Curious, if True

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  Chapter 2

  It was hard up-hill work for Lois to win herself a place in thisfamily. Her aunt was a woman of narrow, strong affections. Her love forher husband, if ever she had any, was burnt out and dead long ago. Whatshe did for him she did from duty; but duty was not strong enough torestrain that little member the tongue; and Lois's heart often bled atthe continual flow of contemptuous reproof which Grace constantlyaddressed to her husband, even while she was sparing no pains ortrouble to minister to his bodily ease and comfort. It was more as arelief to herself that she spoke in this way, than with any desire thather speeches should affect him; and he was too deadened by illness tofeel hurt by them; or, it may be, the constant repetition of hersarcasms had made him indifferent; at any rate, so that he had his foodand his state of bodily warmth attended to, he very seldom seemed tocare much for anything else. Even his first flow of affection towardsLois was soon exhausted; he cared for her because she arranged hispillows well and skilfully, and because she could prepare new anddainty kinds of food for his sick appetite, but no longer for her ashis dead sister's child. Still he did care for her, and Lois was tooglad of this little hoard of affection to examine how or why it wasgiven. To him she could give pleasure, but apparently to no one else inthat household. Her aunt looked askance at her for many reasons: thefirst coming of Lois to Salem was inopportune, the expression ofdisapprobation on her face on that evening still lingered and rankledin Grace's memory, early prejudices, and feelings, and prepossessionsof the English girl were all on the side of what would now be calledChurch and State, what was then esteemed in that country asuperstitious observance of the directions of a Popish rubric, and aservile regard for the family of an oppressing and irreligious king.Nor is it to be supposed that Lois did not feel, and feel acutely, thewant of sympathy that all those with whom she was now living manifestedtowards the old hereditary loyalty (religious as well as politicalloyalty) in which she had been brought up. With her aunt and Manassehit was more than want of sympathy; it was positive, active antipathy toall the ideas Lois held most dear. The very allusion, howeverincidentally made, to the little old grey church at Barford, where herfather had preached so long,--the occasional reference to the troublesin which her own country had been distracted when she left,--and theadherence, in which she had been brought up, to the notion that theking could do no wrong, seemed to irritate Manasseh past endurance. Hewould get up from his reading, his constant employment when at home,and walk angrily about the room after Lois had said anything of thiskind, muttering to himself; and once he had even stopped before her,and in a passionate tone bade her not talk so like a fool. Now this wasvery different to his mother's sarcastic, contemptuous way of treatingall poor Lois's little loyal speeches. Grace would lead her on--atleast she did at first, till experience made Lois wiser--to express herthoughts on such subjects, till, just when the girl's heart wasopening, her aunt would turn round upon her with some bitter sneer thatroused all the evil feelings in Lois's disposition by its sting. NowManasseh seemed, through all his anger, to be so really grieved by whathe considered her error, that he went much nearer to convincing herthat there might be two sides to a question. Only this was a view, thatit appeared like treachery to her dead father's memory to entertain.

  Somehow, Lois felt instinctively that Manasseh was really friendlytowards her. He was little in the house; there was farming, and somekind of mercantile business to be transacted by him, as real head ofthe house; and as the season drew on, he went shooting and hunting inthe surrounding forests, with a daring which caused his mother to warnand reprove him in private, although to the neighbours she boastedlargely of her son's courage and disregard of danger. Lois did notoften walk out for the mere sake of walking, there was generally somehousehold errand to be transacted when any of the women of the familywent abroad; but once or twice she had caught glimpses of the dreary,dark wood, hemming in the cleared land on all sides,--the great woodwith its perpetual movement of branch and bough, and its solemn wail,that came into the very streets of Salem when certain winds blew,bearing the sound of the pine-trees clear upon the ears that hadleisure to listen. And from all accounts, this old forest, girdlinground the settlement, was full of dreaded and mysterious beasts, andstill more to be dreaded Indians, stealing in and out among theshadows, intent on bloody schemes against the Christian people;panther-streaked, shaven Indians, in league by their own confession, aswell as by the popular belief, with evil powers.

  Nattee, the old Indian servant, would occasionally make Lois's bloodrun cold as she and Faith and Prudence listened to the wild stories shetold them of the wizards of her race. It was often in the kitchen, inthe darkening evening, while some cooking process was going on, thatthe old Indian crone, sitting on her haunches by the bright red woodembers which sent up no flame, but a lurid light reversing the shadowsof all the faces around, told her weird stories while they wereawaiting the rising of the dough, perchance, out of which the householdbread had to be made. There ran through these stories always a ghastly,unexpressed suggestion of some human sacrifice being needed to completethe success of any incantation to the Evil One; and the poor oldcreature, herself believing and shuddering as she narrated her tale inbroken English, took a strange, unconscious pleasure in her power overher hearers--young girls of the oppressing race, which had brought herdown into a state little differing from slavery, and reduced her peopleto outcasts on the hunting-grounds which had belonged to her fathers.After such tales, it required no small effort on Lois's part to go out,at her aunt's command, into the common pasture round the town, andbring the cattle home at night. Who knew but what the double-headedsnake might start up from each blackberry-bush--that wicked, cunning,accursed creature in the service of the Indian wizards, that had suchpower over all those white maidens who met the eyes placed at eitherend of his long, sinuous, creeping body, so that loathe him, loathe theIndian race as they would, off they must go into the forest to seek butsome Indian man, and must beg to be taken into his wigwam, abjuringfaith and race for ever? Or there were spells--so Nattee said--hiddenabout the ground by the wizards, which changed that person's nature whofound them; so that, gentle and loving as they might have been before,thereafter they took no pleasure but in the cruel torments of others,and had a strange power given to them of causing such torments at theirwill. Once Nattee, speaking low to Lois, who was alone with her in thekitchen, whispered out her terrified belief that such a spell hadPrudence found; and when the Indian showed her arms to Lois, allpinched and black and blue by the impish child, the English girl beganto be afraid of her cousin as of one possessed. But it was not Natteealone, nor young imaginative girls alone, that believed in thesestories. We can afford to smile at them now; but our English ancestorsentertained superstitions of much the same character at the sameperiod, and with less excuse, as the circumstances surrounding themwere better known, and consequently more explicable by common sensethan the real mysteries of the deep, untrodden forests of New England.The gravest divines not only believed stories similar to that of thedouble-headed serpent, and other tales of witchcraft, but they madesuch narrations the subjects of preaching and prayer; and as cowardicemakes us all cruel, men who were blameless in many of the relations oflife, and even praiseworthy in some, became, from superstition, cruelpersecutors about this time, showing no mercy towards any one whom theybelieved to be in league with the Evil One.

