They both knelt.
But Deliverance remained seated.
“Wicked and obstinate o’ heart I be,” she said, “but Sir Jonathan holds me from prayer. I cannot kneel in company with him.”
She no longer felt any fear to speak her mind.
At her words Cotton Mather glanced at Sir Jonathan and saw the man’s face go red. His suspicions were aroused thereat, and he forgot all his respect for Sir Jonathan’s great position and mickle gold, and spoke sternly, as became a minister, recognizing in his profession neither high nor low.
“Do you indeed exercise a mischievous spell to hold this witch-maid from prayer when she would seem softened toward godliness?”
“Nay,” retorted Sir Jonathan, “’tis the malice of her evil, invisible spectre whispering at her ear to cast a reflection on me.”
“I prithee go, however, and stand in the corridor outside, and we will see if the witch-maid, relieved of your presence, will pray,” advised Cotton Mather.
Sir Jonathan was secretly angered at this command, yet he rose with what fair show of grace he could muster, and went out into the corridor. But an indefinable fear had sprung to life in his heart. For, lo, but a look, a word, an accusation, and one was put upon as a witch.
Deliverance, although she feared the young minister, yet knew him to be not only a great but a good man, and desirous for her soul’s good. Thus willingly she knelt opposite him.