_Olive_ (_looking in terror over her shoulder_). I see no one. I pray you, let my father stand near me. _Parris._ Nay; the black man is enough for you. _Giles_ (_forcing his way to his daughter_). Here I be, lass; and it will go hard if the hussies can see the black man and old Giles in one place. Where be the black man now, jades? _Hathorne_ (_angrily_). Marshal! _Corwin_ (_interposing_). Nay, good Master Hathorne, let Goodman Corey keep his standing. The maid looks near swooning, and albeit his manner be rude, yet his argument hath somewhat of force. In truth, he and the black man cannot occupy one place. Mercy Lewis, see you now this black man anywhere? _Mercy._ Yes, your worship. _Corwin._ Where? _Mercy._ Whispering in your worship's ear. _Parris._ May the Lord protect his magistrates from the wiles of Satan, and maintain them in safety for the weal of his afflicted people! _Hathorne._ This be going too far. This be presumption! Who of you now see the black man whispering to the worshipful esquire Jonathan Corwin? _Mercy._ He is gone now out of the meeting-house. 'Twas but for a moment I saw him. _Corwin._ Speak up, children. Did any other of ye see the black man whispering to me? _Afflicted Girls._ No! no! no! _Corwin._ Mercy Lewis, you say of a truth you saw him? _Mercy._ Your worship, it may have been Minister Parris's shadow falling across the platform. _Corwin._ This is but levity, and hath naught to do with the trial. _Hathorne._ We will proceed with the examination. Widow Eunice Hutchins, produce the cape. [Widow Hutchins _comes forward, holding the cape by a corner._ _Hathorne._ Put it over your daughter's shoulders. _Hutchins._ Oh, your worships, I pray you not! It will kill her! _Ann._ Oh, do not! do not! It will kill me! Oh, mother, do not! Oh, your worships! Oh, Minister Parris! _Parris._ Why put the maid to this needless agony? _Corwin._ Put the cape over her shoulders. [Widow Hutchins _approaches_ Ann _hesitatingly, and throws the cape over her shoulders._ Ann _sinks upon the floor, shrieking._ _Ann._ Take it off! Take it off! It burns! It burns! Take it off! Have mercy! I shall die! I shall die! _Hathorne._ Take off the cape; that is enough. Olive Corey, what say you to this? This is the cape you gave Ann Hutchins. _Olive._ Oh, mother! mother!