  Faith was the person with whom the English girl was the most intimatelyassociated in her uncle's house. The two were about the same age, andcertain household employments were shared between them. They took it inturns to call in the cows, to make up the butter which had been churnedby Hosea, a stiff old out-door servant, in whom Grace Hickson placedgreat confidence; and each lassie had her great spinning-wheel forwool, and her lesser for flax, before a month had elapsed after Lois'scoming. Faith was a grave, silent person, never merry, sometimes verysad, though Lois was a long time in even guessing why. She would try inher sweet, simple fashion to cheer her cousin up, when the latte
r wasdepressed, by telling her old stories of English ways and life.Occasionally, Faith seemed to care to listen, occasionally she did notheed one word, but dreamed on. Whether of the past or of the future,who could tell?

  Stern old ministers came in to pay their pastoral visits. On suchoccasions, Grace Hickson would put on clean apron and clean cap, andmake them more welcome than she was ever seen to do no one else,bringing out the best provisions of her store, and setting of allbefore them. Also, the great Bible was brought forth, and Hosea andNattee summoned from their work to listen while the minister read achapter, and, as he read, expounded it at considerable length. Afterthis all knelt, while he, standing, lifted up his right hand, andprayed for all possible combinations of Christian men, for all possiblecases of spiritual need; and lastly, taking the individuals before him,he would put up a very personal supplication for each, according to hisnotion of their wants. At first Lois wondered at the aptitude of one ortwo prayers of this description to the outward circumstances of eachcase; but when she perceived that her aunt had usually a pretty longconfidential conversation with the minister in the early part of hisvisit, she became aware that he received both his impressions and hisknowledge through the medium of 'that godly woman, Grace Hickson;' andI am afraid she paid less regard to the prayer 'for the maiden fromanother land, who hath brought the errors of that land as a seed withher, even across the great ocean, and who is letting even now thelittle seeds shoot up into an evil tree, in which all unclean creaturesmay find shelter.'

  'I like the prayers of our Church better,' said Lois, one day to Faith.'No clergyman in England can pray his own words, and therefore it isthat he cannot judge of others so as to fit his prayers to what heesteems to be their case, as Mr. Tappau did this morning.'

  'I hate Mr. Tappau!' said Faith, shortly, a passionate flash of lightcoming out of her dark, heavy eyes.

  'Why so cousin? It seems to me as if he were a good man, although Ilike not his prayers.'

  Faith only repeated her words, 'I hate him.'

  Lois was sorry for this strong bad feeling; instinctively sorry, forshe was loving herself, delighted in being loved, and felt a jar runthrough her at every sign of want of love in others. But she did notknow what to say, and was silent at the time. Faith, too, went onturning her wheel with vehemence, but spoke never a word until herthread snapped, and then she pushed the wheel away hastily and left theroom.

  Then Prudence crept softly up to Lois's side. This strange child seemedto be tossed about by varying moods: to-day she was caressing andcommunicative, to-morrow she might be deceitful, mocking, and soindifferent to the pain or sorrows of others that you could call heralmost inhuman.

  'So thou dost not like Pastor Tappau's prayers?' she whispered.

  Lois was sorry to have been overheard, but she neither would nor couldtake back her words.

  'I like them not so well as the prayers I used to hear at home.'

  'Mother says thy home was with the ungodly. Nay, don't look at meso--it was not I that said it. I'm none so fond of praying myself, norof Pastor Tappau for that matter. But Faith cannot abide him, and Iknow why. Shall I tell thee, cousin Lois?'

  'No! Faith did not tell me, and she was the right person to give herown reasons.'

  'Ask her where young Mr. Nolan is gone to, and thou wilt hear. I haveseen Faith cry by the hour together about Mr. Nolan.'

  'Hush, child, hush!' said Lois, for she heard Faith's approaching step,and feared lest she should overhear what they were saying.

  The truth was that, a year or two before, there had been a greatstruggle in Salem village, a great division in the religious body, andPastor Tappau had been the leader of the more violent, and, ultimately,the successful party. In consequence of this, the less popularminister, Mr. Nolan, had had to leave the place. And him Faith Hicksonloved with all the strength of her passionate heart, although he neverwas aware of the attachment he had excited, and her own family were tooregardless of manifestations of mere feeling to ever observe the signsof any emotion on her part. But the old Indian servant Nattee saw andobserved them all. She knew, as well as if she had been told thereason, why Faith had lost all care about father or mother, brother andsister, about household work and daily occupation, nay, about theobservances of religion as well. Nattee read the meaning of the deepsmouldering of Faith's dislike to Pastor Tappau aright; the Indianwoman understood why the girl (whom alone of all the white people sheloved) avoided the old minister,--would hide in the wood-stack soonerthan be called in to listen to his exhortations and prayers. Withsavage, untutored people, it is not 'Love me, love my dog,' they areoften jealous of the creature beloved; but it is, 'Whom thou hatest Iwill hate;' and Nattee's feeling towards Pastor Tappau was even anexaggeration of the mute unspoken hatred of Faith.

  For a long time, the cause of her cousin's dislike and avoidance of theminister was a mystery to Lois; but the name of Nolan remained in hermemory whether she would or no, and it was more from girlish interestin a suspected love affair, than from any indifferent and heartlesscuriosity, that she could not help piecing together little speeches andactions, with Faith's interest in the absent banished minister, for anexplanatory clue, till not a doubt remained in her mind. And thiswithout any further communication with Prudence, for Lois declinedhearing any more on the subject from her, and so gave deep offence.

  Faith grew sadder and duller as the autumn drew on. She lost herappetite, her brown complexion became sallow and colourless, her darkeyes looked hollow and wild. The first of November was near at hand.Lois, in her instinctive, well-intentioned efforts to bring some lifeand cheerfulness into the monotonous household, had been telling Faithof many English customs, silly enough, no doubt, and which scarcelylighted up a flicker of interest in the American girl's mind. Thecousins were lying awake in their bed in the great unplastered room,which was in part store-room, in part bedroom. Lois was full ofsympathy for Faith that night. For long she had listened to hercousin's heavy, irrepressible sighs, in silence. Faith sighed becauseher grief was of too old a date for violent emotion or crying. Loislistened without speaking in the dark, quiet night hours, for a long,long time. She kept quite still, because she thought such vent forsorrow might relieve her cousin's weary heart. But when at length,instead of lying motionless, Faith seemed to be growing restless evento convulsive motions of her limbs, Lois began to speak, to talk aboutEngland, and the dear old ways at home, without exciting much attentionon Faith's part, until at length she fell upon the subject ofHallow-e'en, and told about customs then and long afterwards practisedin England, and that have scarcely yet died out in Scotland. As shetold of tricks she had often played, of the apple eaten facing amirror, of the dripping sheet, of the basins of water, of the nutsburning side by side, and many other such innocent ways of divination,by which laughing, trembling English maidens sought to see the form oftheir future husbands, if husbands they were to have, then Faithlistened breathlessly, asking short, eager questions, as if some ray ofhope had entered into her gloomy heart. Lois went on speaking, tellingher of all the stories that would confirm the truth of the second sightvouchsafed to all seekers in the accustomed methods, half believing,half incredulous herself, but desiring, above all things, to cheer uppoor Faith.

  Suddenly, Prudence rose up from her truckle-bed in the dim corner ofthe room. They had not thought that she was awake, but she had beenlistening long.

  'Cousin Lois may go out and meet Satan by the brook-side if she will,but if thou goest, Faith, I will tell mother--ay, and I will tellPastor Tappau, too. Hold thy stories, Cousin Lois, I am afeard of myvery life. I would rather never be wed at all, than feel the touch ofthe creature that would take the apple out of my hand, as I held itover my left shoulder.' The excited girl gave a loud scream of terrorat the image her fancy had conjured up. Faith and Lois sprang outtowards her, flying across the moonlit room in their white nightgowns.At the same instant, summoned by the same cry, Grace Hickson came toher child.

  'Hush! hush!' said Faith, authoritatively.
<
br />   'What is it, my wench?' asked Grace. While Lois, feeling as if she haddone all the mischief, kept silence.

  'Take her away, take her away!' screamed Prudence. 'Look over hershoulder--her left shoulder--the Evil One is there now, I see himstretching over for the half-bitten apple.'

  'What is this she says?' said Grace, austerely.

  'She is dreaming,' said Faith; 'Prudence, hold thy tongue.' And shepinched the child severely, while Lois more tenderly tried to soothethe alarms she felt that she had conjured up.

  'Be quiet, Prudence,' said she, 'and go to sleep. I will stay by theetill thou hast gone off into slumber.'

  'No, go! go away,' sobbed Prudence, who was really terrified at first,but was now assuming more alarm: than she felt, if from the pleasureshe received at perceiving herself the centre of attention. 'Faithshall stay by me, not you, wicked English witch!'

  So Faith sat by her sister; and Grace, displeased and perplexed,withdrew to her own bed, purposing to inquire more into the matter inthe morning. Lois only hoped it might all be forgotten by that time,and resolved never to talk again of such things. But an event happenedin the remaining hours of the night to change the current of affairs.While Grace had been absent from her room, her husband had had anotherparalytic stroke: whether he, too, had been alarmed by that eldritchscream no one could ever know. By the faint light of the rush candleburning at the bedside, his wife perceived that a great change hadtaken place in his aspect on her return: the irregular breathing camealmost like snorts--the end was drawing near. The family were roused,and all help given that either the doctor or experience could suggest.But before the late November morning light, all was ended for RalphHickson.

  The whole of the ensuing day, they sat or moved in darkened rooms, andspoke few words, and those below their breath. Manasseh kept at home,regretting his father, no doubt, but showing little emotion. Faith wasthe child that bewailed her loss most grievously; she had a warm heart,hidden away somewhere under her moody exterior, and her father hadshown her far more passive kindness than ever her mother had done, forGrace made distinct favourites of Manasseh, her only son, and Prudence,her youngest child. Lois was about as unhappy as any of them, for shehad felt strongly drawn towards her uncle as her kindest friend, andthe sense of his loss renewed the old sorrow she had experienced at herown parents' death. But she had no time and no place to cry in. On herdevolved many of the cares, which it would have seemed indecorous inthe nearer relatives to interest themselves in enough to take an activepart: the change required in their dress, the household preparationsfor the sad feast of the funeral--Lois had to arrange all under heraunt's stern direction.

  But a day or two afterwards--the last day before the funeral--she wentinto the yard to fetch in some fagots for the oven; it was a solemn,beautiful, starlit evening, and some sudden sense of desolation in themidst of the vast universe thus revealed touched Lois's heart, and shesat down behind the woodstack, and cried very plentiful tears.

  She was startled by Manasseh, who suddenly turned the corner of thestack, and stood before her.

  'Lois crying!'

  'Only a little,' she said, rising up, and gathering her bundle offagots, for she dreaded being questioned by her grim, impassive cousin.To her surprise, he laid his hand on her arm, and said:

  'Stop one minute. Why art thou crying, cousin?'

  'I don't know,' she said, just like a child questioned in like manner;and she was again on the point of weeping.

  'My father was very kind to thee, Lois; I do not wonder that thougrievest after him. But the Lord who taketh away can restore tenfold. Iwill be as kind as my father--yea, kinder. This is not a time to talkof marriage and giving in marriage. But after we have buried our dead,I wish to speak to thee.'

  Lois did not cry now, but she shrank with affright. What did her cousinmean? She would far rather that he had been angry with her forunreasonable grieving, for folly.

  She avoided him carefully--as carefully as she could, without seemingto dread him--for the next few days. Sometimes she thought it must havebeen a bad dream; for if there had been no English lover in the case,no other man in the whole world, she could never have thought ofManasseh as her husband; indeed, till now, there had been nothing inhis words or actions to suggest such an idea. Now it had beensuggested, there was no telling how much she loathed him. He might begood, and pious--he doubtless was--but his dark fixed eyes, moving soslowly and heavily, his lank black hair, his grey coarse skin, all madeher dislike him now--all his personal ugliness and ungainliness struckon her senses with a jar, since those few words spoken behind thehaystack.

  She knew that sooner or later the time must come for further discussionof this subject; but, like a coward, she tried to put it off, byclinging to her aunt's apron-string, for she was sure that GraceHickson had far different views for her only son. As, indeed, she had,for she was an ambitious, as well as a religious woman; and by an earlypurchase of land in Salem village, the Hicksons had become wealthypeople, without any great exertions of their own; partly, also, by thesilent process of accumulation, for they had never cared to changetheir manner of living from the time when it had been suitable to a farsmaller income than that which they at present enjoyed. So much forworldly circumstances. As for their worldly character, it stood ashigh. No one could say a word against any of their habits or actions.The righteousness and godliness were patent to every one's eyes. SoGrace Hickson thought herself entitled to pick and choose among themaidens, before she should meet with one fitted to be Manasseh's wife.None in Salem came up to her imaginary standard. She had it in her mindeven at this very time--so soon after her husband's death--to go toBoston, and take counsel with the leading ministers there, with worthyMr. Cotton Mather at their head, and see if they could tell her of awell-favoured and godly young maiden in their congregations worthy ofbeing the wife of her son. But, besides good looks and godliness, thewench must have good birth, and good wealth, or Grace Hickson wouldhave put her contemptuously on one side. When once this paragon wasfound, the ministers had approved, Grace anticipated no difficulty onher son's part. So Lois was right in feeling that her aunt woulddislike any speech of marriage between Manasseh and herself.

  But the girl was brought to bay one day in this wise. Manasseh hadridden forth on some business, which every one said would occupy himthe whole day; but, meeting the man with whom he had to transact hisaffairs, he returned earlier than any one expected. He missed Lois fromthe keeping-room where his sisters were spinning, almost immediately.His mother sat by at her knitting--he could see Nattee in the kitchenthrough the open door. He was too reserved to ask where Lois was, buthe quietly sought till he found her--in the great loft, already piledwith winter stores of fruit and vegetables. Her aunt had sent her thereto examine the apples one by one, and pick out such as were unsound,for immediate use. She was stooping down, and intent upon this work,and was hardly aware of his approach, until she lifted up her head andsaw him standing close before her. She dropped the apple she washolding, went a little paler than her wont, and faced him in silence.

  'Lois,' he said, 'thou rememberest the words that I spoke while we yetmourned over my father. I think that I am called to marriage now, asthe head of this household. And I have seen no maiden so pleasant in mysight as thou art, Lois!' He tried to take her hand. But she put itbehind her with a childish shake of her head, and, half-crying, said:

  'Please, Cousin Manasseh, do not say this to me. I dare say you oughtto be married, being the head of the household now; but I don't want tobe married. I would rather not.'

  'That is well spoken,' replied he, frowning a little, nevertheless. 'Ishould not like to take to wife an over-forward maiden, ready to jumpat wedlock. Besides, the congregation might talk, if we were to bemarried too soon after my father's death. We have, perchance, saidenough, even now. But I wished thee to have thy mind set at ease as tothy future well-doing. Thou wilt have leisure to think of it, and tobring thy mind more fully round to it.' Again he held out his hand.This time sh
e took hold of it with a free, frank gesture.

  'I owe you somewhat for your kindness to me ever since I came, CousinManasseh; and I have no way of paying you but by telling you truly Ican love you as a dear friend, if you will let me, but never as awife.'

  He flung her hand away, but did not take his eyes off her face, thoughhis glance was lowering and gloomy. He muttered something which she didnot quite hear, and so she went on bravely although she kept tremblinga little, and had much ado to keep from crying.

  'Please let me tell you all. There was a young man in Barford--nay,Manasseh, I cannot speak if you are so angry; it is hard work to tellyou any how--he said that he wanted to marry me; but I was poor, andhis father would have none of it, and I do not want to marry any one;but if I did, it would be--' Her voice dropped, and her blushes toldthe rest. Manasseh stood looking at her with sullen, hollow eyes, thathad a glittering touch of wilderness in them, and then he said:

  'It is borne in upon me--verily I see it as in a vision--that thou mustbe my spouse, and no other man's. Thou canst not escape what isforedoomed. Months ago, when I set myself to read the old godly booksin which my soul used to delight until thy coming, I saw no letters ofprinters' ink marked on the page, but I saw a gold and ruddy type ofsome unknown language, the meaning whereof was whispered into my soul;it was, "Marry Lois! marry Lois!" And when my father died, I knew itwas the beginning of the end. It is the Lord's will, Lois, and thoucanst not escape from it.' And again he would have taken her hand anddrawn her towards him. But this time she eluded him with readymovement.

  'I do not acknowledge it be the Lord's will, Manasseh,' said she. 'Itis not "borne in upon me," as you Puritans call it, that I am to beyour wife. I am none so set upon wedlock as to take you, even thoughthere be no other chance for me. For I do not care for you as I oughtto care for my husband. But I could have cared for you very much as acousin--as a kind cousin.'

  She stopped speaking; she could not choose the right words with whichto speak to him of her gratitude and friendliness, which yet couldnever be any feeling nearer and dearer, no more than two parallel linescan ever meet.

  But he was so convinced, by what he considered the spirit of prophecy,that Lois was to be his wife, that he felt rather more indignant atwhat he considered to be her resistance to the preordained decree, thanreally anxious as to the result. Again he tried to convince her thatneither he nor she had any choice in the matter, by saying:

  'The voice said unto me "Marry Lois," and I said, "I will, Lord."'

  'But,' Lois replied, 'the voice, as you call it, has never spoken sucha word to me.'

  'Lois,' he answered, solemnly, 'it will speak. And then wilt thou obey,even as Samuel did?'

  'No, indeed I cannot!' she answered, briskly. 'I may take a dream to betruth, and hear my own fancies, if I think about them too long. But Icannot marry any one from obedience.'

  'Lois, Lois, thou art as yet unregenerate; but I have seen thee in avision as one of the elect, robed in white. As yet thy faith is tooweak for thee to obey meekly, but it shall not always be so. I willpray that thou mayest see thy preordained course. Meanwhile, I willsmooth away all worldly obstacles.'

  'Cousin Manasseh! Cousin Manasseh!' cried Lois after him, as he wasleaving the room, 'come back. I cannot put it in strong enough words.Manasseh, there is no power in heaven or earth that can make me lovethee enough to marry thee, or to wed thee without such love. And this Isay solemnly, because it is better that this should end at once.'

  For a moment he was staggered; then he lifted up his hands, and said,

  'God forgive thee thy blasphemy! Remember Hazael, who said, "Is thyservant a dog, that he should do this great thing?" and went straightand did it, because his evil courses were fixed and appointed for himfrom before the foundation of the world. And shall not thy paths belaid out among the godly as it hath been foretold to me?'

