeeded in sowing discord between the father and Giles, but not between my husband and his daughter. At last I used a signature which fell into my hands, and by forwarding it to England, set in train actions before the law which would defraud Giles Hopkins and benefit my own son. By the ship that lately came into our harbour I received a letter, sent to me by the governor, by the hand of John Howland, promising me success in my wicked endeavour. My brethren, my heart is sick unto death within me. Thankfully I say that all estrangement is past between Giles Hopkins and his father. In that my wicked success at the beginning was foiled. While I was doing these things against the children, Constantia Hopkins, by her sweetness, her goodness, her devotion, without a tinge of grudging, to her little half-sister and brother, and at last her saving of my child's life when no help but hers was near and the child was dying before me, hath broken my hard heart; and in slaying me—for I have died to my old self under it—hath made me to live. Therefore I publicly acknowledge my sin, and bid you, my fellow pilgrims, deal with me as you see fit, neither asking for mercy, nor in any wise claiming it as my desert."
Stephen Hopkins had bent forward, his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. Giles stared straight before him, his brow dark red, frowning till his face was drawn out of likeness to itself, his nether lip held tight in his teeth.
Poor Constance hid her misery in Oceanus's breast, holding the baby close up against her so that no one could see her face. Little Damaris, pale and quiet, too frightened to move or fully to breathe, clutched Constance's arm, not understanding what was going forward, but knowing that whatever it was it distressed everyone that constituted her little world, and suffering under this knowledge.
"My friends," Elder Brewster resumed his office, "you have heard what Mistress Hopkins hath spoken. It is not for us to deny pardon to her. She hath done all, and more than was required of her, in publicly confessing her wrong. Let us take her by the hand, and let us pray that she may live long to shed peace and joy upon the young people whom she hath wronged, and might have wronged further, had not repentance found her."
One by one these severely stern people of Plymouth arose and, passing before Mistress Hopkins, took her hand, and said: