“There is no need to be afeared of me,” said he. “I come only from a godly desire to investigate how you became a witch, for I am thinking of writing a learned book on the evil art of witchery, which shall serve as a warning to meddlers. Also I seek to lead you to confess, ere it be too late and you descend into the brimstone pit.”
Deliverance had heard such words before and known them to be for her soul’s good. But her heart was hardened toward her present visitor, and his words made no more impression upon her than water dropping on stone. She looked up bravely.
“Good sir,” she said staunchly, “the King sends for his black powder.”
Sir Jonathan’s face grew white and he stared at her long. He opened his mouth to reply, but his dry lips closed without a sound. He jumped up, overturning the stool, and paced up and down the cell.
“You witch!” he cried: “for I ’gin to think you are a witch and a limb of Satan.”
Deliverance prayed aloud, for she feared he would strike her with his walking-stick.
Sir Jonathan paused and listened with amazement. At last he laughed abruptly. “Are you indeed a witch, or are you gone daft and silly that you pray?”
“I be no witch,” replied the little maid with dignity, “and it be no daffy nor silly to pray. And if it seemeth so to ye, ye be a most ungodly man and the burning pit awaits ye.”
Sir Jonathan turned up the stool and sat down again.