“Nay, good sir,” protested Deliverance, “I be no witch.”
The old jailer entered with a stool for Mr. Mather, and having set it down, went out and left the two together.
Ere either could speak, there was a rapping at the door.
In answer to the young minister’s summons to enter, Sir Jonathan Jamieson came in.
Deliverance glanced dully at him, all uncaring; for she felt he had harmed her all he could, and now might nevermore injure her.
The young minister, having much respect for Sir Jonathan, rose and begged that he be seated. But Sir Jonathan, minded to be equally polite, refused to deprive Mr. Mather of the stool. So they might have argued and bowed for long, had not the jailer appeared with another stool.
“I did but see you enter now, as I chanced to come out of the tavern near by,” remarked Sir Jonathan, seating himself comfortably, leaning back against the wall, “and, being minded to write a book upon the evil ways of witchery, I followed you in, knowing you came to exhort the prisoner to repentance. So I beg that you will grant me the privilege to listen in case she should confess, that I may thereby obtain some valuable notes.” As he spoke he shot a quick glance at Deliverance.
She could not divine that menacing look. Was he fearful lest she should confess, or did he indeed seek to have her do so?
Cotton Mather turned, his face filled with passionate and honest fervour, toward the speaker.
“Most gladly,” he answered with hearty sympathy; “it is a noble and useful calling. I oft find more company with the dead in their books than in the society of the living, and it has ever been one of my chief thanksgivings that the Lord blessed me with a ready pen. But more of this later. Let us now kneel in prayer.”