  He went away; and for a minute or two Lois felt as if his words mustcome true, and that, struggle as she would, hate her doom as she would,she must become his wife; and, under the circumstances, many a girlwould have succumbed to her apparent fate. Isolated from all previousconnections, hearing no word from England, living in the heavy,monotonous routine of a family with one man for head, and this manesteemed a hero by most of those around him, simply because he was theonly man in the family,--these facts alone would have formed strongpresumptions that most girls would have yielded to the offers of such aone. But, besides this, there was much to tell upon the imagination inthose days, in that place, and time. It was prevalently believed thatthere were manifestations of spiritual influence--of the directinfluence both of good and bad spirits--constantly to be perceived inthe course of men's lives. Lots were drawn, as guidance from the Lord;the Bible was opened, and the leaves allowed to fall apart, and thefirst text the eye fell upon was supposed to be appointed from above adirection. Sounds were heard that could not be accounted for; they weremade by the evil spirits not yet banished from the desert places ofwhich they had so long held possession. Sights, inexplicable andmysterious, were dimly seen--Satan, in some shape, seeking whom hemight devour. And at the beginning of the long winter season, suchwhispered tales, such old temptations and hauntings, and devilishterrors, were supposed to be peculiarly rife. Salem was, as it were,snowed up, and left to prey upon itself. The long, dark evenings, thedimly-lighted rooms, the creaking passages, where heterogeneousarticles were piled away out of reach of the keen-piercing frost, andwhere occasionally, in the dead of night, a sound was heard, as of someheavy falling body, when, next morning, everything appeared to be inits right place--so accustomed are we to measure noises by comparisonwith themselves, and not with the absolute stillness of thenight-season--the white mist, coming nearer and nearer to the windowsevery evening in strange shapes, like phantoms,--all these, and manyother circumstances, such as the distant fall of mighty trees in themysterious forests girdling them round, the faint whoop and cry of someIndian seeking his camp, and unwittingly nearer to the white men'ssettlement than either he or they would have liked could they havechosen, the hungry yells of the wild beasts approaching thecattle-pens,--these were the things which made that winter life inSalem, in the memorable time of 1691-2, seem strange, and haunted, andterrific to many: peculiarly weird and awful to the English girl in herfirst year's sojourn in America.

  And now imagine Lois worked upon perpetually by Manasseh's convictionthat it was decreed that she should be his wife, and you will see thatshe was not without courage and spirit to resist as she did, steadily,firmly, and yet sweetly. Take one instance out of many, when her nerveswere subjected to a shock, slight in relation it is true, but thenremember that she had been all day, and for many days, shut up withindoors, in a dull light, that at mid-day was almost dark with along-continued snow-storm. Evening was coming on, and the wood fire wasmore cheerful than any of the human beings surrounding it; themonotonous whirr of the smaller spinning-wheels had been going on allday, and the store of flax down stairs was nearly exhausted, when GraceHickson bade Lois fetch down some more from the store-room, before thelight so entirely waned away that it could not be found without acandle, and a candle it would be dangerous to carry into that apartmentfull of combustible materials, especially at this time of hard frost,when every drop of water was locked up and bound in icy hardness. SoLois went, half-shrinking from the long passage that led to the stairsleading up into the storeroom, for it was in this passage that thestrange night sounds were heard, which every one had begun to notice,and speak about in lowered tones. She sang, however, as she went, 'tokeep her courage up'--sang, however, in a subdued voice, the eveninghymn she had so often sung in Barford church:

  'Glory to Thee, my God, this night--'

  and so it was, I suppose, that she never heard the breathing or motionof any creature near her till, just as she was loading herself withflax to carry down, she heard some one--it was Manasseh--say close toher ear:

  'Has the voice spoken yet? Speak, Lois! Has the voice spoken yet tothee--that sp
eaketh to me day and night, "Marry Lois?"'

  She started and turned a little sick, but spoke almost directly in abrave, clear manner:

  'No! Cousin Manasseh. And it never will.'

  'Then I must wait yet longer,' he replied, hoarsely, as if to himself.'But all submission--all submission.'

  At last a break came upon the monotony of the long, dark winter. Theparishioners once more raised the discussion whether--the parishextending as it did--it was not absolutely necessary for Pastor Tappauto have help. This question had been mooted once before; and thenPastor Tappau had acquiesced in the necessity, and all had gone onsmoothly for some months after the appointment of his assistant, untila feeling had sprung up on the part of the elder minister, which mighthave been called jealousy of the younger, if so godly a man as PastorTappau could have been supposed to entertain so evil a passion. Howeverthat might be, two parties were speedily formed, the younger and moreardent being in favour of Mr. Nolan, the elder and morepersistent--and, at the time, the more numerous--clinging to the oldgrey-headed, dogmatic Mr. Tappau, who had married them, baptized theirchildren, and was to them literally as a 'pillar of the church.' So Mr.Nolan left Salem, carrying away with him, possibly, more hearts thanthat of Faith Hickson's; but certainly she had never been the samecreature since.

  But now--Christmas, 1691--one or two of the older members of thecongregation being dead, and some who were younger men having come tosettle in Salem--Mr. Tappau being also older, and, some charitablysupposed, wiser--a fresh effort had been made, and Mr. Nolan wasreturning to labour in ground apparently smoothed over. Lois had takena keen interest in all the proceedings for Faith's sake,--far more thanthe latter did for herself, any spectator would have said. Faith'swheel never went faster or slower, her thread never broke, her colournever came, her eyes were never uplifted with sudden interest, all thetime these discussions respecting Mr. Nolan's return were going on. ButLois, after the hint given by Prudence, had found a clue to many a sighand look of despairing sorrow, even without the help of Nattee'simprovised songs, in which, under strange allegories, the helpless loveof her favourite was told to ears heedless of all meaning, except thoseof the tender-hearted and sympathetic Lois. Occasionally, she heard astrange chant of the old Indian woman's--half in her own language, halfin broken English--droned over some simmering pipkin, from which thesmell was, to say the least, unearthly. Once, on perceiving this odourin the keeping-room, Grace Hickson suddenly exclaimed:

  'Nattee is at her heathen ways again; we shall have some mischiefunless she is stayed.'

  But Faith, moving quicker than ordinary, said something about putting astop to it, and so forestalled her mother's evident intention of goinginto the kitchen. Faith shut the door between the two rooms, andentered upon some remonstrance with Nattee; but no one could hear thewords used. Faith and Nattee seemed more bound together by love andcommon interest, than any other two among the self-containedindividuals comprising this household. Lois sometimes felt as if herpresence as a third interrupted some confidential talk between hercousin and the old servant. And yet she was fond of Faith, and couldalmost think that Faith liked her more than she did either mother,brother, or sister; for the first two were indifferent as to anyunspoken feelings, while Prudence delighted in discovering them only tomake an amusement to herself out of them.

