During his speech, Deliverance had at first listened eagerly, but, as he continued, her head sank on her breast and hope vanished. Dimly, as in a dream, she heard the judges’ voices, the whispering of the people. At last, as a voice speaking a great distance off, she heard her name spoken.
“Deliverance Wentworth,” said Chief Justice Stoughton, “you are acquaint with the law. If any man or woman be a witch and hath a familiar spirit, or hath consulted with one, he or she shall be put to death. You have by full and fair trial been proven a witch and found guilty in the extreme. Yet the court will shew mercy unto you, if you will heartily, and with a contrite heart, confess that you sinned through weakness, and repent that you did transfer allegiance from God to the Devil.”
“I be no witch,” cried Deliverance, huskily, “I be no witch. There be another judgment.”
The tears dropped from her eyes into her lap and the sweat rolled down her face. But she could not wipe them away, her arms being bound behind her.
The judge nearest her, he who wore his natural hair and the black cap, was moved to compassion. He leant forward, and with his kerchief wiped the tears and sweat from her face.
“You poor and pitiful child,” he said, “estranged from God by reason of your great sin, confess, confess, while there is yet time, lest you be hanged in sin and your soul condemned to eternal burning.”
Deliverance comprehended but the merciful act and not the exhortation. She looked at him with the terror and entreaty of a last appeal in her eyes, but was powerless to speak.