_Hathorne._ This torment of Giles Corey's can last but a little space now. He hath still his chance to speak and avert his death, and he will do it erelong. They have increased the weights mightily. Fear not, good Master Corwin, Giles Corey will not die; erelong his old tongue will wag like a millwheel. _Corwin._ I doubt much, good Master Hathorne, if Giles Corey speak. And if he does not speak, and so be put to death, as is decreed, I doubt much if the temper of the people will stand more. There are those who have sympathy with Giles Corey. I heard many murmurs in the streets of Salem this morning. _Hathorne._ Let them murmur. _Parris._ Ay, let them murmur, so long as we wield the sword of the Lord and of Gideon. _Enter first_ Messenger. _Hathorne._ Here comes a man from the field. How goes it now with Giles Corey? _Messenger._ Your worship, Giles Corey has not spoken. _Parris._ And he hath been under the weights since early light. Truly such obstinacy is marvellous. [_Exit_ Messenger. _Hathorne._ Satan gives a strength beyond human measure to his disciples. _Enter_ Olive _and_ Paul Bayley, _appearing in the distance._ Olive _wears a white gown and white bonnet._ _Hathorne._ Who is that maid coming in a bride bonnet? _Corwin._ 'Tis Corey's daughter. I marvel that Paul lets her come hither. 'Tis no place for her, so near. Master Hathorne, let us withdraw a little way. I would not see her distress. I am somewhat shaken in nerve this morning. [Corwin, Hathorne, _and_ Parris _exeunt at other end of lane._ _Olive_ (_as she and_ Paul _advance_). Who were those men, Paul? _Paul._ The magistrates and Minister Parris, sweet. _Olive._ Are they gone? _Paul._ Yes, they are quite out of sight. Oh, why wouldst thou come here, dear heart? _Olive._ Thou thinkest to cheat me, Paul; but thou canst not cheat me. Three fields away to the right have they dragged my father this morning. I knew it, I knew it, although you strove so hard to keep it from me. I'll be as near my father's death-bed on my wedding-day as I can. _Paul._ I pray thee, sweetheart, come away with me. This will do no good. _Olive._ Loyalty doth good to the heart that holds it, if to no other. Think you I'll forsake my father because 'tis my wedding-day, Paul? Oh, I trow not, I trow not, or I'd make thee no true wife. _Paul._ It but puts thee to needless torment. _Olive._ Torment! torment! Think of what he this moment bears! Oh, my father, my father! Paul Bayley, why have I wedded you this dreadful day! _Paul._ Hush! Thy father wished it, sweetheart. _Olive._ I swear to you I'll never love any other than my father. I love you not. _Paul._ Thou needst not, poor lass! _Olive_ (_clinging to him_). Nay, I love thee, but I hate myself for it on this day. _Paul_ (_caressing her_). Poor lass! Poor lass!