  One day Lois was sitting by herself at her sewing table, while Faithand Nattee were holding one of the secret conclaves from which Loisfelt herself to be tacitly excluded, when the outer door opened, and atall, pale young man, in the strict professional habit of a minister,entered. Lois sprang up with a smile and a look of welcome for Faith'ssake, for this must be the Mr. Nolan whose name had been on the tongueof every one for days, and who was, as Lois knew, expected to arrivethe day before.

  He seemed half surprised at the glad alacrity with which he wasreceived by this stranger: possibly he had not heard of the Englishgirl, who was an inmate in the house where formerly he had seen onlygrave, solemn, rigid, or heavy faces, and had been received with astiff form of welcome, very different from the blushing, smiling,dimpled looks that innocently met him with the greeting almost of anold acquaintance. Lois having placed a chair for him, hastened out tocall Faith, never doubting but that the feeling which her cousinentertained for the young pastor was mutual, although it might beunrecognised in its full depth by either.

  'Faith!' said she, bright and breathless. 'Guess--no,' checking herselfto an assumed unconsciousness of any particular importance likely to beaffixed to her words, 'Mr. Nolan, the new pastor, is in thekeeping-room. He has asked for my aunt and Manasseh. My aunt is gone tothe prayer meeting at Pastor Tappau's, and Manasseh is away.' Lois wenton speaking to give Faith time, for the girl had become deadly white atthe intelligence, while, at the same time, her eyes met the keen,cunning eyes of the old Indian with a peculiar look of half-wonderingawe, while Nattee's looks expressed triumphant satisfaction.

  'Go,' said Lois, smoothing Faith's hair, and kissing the white, coldcheek, 'or he will wonder why no one comes to see him, and perhapsthink he is not welcome.' Faith went without another word into thekeeping-room, and shut the door of communication. Nattee and Lois wereleft together. Lois felt as happy as if some piece of good fortune hadbefallen herself. For the time, her growing dread of Manasseh's wild,ominous persistence in his suit, her aunt's coldness, her ownloneliness, were all forgotten, and she could almost have danced withjoy. Nattee laughed aloud, and talked and chuckled to herself: 'OldIndian woman great mystery. Old Indian woman sent hither and thither;go where she is told, where she hears with her ears. But old Indianwoman'--and here she drew herself up, and the expression of her facequite changed--'know how to call, and then white man must come; and oldIndian have spoken never a word, and white man have hear nothing withhis ears.' So, the old crone muttered.

  All this time, things were going on very differently in thekeeping-room to what Lois imagined. Faith sat stiller even than usual;her eyes downcast, her words few. A quick observer might have noticed acertain tremulousness about her hands, and an occasional twitchingthroughout all her frame. But Pastor Nolan was not a keen observer uponthis occasion; he was absorbed with his own little wonders andperplexities. His wonder was that of a carnal man--who that prettystranger might be, who had seemed, on his first coming, so glad to seehim, but had vanished instantly, apparently not to reappear. And,indeed, I am not sure if his perplexity was not that of a carnal manrather than that of a godly minister, for this was his dilemma. It wasthe custom of Salem (as we have already seen) for the minister, onentering a household for the visit which, among other people and inother times, would have been termed a 'morning call,' to put up aprayer for the eternal welfare of the family under whose roof-tree hewas. Now this prayer was expected to be adapted to the individualcharacter, joys, sorrows, wants, and failings of every member present;and here was he, a young pastor, alone with a young woman, and hethought--vain thoughts, perhaps, but still very natural--that theimplied guesses at her character, involved in the minute supplicationsabove described, would be very awkward in a tete-a-tete prayer; so,whether it was his wonder or his perplexity, I do not know, but he didnot contribute much to the conversation for some time, and at last, bya sudden burst of courage and impromptu hit, he cut the Gordian knot bymaking the usual proposal for prayer, and adding to it a request thatthe household might be summoned. In came Lois, quiet and decorous; incame Nattee, all one impassive, stiff piece of wood,--no look ofintelligence or trace of giggling near her countenance. Solemnlyrecalling each wandering thought, Pastor Nolan knelt in the midst ofthese three to pray. He was a good and truly religious man, whose namehere is the only thing disguised, and played his part bravely in theawful trial to which he was afterwards subjected; and if at the time,before he went through his fiery persecutions, the human fancies whichbeset all young hearts came across his, we at this day know that thesefancies are no sin. But now he prays in earnest, prays so heartily forhimself, with such a sense of his own spiritual need and spiritualfa
ilings, that each one of his hearers feels as if a prayer and asupplication had gone up for each of them. Even Nattee muttered the fewwords she knew of the Lord's Prayer; gibberish though the disjointednouns and verbs might be, the poor creature said them because she wasstirred to unwonted reverence. As for Lois, she rose up comforted andstrengthened, as no special prayers of Pastor Tappau had ever made herfeel. But Faith was sobbing, sobbing aloud, almost hysterically, andmade no effort to rise, but lay on her outstretched arms spread outupon the settle. Lois and Pastor Nolan looked at each other for aninstant. Then Lois said:

  'Sir, you must go. My cousin has not been strong for some time, anddoubtless she needs more quiet than she has had to-day.'

  Pastor Nolan bowed, and left the house; but in a moment he returned.Half opening the door, but without entering, he said:

  'I come back to ask, if perchance I may call this evening to inquirehow young Mistress Hickson finds herself?'

  But Faith did not hear this; she was sobbing louder than ever.

  'Why did you send him away, Lois? I should have been better directly,and it is so long since I have seen him.'

  She had her face hidden as she uttered these words, and Lois could nothear them distinctly. She bent her head down by her cousin's on thesettle, meaning to ask her to repeat what she had said. But in theirritation of the moment, and prompted possibly by some incipientjealousy, Faith pushed Lois away so violently that the latter was hurtagainst the hard, sharp corner of the wooden settle. Tears came intoher eyes; not so much because her cheek was bruised, as because of thesurprised pain she felt at this repulse from the cousin towards whomshe was feeling so warmly and kindly. Just for the moment, Lois was asangry as any child could have been; but some of the words of PastorNolan's prayer yet rang in her ears, and she thought it would be ashame if she did not let them sink into her heart. She dared not,however, stoop again to caress Faith, but stood quietly by her,sorrowfully waiting, until a step at the outer door caused Faith torise quickly, and rush into the kitchen, leaving Lois to bear the bruntof the new-comer. It was Manasseh, returned from hunting. He had beentwo days away, in company with other young men belonging to Salem. Itwas almost the only occupation which could draw him out of his secludedhabits. He stopped suddenly at the door on seeing Lois, and alone, forshe had avoided him of late in every possible way.

