“Oh, sir, alas, no,” said the jailer. “But what can I do?”
“Do? Do? My friend, do you value your daily bread? Do you wish to retain your office? Or shall the Governor grant your dismissal?”
This was touching the man on a spot where he could endure no pressure. He quailed, for he found himself between the devil—as represented by the fanatical spirit of the mob—and the deep sea into which the loss of his place would plunge him at once.
“Oh, don’t turn me out!” he begged, convinced well enough of Adam’s power with the Governor. “I would do anything to please you, sir, and I have done much already to please the Governor. I am an old man, sir, and we have saved nothing, and we know no other trade, and many people hate us. There would be no place for me and mine. Do not turn us away for this.”
“I don’t wish to turn you away,” said Adam. “I merely ask you to release this woman.”
“She has never done any harm,” put in Garde. “She has been very good to your wife and you. Surely you could spare her this.”
“I would, Miss, I would,” said the wretched man. “I am sick to death of this terrible craze of witches, but what can I do? If I do not release her, I shall lose my place and starve. If I do let her go, I shall have all the mobs down upon me, when they find there is no witch for trial. How can I show them a paper, instead of a prisoner? My life might pay the forfeit.”
“Oh, Adam, this is terrible,” said Garde. “What can we do?”
“After trial, you can surely get her pardoned,” the man insisted. “You have the power. You can save her then.”
“Oh, they will never wait!” cried the girl. “They may try her to-night, and find her guilty and hang her the first thing in the morning!”