The stillness seemed to increase. She felt little creeps of chill running down her shoulders. What a terrible thing it would be to have no hope of leaving this fearful cellar! Suppose anything should happen to Adam, to prevent him from returning! How long would it be till morning? Surely she must have been there nearly an hour already. She clasped her hands, that were cold as ice. She almost wished she had not tried this solution of the difficulty. Then she remembered the wise old woman, who had made her neighbors’ children her own care—as she had no sons nor daughters of her own—and who had been sister, mother and friend to Hester Hodder, and guardian angel, teacher and kindly spirit over herself. This made her calmer, for a time, and again courageous.
When once more the dread of the place and the ringing silence and the doubts that seemed to lurk in the shadows, came stealing back, she thought of Adam, rehearsing every incident in every time they had ever met. And thus she lingered long over that walk from Plymouth to Boston.
In the midst of sweet reveries which really did much to dissipate her qualms and chills, she heard someone walking heavily along in the corridor above her. Swiftly calling to mind what the jailer had said about the light, she blew it out and stood trembling with nervousness, waiting for the door to open before her.
But the sounds of heavy boots on the upper floor presently halted. Then they retreated. She breathed more freely. And then—she suddenly felt the darkness all about her.
Fear that some one had been about to enter had, for the moment, made her oblivious of the curtain of gloom which closed in so thickly when she blew out the candle. Now, when she realized that she could not again ignite that wick, a horror spread through her, till she closed her eyes and sank on the floor in despair.
The time that passed was interminable. She had not thought of how terrible the dungeon would be without the candle. She could almost have screamed, thus to be so deprived of the kindly light which had made the place comparatively cheerful. But she pulled up her resolution once again, thinking how Goody and Adam had endured nothing but darkness, and with no hope of succor such as she could see illuminating her hours of dread.
Midnight came at last and found Garde unstrung. When the tramp of many feet rang above her, at last, she welcomed the thought that some one was near. She hoped it was morning and that Adam had returned. But then she heard a jangle of keys, and footfalls on the steps leading down to where she was, and her heart stood still.
In the natural consternation which the hour, the darkness and the suspense had brought upon her, she hastily hid her head and face in Goody’s shawl, and bending over, to represent the older woman, she tremblingly saw the door swing open and heard the jailer command her to come forth.
With her heart beating violently and her knees quaking beneath her, Garde came out, relieved in some ways to flee from that awful hole of darkness, but frightened, when she saw the array of stern-faced men, who had come, as she instantly comprehended, to take her away to a trial.
There was not one among the five or six men that she knew. She remembered the faces of Pinchbecker and Higgler, having seen them in the morning, when Goody was taken, but the others were witnesses that Randolph had sent from Salem, experts in swearing away the lives of witches. They too had been present at the capture of Goody.