evil; nay, though I could almost say she bore
me a kindly feeling. But such powers are only
given by the Evil One; and the proof thereof
is that, as you imply, Nattee would use them
on those who offend her."

"And why should she not?" asked Faith,
lifting her eyes, and flashing heavy fire out of
them at the question.

"Because," said Lois, not seeing Faith's
glance, "we are told to pray for them that
despitefully use us, and to do good to them
that persecute us. But poor Nattee is not a
christened woman. I would that Mr. Nolan
would baptise her; it would, maybe, take her
out of the power of Satan's temptations."

"Are you never tempted?" asked Faith, half
scornfully; "and yet I doubt not you were well
baptised."

"True," said Lois, sadly. "I often do very
wrong; but perhaps I might have done worse
if the holy form had not been observed."

They were again silent for a time.

"Lois," said Faith, "I did not mean any
offence. But do you never feel as if you would
give up all that future life, of which the parsons
talk, and which seems so vague and so distant,
for a few years of real vivid blessedness to
begin to-morrow—this hour, this minute? Oh,
I could think of happiness for which I would
willingly give up all those misty chances of
heaven—"

"Faith, Faith!" cried Lois, in terror, holding
her hand before her cousin's mouth, and looking
around in fright. "Hush! you know not who
may be listening; you are putting yourself in
his power."

But Faith pushed her hand away, and said,
"Lois, I believe in him no more than I believe
in heaven. Both may exist, but they are so far
away that I defy them. Why all this ado about
Mr. Tappau's house—promise me never to
tell living creature, and I will tell you a secret."

"No!" said Lois, terrified. "I dread all
secrets. I will hear none. I will do all that I
can for you, Cousin Faith, in any way; but just
at this time I strive to keep my life and thoughts
within the strictest bounds of godly simplicity,
and I dread pledging myself to aught that is
hidden and secret."

"As you will, cowardly girl, full of terrors,
which, if you had listened to me, might
have been lessened, if not entirely done away
with." And Faith would not utter another
word, though Lois tried meekly to entice her
into conversation on some other subject.

The rumour of witchcraft was like the echo
of thunder among the hills. It had broken out
in Mr. Tappau's house, and his two little
daughters were the first supposed to be
bewitched; but round about, from every quarter
of the town, came in accounts of sufferers by
witchcraft. There was hardly a family without
one of these supposed victims. Then arose a
growl and menace of vengeance from many a
household—menaces deepened, not daunted, by
the terror and mystery of the suffering that gave
rise to them.

At length a day was appointed when, after
solemn fasting and prayer, Mr. Tappau invited
the neighbouring ministers and all godly people
to assemble at his house, and unite with him in
devoting a day to solemn religious services, and
to supplication for the deliverance of his children,
and those similarly afflicted, from the power of
the Evil One. All Salem poured out towards
the house of the minister. There was a look of
excitement on all their faces; eagerness and
horror was depicted on many a face, while stem
resolution, amounting to determined cruelty,
if the occasion arose, was seen on others.

In the midst of the prayer, Hester Tappau,
the younger girl, fell into convulsions; fit after
fit came on, and her screams mingled with the
shrieks and cries of the assembled congregation.
In the first pause, when the child was partially
recovered, when the people stood around
exhausted and breathless, her father, the Pastor
Tappau, lifted his right hand, and adjured her,
in the name of the Trinity, to say who
tormented her. There was a dead silence; not a
creature stirred of all those hundreds. Hester
turned wearily and uneasily, and moaned out the
name of Hota, her father's Indian servant. Hota
was present, apparently as much interested as
any one; indeed, she had been busying herself
much in bringing remedies to the suffering child.
But now she stood aghast, transfixed, while her
name was caught up and shouted out in tones
of reprobation and hatred by all the crowd
around her. Another moment and they would
have fallen upon the trembling creature and torn
her limb from limb—pale, dusky, shivering
Hota, half guilty-looking from her very
bewilderment. But Pastor Tappau, that gaunt, grey
man, lifting himself to his utmost height, signed
to them to go back, to keep still while he
addressed them; and then he told them that
instant vengeance was not just, deliberate
punishment; that there would be need of
conviction, perchance of confession—he hoped for
some redress for his suffering children from her
revelations, if she were brought to confession.
They must leave the culprit in his hands, and in
those of his brother ministers, that they might
wrestle with Satan before delivering her up to
the civil power. He spoke well, for he spoke
from the heart of a father seeing his children
exposed to dreadful and mysterious suffering,
and firmly believing that he now held the clue in
his hand which should ultimately release them
and their fellow-sufferers. And the congregation
moaned themselves into unsatisfied submission,
and listened to his long, passionate prayer,
which he uplifted even while the hapless Hota
stood there, guarded and bound by two men,
who glared at her like bloodhounds ready to slip
even while the prayer ended in the words of the
merciful Saviour. Lois sickened and shuddered
at the whole scene; and this was no intellectual
shuddering at the folly and superstition of the
people, but with tender moral shuddering at the
sight of guilt which she believed in, and at the
evidence  of men's hatred and abhorrence, which,
when shown even to the guilty, troubled and