An historian of the time says, "In the present world, it is no wonder that the operations of evil angels are more sensible than that of the good; nevertheless 'tis very certain that the good angels fly about in our infected atmosphere to minister to the good of those who are to be the heirs of salvation. Children and ignorant persons first complained of being tormented and affected in divers manners. They then accused some persons eminent for their virtues and standing in society." We have seen that Edith was disposed to think lightly of the subject at first, although she rejoiced that the old woman of the cliff had escaped suspicion by a timely death. But when she found that some of her own neighbors had been suspected, and that one old woman, in another village, for denying all knowledge of evil spirits, had been executed, she was filled with consternation; and when others, to save themselves from the same dreadful fate, increased the delusion of the times by confessing a compact with the evil one, her pity was mingled with indignation. With so much clearness of intellect, and simplicity of heart, she could not persuade herself that it was any thing but wilful blindness, and a wicked lie. But Edith began soon to feel much anxiety for her faithful Dinah. Persons in any way distinguished for any peculiarity were most likely to be accused, and she had secretly made arrangements to send her away, and conceal her, should the smallest indication of suspicion fall upon her. For herself Edith had no fears. It would have been hard to make this pure and simple-minded creature believe that she had an enemy in the world. She had not read the French maxim, that there may be such a weight of obligation that we can only be released from it by ingratitude. Dinah had remarked, for several days, in the little Phoebe most strange and unnatural contortions, and writhings of the body, startings and tremblings, turning up her eyes and distorting her mouth; and also that she took little food, and often was absent from home; but, with her usual tenderness, and fear of giving anxiety to Edith, she had forborne to mention it. Indeed, the child had always been wayward and strange, and especially indocile to Edith's instructions, although she seemed at times to have a strong affection for her. She was fond of long rambles in the woods, and of basking in the sun alone on the beach, and retained all her love for those vagrant habits she had learned from her grandmother. Edith had too much tenderness and indulgence to restrain what appeared a harmless and perhaps healthful propensity. She had tried, however, to civilize the poor, neglected child, and had taught her to say her prayers every night, kneeling at her side.