When the Cavalier saw the parchment, he gave an inarticulate sound and clutched it to his breast, kissed it and waved it wildly.
“By my troth!” he cried, “the little maid whom they would hang, hath saved England.”
In his excitement he rose, but no sooner had he put his foot on the floor, than he groaned and fell back on the bed. His face became so scarlet that Master Ronald started up, thinking a leech should be sent for to bleed him, but the sufferer waved him back, and lay down uttering praise and thanksgiving, save when he paused for groans so terrible, that Abigail jumped at every one. When he had exhausted himself and grown quiet, she, feeling it safe to approach him, summoned up courage to hand him Deliverance’s letter, which had fallen from the bed to the floor.
“Ye forgot her letter,” she said reproachfully.
As the Cavalier read, he swore mighty oaths under his breath, and before he finished, the tears were falling on the little letter.
“Hon’d Sir: yu will indede be surprised to lern of my peetiful condishun fore I be languishing away in prison & round my ankel be an iron wring held by ye chain & itt be a grate afflictshun to ye flesh. Alle this has come uponn me since I met with yu in ye forest & olde Bartholomew Stiles wich some say be a Fule—but I would nott say of my own Accord—took yu fore Satan wich was a sadd mistake fore me. Alsoe Goodwife Higgins mistook a yellow witch-bird & said ye same was me. I blame her nott fore I had rised betimes & gonne to ye brooke & tried onn ye golde beads & this yu will perceive I could nott tell her lest I should betray ye secret & I did give ye message to Sir Jonathan Jamieson & he saide I was a witch & alsoe Ebenezer Gibbs saide I stuck pinnes in him when I but rapped his pate fore larfing in school & intising others to Evil acts such as Twisting ye Hair of Stability Williams & fore alle this ye godly magistrates have sentenced me to be hanged wich Hon’d Sir yu will agree be a sadd afflictshun to ye flesh.
As regards ye service fore ye King Abigail wich be my deare friend will give yu a pckge. but no more lest this fall into ye wrong handes when yu read this I trust yu will in Gods name come fast to Salem & take me out of prison fore I am in sore Distress & can find nothing comforting in ye Scripture, against being hanged & I beginn to feare God has not pardoned my sinnes.
Sir Jonathan Jamieson torments me most grievous & I saye unto yu Privately he be a Hypocrite & itt be Woe unto him Whited sepulchre I ken nott what he will do when he findes ye Parchment be gonne but no more lest I betray ye secret & if I should be hanged afore yu come I do heartily repent my sinnes wich I cannot set down in wrighting fore I have no more Ink. I beg with tears yu will come in time. Hon’d Sir I bewayl my ylls & peetiful condishun
Deliverance Wentworth.