The governor, who sat with his elbow resting on the library table, bent his forehead thoughtfully on one hand. "Friend, you ask a solemn question, and I will solemnly answer it. Before the Most High I cannot yet give a full and free belief to this enormity, which men call witchcraft. Yet when such judges as Hale, and many of like sort, give it credence, and hold solemn tribunals over it, I dare not oppose my judgment against theirs." Samuel Parris arose to his feet and leaned heavily on his cane for support. "What if these doubts be true?" he said, moving his head and looking away into vacancy. "Then what am I but a bearer of false witness, a persecutor, and if this lady is driven to her death, a murderer!" "We can but walk according to the light which God has given us," answered Sir William. "Tell me," continued Parris, "did this woman impress you with a sense of her diabolical power? Did your heart beat evenly as she spoke? Could you breath without an effort?" "Nay, I cannot tell if the sensation I felt was evil or good," Phipps answered. "Compassion never yet swelled my heart so near to bursting. I tell you of a truth, Samuel Parris, when I was talking to that unhappy woman, I felt my knees shake, my breath stand still, and my very being go out to her in a flood of sorrowful tenderness, such as I never felt for mortal woman--but one." "Then--then--you did think of _her_!" cried Parris, suddenly standing upright. "That was the question I dared not ask. Has her memory haunted you as it besets me, night and day, not only now but ever since that ship came drifting toward me through the storm?" "Hush!" said the governor, and his voice scarcely rose above a whisper, while his face turned coldly white. "If this thing is witchcraft may it not drag the memories we love out of the very grave to haunt us?" "Even so I have reasoned," answered Parris. "God help us!" exclaimed Phipps, rising and beginning to pace the room with long, powerful strides, "for we have fallen on evil times." Samuel Parris followed his friend's tall figure as it strode to and fro in the room with wistful interest. "I came hither for counsel of thy younger and more vigorous mind," he said, with touching melancholy, "but everywhere that my footsteps turn, doubt and terror spring up. It grieves me sorely, son William, that my words have driven the color from that face, and the calm from thy bosom. Forgive me before I go!" Phipps broke off abruptly in his walk. His grand face had regained its composure: it was pale still, but resolutely calm. "Father," he said, gently, using an old term of endearment, "I am unfit to give counsel in this matter. See you not how weak I am?" Parris took the hand held out to him and pressed it with solemn fervor. "William, I too will see this woman in prison: peradventure some light may be vouchsafed to me." "After that, come to me again," said the governor. Thus the two friends parted.