  'Where is my mother?'

  'At a prayer meeting at Pastor Tappau's. She has taken Prudence. Faithhas left the room this minute. I will call her.' And Lois was goingtowards the kitchen, when he placed himself between her and the door.

  'Lois,' said he, 'the time is going by, and I cannot wait much longer.The visions come thick upon me, and my sight grows clearer and clearer.Only this last night, camping out in the woods, I saw in my soul,between sleeping and waking, the spirit come and offer thee two lots,and the colour of the one was white, like a bride's, and the other wasblack and red, which is, being interpreted, a violent death. And whenthou didst choose the latter the spirit said unto me, 'Come!' and Icame, and did as I was bidden. I put it on thee with mine own hands, asit is preordained, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice and be mywife. And when the black and red dress fell to the ground, thou werteven as a corpse three days old. Now, be advised, Lois, in time. Lois,my cousin, I have seen it in a vision, and my soul cleaveth untothee--I would fain spare thee.'

  He was really in earnest--in passionate earnest; whatever his visions,as he called them, might be, he believed in them, and this belief gavesomething of unselfishness to his love for Lois. This she felt at thismoment, if she had never done so before, and it seemed like a contrastto the repulse she had just met with from his sister. He had drawn nearher, and now he took hold of her hand, repeating in his wild, pathetic,dreamy way:

  'And the voice said unto me, "Marry Lois!"' And Lois was more inclinedto soothe and reason with him than she had ever been before, since thefirst time of his speaking to her on the subject,--when GraceHickson--and Prudence entered the room from the passage. They hadreturned from the prayer meeting by the back way, which had preventedthe sound of their approach from being heard.

  But Manasseh did not stir or look round; he kept his eyes fixed onLois, as if to note the effect of his words. Grace came hastilyforwards, and lifting up her strong right arm, smote their joined handsin twain, in spite of the fervour of Manasseh's grasp.

  'What means this?' said she, addressing herself more to Lois than toher son, anger flashing out of her deep-set eyes.

  Lois waited for Manasseh to speak. He seemed, but a few minutes before,to be more gentle and less threatening than he had been of late on thissubject, and she did not wish to irritate him. But he did not speak,and her aunt stood angrily waiting for an answer.

  'At any rate,' thought Lois, 'it will put an end to the thought in hismind when my aunt speaks out about it.'

  'My cousin seeks me in marriage,' said Lois.

  'Thee!' and Grace struck out in the direction of her niece with agesture of supreme contempt. But now Manasseh spoke forth:

  'Yea! it is preordained. The voice has said it, and the spirit hasbrought her to me as my bride.'

  'Spirit! an evil spirit then. A good spirit would have chosen out forthee a godly maiden of thine own people, and not a prelatist and astranger like this girl. A pretty return, Mistress Lois, for all ourkindness.'

  'Indeed, Aunt Hickson, I have done all I could--Cousin Manasseh knowsit--to show him I can be none of his. I have told him,' said she,blushing, but determined to say the whole out at once, 'that I am allbut troth-plight to a young man of our own village at home; and, evenputting all that on one side, I wish not for marriage at present.'

  'Wish rather for conversion and regeneration. Marriage is an unseemlyword in the mouth of a maiden. As for Manasseh, I will take reason withhim in private; and, meanwhile, if thou hast spoken truly, throw notthyself in his path, as I have noticed thou hast done but too often oflate.'

  Lois's heart burnt within her at this unjust accusation, for she knewhow much she had dreaded and avoided her cousin, and she almost lookedto him to give evidence that her aunt's last words were not true. But,instead, he recurred to his one fixed idea, and said:

  'Mother, listen! If I wed not Lois, both she and I die within the year.I care not for life; before this, as you know, I have sought for death'(Grace shuddered, and was for a moment subdued by some recollection ofpast horror); 'but if Lois were my wife I should live, and she would bespared from what is the other lot. That whole vision grows clearer tome day by day. Yet, when I try to know whether I am one of the elect,all is dark. The mystery of Free-Will and Fore-Knowledge is a mysteryof Satan's devising, not of God's.'

  'Alas, my son! Satan is abroad among the brethren even now; but let theold vexed topics rest. Sooner than fret thyself again, thou shalt haveLois to be thy wife, though my heart was set far differently for thee.'

  'No, Manasseh,' said Lois. 'I love you well as a cousin, but wife ofyours I can never be. Aunt Hickson, it is not well to delude him so. Isay, if ever I marry man, I am troth-plight to one in England.'

  'Tush, child! I am your guardian in my dead husband's place. Thouthinkest thyself so great a prize that I would clutch at thee whetheror no, I doubt not. I value thee not, save as a medicine for Manasseh,if his mind get disturbed again, as I have noted signs of late.'

  This, then, was the secret explanation of much that had alarmed her inher cousin's manner: and if Lois had been a physician of modern times,she might have traced somewhat of the same temperament in his sistersas well--in Prudence's lack of natural feeling and impish delight inmischief, in Faith's vehemence of unrequited love. But as yet Lois didnot know, any more than Faith, that the attachment of the latter to Mr.Nolan was not merely unreturned, but even unperceived, by the youngminister.

  He came, it is true--came often to the house, sat long with the family,and watched them narrowly, but took no especial notice of Faith. Loisperceived this, and grieved over it; Nattee perceived it, and wasindignant at it, long before Faith slow
ly acknowledged it to herself,and went to Nattee the Indian woman, rather than to Lois her cousin,for sympathy and counsel.

  'He cares not for me,' said Faith. 'He cares more for Lois's littlefinger than for my whole body,' the girl moaned out in the bitter painof jealousy.

  'Hush thee, hush thee, prairie bird! How can he build a nest, when theold bird has got all the moss and the feathers? Wait till the Indianhas found means to send the old bird flying far away.' This was themysterious comfort Nattee gave.

  Grace Hickson took some kind of charge over Manasseh that relieved Loisof much of her distress at his strange behaviour. Yet at times heescaped from his mother's watchfulness, and in such opportunities hewould always seek Lois, entreating her, as of old, to marryhim--sometimes pleading his love for her, oftener speaking wildly ofhis visions and the voices which he heard foretelling a terriblefuturity.

