So the thoughts chased each other through her head all that feverish night, till she clung almost deliriously to life, and wildly prayed that she might not die; at least, not just yet, and she so young! Pastor Tappau and certain elders roused her up from a heavy sleep, late on the morning of the following day. All night long she had trembled and cried, till morning had come peering in through the square grating up above. It soothed her, and she fell asleep, to be awakened, as I have said, by Pastor Tappau. 'Arise!' said he, scrupling to touch her, from his superstitious idea of her evil powers. 'It is noonday.' 'Where am I?' said she, bewildered at this unusual wakening, and the array of severe faces all gazing upon her with reprobation. 'You are in Salem gaol, condemned for a witch.' 'Alas! I had forgotten for an instant,' said she, dropping her head upon her breast. 'She has been out on a devilish ride all night long, doubtless, and is weary and perplexed this morning,' whispered one, in so low a voice that he did not think she could hear; but she lifted up her eyes, and looked at him, with mute reproach. 'We are come' said Pastor Tappau, 'to exhort you to confess your great and manifold sin.' 'My great and manifold sin!' repeated Lois to herself, shaking her head. 'Yea, your sin of witchcraft. If you will confess, there may yet be balm in Gilead.' One of the elders, struck with pity at the young girl's wan, shrunken look, said, that if she confessed, and repented, and did penance, possibly her life might yet be spared. A sudden flash of light came into her sunk, dulled eye. Might she yet live? Was it yet in her power? Why, no one knew how soon Ralph Lucy might be here, to take her away for ever into the peace of a new home! Life! Oh, then, all hope was not over--perhaps she might still live, and not die. Yet the truth came once more out of her lips, almost without any exercise of her will. 'I am not a witch,' she said.