Edith had had time to recover a little from her first consternation, and, with much self-possession, she asked who were her accusers, and demanded the right of being confronted with them. The men informed her that she would be taken in the morning to the meeting-house for examination, and then it would be time enough to know her accusers: in the mean time they should leave a guard in the house, to prevent all attempts to escape. Escape! ah, there was none for her. But Edith answered that she wished not to escape; that she should demand an examination. Alas! she knew not yet the spirit of the times. She was deluded by her own consciousness of innocence, and she thought fanaticism itself could not attach a suspicion to harmlessness like hers. Not so Dinah. She was seized with a terror and grief that, for one moment, shook her faith in God, and took away all self-possession. She knew that innocence, youth, piety, beauty, had been of no avail against the demoniac fury of the accusers. She besought, on her knees, and with floods of tears, her dear child--as, in her agitation, she called her--to avail herself of flight. She convinced Edith that they could easily elude the vigilance of their guard; that they could escape by water. Paul was an excellent boatman, the sea smooth as a mirror, the moon nearly full; they could reach Boston without suspicion. Or she would hide her in the woods: she herself knew a place where she could bring her food and clothing, and form a shelter for her, and keep her safe till all suspicion had ceased. It would have been better for Edith had she yielded; but her own clear reason, free from the mists of fanaticism, deluded her into the persuasion that, as nothing could appear against her, it would confirm the suspicions against her if she were to avoid by flight a full and open examination. Before they retired for the night, they kneeled down to pray. Dinah could not subdue her sobs; but Edith's voice was calm and firm as she asked the protection of the Father of the fatherless, and committed her poor friend to him who is no respector of persons. Dinah entreated her mistress to allow her to sit by her all night and watch, while she tried to sleep. This Edith refused: she wished to be alone. She had much to do to prepare herself for to-morrow, and she justly feared that Dinah's distress would soften her heart, and shake her firmness too much. As they passed through the chamber, Dinah bearing the candle, the little Phoebe, restless in her sleep, had nearly thrown herself out of bed. Edith stopped, and, bending over, replaced the bedclothes, and said softly to Dinah, "If to-morrow should be fatal, if I should not live to keep my promise to the old woman, I can trust her to you: you will be to her, as you have been to me, a mother; O, more than a mother?"