  We have now to do with events which were taking place in Salem, beyondthe narrow circle of the Hickson family; but as they only concern us inas far as they bore down in their consequences on the future of thosewho formed part of it, I shall go over the narrative very briefly. Thetown of Salem had lost by death, within a very short time preceding thecommencement of my story, nearly all its venerable men and leadingcitizens--men of ripe wisdom and sound counsel. The people had hardlyyet recovered from the shock of their loss, as one by one thepatriarchs of the primitive little community had rapidly followed eachother to the grave. They had been beloved as fathers, and looked up toas judges in the land. The first bad effect of their loss was seen inthe heated dissension which sprang up between Pastor Tappau and thecandidate Nolan. It had been apparently healed over; but Mr. Nolan hadnot been many weeks in Salem, after his second coming, before thestrife broke out afresh, and alienated many for life who had till thenbeen bound together by the ties of friendship or relationship. Even inthe Hickson family something of this feeling soon sprang up; Gracebeing a vehement partisan of the elder pastor's more gloomy doctrines,while Faith was a passionate, if a powerless, advocate of Mr. Nolan.Manasseh's growing absorption in his own fancies, and imagined gift ofprophecy, making him comparatively indifferent to all outward events,did not tend to either the fulfilment of his visions, or theelucidation of the dark mysterious doctrines over which he had ponderedtoo long for the health either of his mind or body; while Prudencedelighted in irritating every one by her advocacy of the views ofthinking to which they were most opposed, and retailing every gossipingstory to the person most likely to disbelieve, and be indignant at whatshe told, with an assumed unconsciousness of any such effect to beproduced. There was much talk of the congregational difficulties anddissensions being carried up to the general court, and each partynaturally hoped that, if such were the course of events, the opposingpastor and that portion of the congregation which adhered to him mightbe worsted in the struggle.

  Such was the state of things in the township when, one day towards theend of the month of February, Grace Hickson returned from the weeklyprayer meeting; which it was her custom to attend at Pastor Tappau'shouse, in a state of extreme excitement. On her entrance into her ownhouse she sat down, rocking her body backwards and forwards, andpraying to herself: both Faith and Lois stopped their spinning, inwonder at her agitation, before either of them ventured to address her.At length Faith rose, and spoke:

  'Mother, what is it? Hath anything happened of an evil nature?'

  The brave, stern, old woman's face was blenched, and her eyes werealmost set in horror, as she prayed; the great drops running down hercheeks.

  It seemed almost as if she had to make a struggle to recover her senseof the present homely accustomed life, before she could find words toanswer:

  'Evil nature! Daughters, Satan is abroad,--is close to us. I have thisvery hour seen him afflict two innocent children, as of old he troubledthose who were possessed by him in Judea. Hester and Abigail Tappauhave been contorted and convulsed by him and his servants into suchshapes as I am afeard to think on; and when their father, godly Mr.Tappau, began to exhort and to pray, their howlings were like the wildbeasts of the field. Satan is of a truth let loose amongst us. Thegirls kept calling upon him as if he were even then present among us.Abigail screeched out that he stood at my very back in the guise of ablack man; and truly, as I turned round at her words, I saw a creaturelike a shadow vanishing, and turned all of a cold sweat. Who knowswhere he is now? Faith, lay straws across on the door-sill.'

  'But if he be already entered in,' asked Prudence, 'may not that makeit difficult for him to depart?'

  Her mother, taking no notice of her question, went on rocking herself,and praying, till again she broke out into narration:

  'Reverend Mr. Tappau says, that only last night he heard a sound as ofa heavy body dragged all through the house by some strong power; onceit was thrown against his bedroom door, and would, doubtless, havebroken it in, if he had not prayed fervently and aloud at that verytime; and a shriek went up at his prayer that made his hair stand onend; and this morning all the crockery in the house was found brokenand piled up in the middle of the kitchen floor; and Pastor Tappausays, that as soon as he began to ask a blessing on the morning's meal,Abigail and Hester cried out, as if some one was pinching them. Lord,have mercy upon us all! Satan is of a truth let loose.'

  'They sound like the old stories I used to hear in Barford,' said Lois,breathless with affright.

  Faith seemed less alarmed; but then her dislike to Pastor Tappau was sogreat, that she could hardly sympathise with any misfortunes thatbefell him or his family.

  Towards evening Mr. Nolan came in. In general, so high did party spiritrun, Grace Hickson only tolerated his visits, finding herself oftenengaged at such hours, and being too much abstracted in thought to showhim the ready hospitality which was one of her most prominent virtues.But to-day, both as bringing the latest intelligence of the new horrorssprung up in Salem, and as being one of the Church militant (or whatthe Puritans considered as equivalent to the Church militant) againstSatan, he was welcomed by her in an unusual manner.

  He seemed oppressed with the occurrences of the day: at first itappeared to be almost a relief to him to sit still, and cogitate uponthem, and his hosts were becoming almost impatient for him to saysomething more than mere monosyllables, when he began:

  'Such a day as this, I pray that I may never see again. It is as if thedevils whom our Lord banished into the herd of swine, had beenpermitted to come again upon the earth. And I would it were only thelost spirits who were tormenting us; but I much fear, that certain ofthose whom we have esteemed as God's people have sold their souls toSatan, for the sake of a little of his evil power, whereby they mayafflict others for a time. Elder Sherringham hath lost this very day agood and valuable horse, wherewith he used to drive his family tomeeting, his wife being bedridden.'

  'Perchance,' said Lois, 'the horse died of some natural disease.'

  'True,' said Pastor Nolan; 'but I was going on to say, that as heentered into his house, full of dolour at the loss of his beast, amouse ran in before him so sudden that it almost tripped him up, thoughan instant before there was no such thing to be seen; and he caught atit with his shoe and hit it, and it cried out like a human creature inpain, and straight ran up the chimney, caring nothing for the hot flameand smoke.'

  Manasseh listened greedily to all this story, and when it was ended hesmote upon his breast, and prayed aloud for deliverance from the powerof the Evil One; and he continually went on praying at intervalsthrough the evening, with every mark of abject terror on his face andin his manner--he, the bravest, most daring hunter in all thesettlement. Indeed, all the family huddled together in silent fear,scarcely finding any interest in the usual household occupations. Faithand Lois sat with arms entwined, as in days before the former hadbecome jealous of the latter; Prudence asked low, fearful questions ofher mother and of the pastor as to the creatures that were abroad, andthe ways in which they afflicted others; and when Grace besought theminister to pray for her and her household, he made a long
andpassionate supplication that none of that little flock might ever sofar fall away into hopeless perdition as to be guilty of the sinwithout forgiveness--the sin of Witchcraft.