shown strong practical sense. He talked on
these with all due discretion till the hour for
family prayer came round, which was early in
those days. It was Manasseh's place to
conduct it, as head of the family; a post which his
mother had always been anxious to assign to
him since her husband's death. He prayed
extempore; and to-night his supplications
wandered off into wild, unconnected fragments of
prayer, which all those kneeling around began,
each according to her anxiety for the speaker,
to think would never end. Minutes elapsed, and
grew to quarters of the hour, and his words
grew only more emphatic and wilder, praying
for himself alone, and laying bare the recesses
of his heart. At length his mother rose, and
taking Lois by the hand, for she had faith in
Lois's power over her son, as being akin to that
which the shepherd David playing on his
harp had over the king Saul sitting on his
throne. She drew her towards him, where he
knelt facing into the circle, with his eyes
upturned, and the tranced agony of his face
depicting the struggle of the troubled soul within.

"Here is Lois," said Grace, almost tenderly;
"she would fain go to her chamber." (Down the
girl's face the tears were streaming.) " Rise,
and finish thy prayer in thy closet."

But at Lois's approach he sprang to his feet,
sprang aside.

"Take her away, mother. Lead me not into
temptation. She brings me evil and sinful
thoughts. She overshadows me, even in the
presence of my God. She is no angel of light, or she
would not do this. She troubles me with the
sound of a voice bidding me marry her, even when
I am at my prayers. Avaunt! Take her away!"

He would have struck at Lois if she had not
shrunk back, dismayed and affrighted. His
mother, although equally dismayed, was not
affrighted. She had seen him thus before; and
understood the management of his paroxysm.

"Go, Lois! the sight of thee irritates him, as
once that of Faith did. Leave him to me."

And Lois rushed away to her room, and threw
herself on her bed like a panting, hunted
creature. Faith came after her slowly and heavily.

"Lois," said she, "wilt thou do me a favour?
It is not much to ask. Wilt thou arise before
daylight, and bear this letter from me to Pastor
Nolan's lodgings? I would have done it myself,
but mother has bidden me to come to her, and I
may be detained until the time when Hota is to
be hung; and the letter tells of matters pertaining
to life and death. Seek out Pastor Nolan
wherever he may be, and have speech of him
after he has read the letter."

"Cannot Nattee take it?" asked Lois.

"No!" Faith answered, fiercely. "Why
should she?"

But Lois did not reply. A quick suspicion
darted through Faith's mind sudden as lightning.
It had never entered there before.

"Speak, Lois. I read thy thoughts. Thou
wouldst fain not be the bearer of this letter?"

"I will take it," said Lois, meekly. "It
concerns life and death, you say?"

"Yes!" said Faith, in quite a different tone of
voice. But, after a pause of thought, she added,
"Then as soon as the house is still I will write
what I have to say, and leave it here, on this chest;
and thou wilt promise me to take it before the day
is fully up, while there is yet time for action."

"Yes! I promise," said Lois. And Faith
knew enough of her to feel sure that the deed
would be done, however reluctantly.

The letter was written—laid on the chest;
and, ere day dawned, Lois was astir, Faith
watching her from between her half-closed eyelids—
eyelids that had never been fully closed in
sleep the livelong night. The instant Lois,
cloaked and hooded, left the room, Faith sprang
up, and prepared to go to her mother, whom she
heard already stirring. Nearly every one in
Salem was awake and up on this awful morning,
though few were out of doors, as Lois passed
along the streets. Here was the hastily erected
gallows, the black shadow of which fell across
the street with ghastly significance; now she
had to pass the iron-barred gaol, through the
unglazed windows of which she heard the fearful
cry of a woman, and the sound of many footsteps.
On she sped, sick almost to faintness, to
the widow woman's where Mr. Nolan lodged.
He was already up and abroad, gone, his hostess
believed, to the gaol. Thither Lois, repeating
the words "for life and for death!" was forced
to go. Retracing her steps, she was thankful
to see him come out of those dismal portals,
rendered more dismal for being in heavy shadow,
just as she approached. What his errand had
been she knew not; but he looked grave and
sad, as she put Faith's letter into his hands, and
stood before him quietly waiting until he should
read it, and deliver the expected answer. But,
instead of opening it, he held it in his hand,
apparently absorbed in thought. At last he
spoke aloud, but more to himself than to her:

"My God! and is she then to die in this fearful
delirium? It must be can be only delirium
that prompts such wild and horrible confessions.
Mistress Barclay, I come from the presence of
the Indian woman appointed to die. It seems
she considered herself betrayed last evening by
her sentence not being respited, even after she
had made confession of sin enough to bring
down fire from heaven; and it seems to me the
passionate, impotent anger of this helpless creature
has turned to madness, for she appals me
by the additional revelations she has made to the
keepers during the night—to me this morning.
I could almost fancy that she thinks, by deepening
the guilt she confesses, to escape this last
dread punishment of all, as if, were one tithe of
what she says true, one could suffer such a
sinner to live. Yet to send her to death in such
a state of mad terror! What is to be done?"

"Yet Scripture says that we are not to suffer
witches in the land," said Lois, slowly.

"True; I would but ask for a respite till the
prayers of God's people had gone up for His
mercy. Some would pray for her, poor wretch
as she is. You would, Mistress Barclay, I am
sure?" But he said it in a questioning tone.