"Indeed I believe it," replied the youth, lifting his cap, for a momentary feeling of devotion came over him; "I most devoutly believe it; as a token, see how the beautiful morning smiles upon the waters. The harbor seems scattered with rose leaves. The very sands at our feet are turning to gold." "Truly, God smiles upon us," said the minister, looking abroad with an enthusiasm deep as that which flashed in the eyes of the youth, and far more concentrated. "But we linger here unadvisedly; the glory of a morning like this rests not in one place. Let us move on; the chimneys over yonder are beginning to vomit forth smoke, soon the town will be astir." The youth did not hear him, but darted down to the edge of the water, where a strip of ribbon tinted a spent foam wreath with its blue. He seized upon the ribbon, shook it, scattering the foam like snow-flakes with the motion, and came back to where the minister stood. "It must be hers," he said, revealing a locket of chased gold, with a broad lock of hair white as snow, knotted with pearls upon the back. "It must be hers." Parris reached forth his hand, as if to take the trinket, but the youth gathered the ribbon hastily in his palm, and clasped his fingers over it. "We have no right to examine it, knowing, as we do, the owner," he said, hastily. "The spring is closed. It is evidently some portrait." "But the water may have penetrated to the painting and will destroy it." "True, true!" The youth, still reluctant to give up the locket, touched the spring, and with difficulty opened it. The water had indeed penetrated the clasp, but a crystal underneath protected the portrait, which was that of a middle-aged man, evidently of the highest rank, for his dress was of the most costly material, and enriched with several jewelled orders which were easily distinguished as belonging to the English court. "It is a strange face," said Parris, bending his head to examine the portrait, "hard as iron and full of worldly pride. Young man, I have seen this face before; but where--when?" "How can I tell?" answered the youth, who was gazing wistfully at the face. "Yes," he said, after a moment; "it is hard as iron, but a grand countenance, nevertheless. That man would have died for an idea." "Died for an idea!" repeated the minister; "how many have done that, yet the idea a false one? But where have I seen that face?" The youth covered the portrait with its gold again, and the two walked on more rapidly for the time they had lost. All at once young Lovel stopped as if some important idea had flashed upon him. "Sir," he said, eagerly, "did I not hear your name yesterday, or have I dreamed it over night--Samuel Parris--was it in truth from your own lips I heard the name?" "Even so, young man." "Samuel Parris, minister of the gospel in Salem?" "Even to that honored post the Lord and his people have appointed me."