For the next hour, the two little maids planned a course of action which they fondly hoped would free Deliverance.
“Happen like ye have seen my father, lately?” asked Deliverance, very wistfully, just before they said good-by.
“So sad he looks,” answered Abigail; “shall I whisper to him that I have talked with ye?”
“Nay,” said Deliverance, “wait until ye have returned from Boston Town with good news. Speaking o’ news, did ye hear whether or no a woman by the name o’ Hobbs was hanged last week?”
“That I did,” replied Abigail. “Father taked me to the hanging. A most awful old witch was she, for sure, with bones like to come through her skin. A judgment o’ God’s it was come upon her.”
“Oh, Abigail,” wailed Deliverance, “she was no witch. She said many holy words for me and prayed God forgive her judges. She was in this cell with me.”
“They shut a witch in with ye!” cried Abigail, aghast; “she might have cast a spell on ye.”
“She cast no spell on me,” answered Deliverance, sadly. “Go now, lest ye be missed, and forget not to bring me the paper, quill, and ink-horn.”
Ere Abigail could reply there were heavy footsteps in the corridor. They paused at the door.
“Get ye gone quick, Abigail,” whispered Deliverance, “some one be coming in. Oh, make haste!” With wildly beating heart she lay down on the straw and shut her eyes.