Then, while the crowd was hushed with unconquerable awe, and the very heavens bent over it black with a mustering storm, the verdict of the jury ran in a low whisper from lip to lip, till it reached the savages brooding in the forest, and was mingled with the deep, deep curses of the white man-- "Guilty! guilty!" Then the storm burst over them, shaking the window-panes, like angry fiends, uphurling great trees in the woods, and plowing up the virgin soil; and in the midst of its fury sentence was pronounced. On the second day from that Barbara Stafford was doomed to suffer death by drowning for the crime of witchcraft. CHAPTER XLVII. THE WIFE'S APPEAL. Governor Phipps was a changed man during the progress of Barbara Stafford's trial. His character, usually so sternly calm, seemed all broken up. He was restless--almost irritable--and would start as if wounded if any one mentioned her name, or discussed her cause in his presence. After giving his evidence he had not once entered the court, but shut himself up on a plea of pressing papers to write, and remained almost entirely alone. He neither wrote nor read, but sat with both elbows on the library table, wondering moodily if he were indeed bewitched and given up to the evil one. One great cause of his depression arose from the awful responsibility which must fall upon him if this strange lady should be found guilty. With him, as chief magistrate of the colony, rested the pardoning power. If she was condemned her life would lie in his hands--her death perhaps rest upon his soul should he refuse the mercy that might be demanded of him. He felt that she would be condemned, and the coming responsibility lay heavy on him. In this frame of mind the afternoon of the closing trial found him. The storm which had been slowly gathering all day broke fiercely over his dwelling; sleet and hail rattled like a storm of shot against the window-panes; the wind howled and raved among the old trees that sheltered the gables, beating their branches heavily against the roof, and forcing weird sounds, almost of human anguish, from every tree and bough. Sir William shuddered as these dismal sounds swelled around him. It seemed indeed as if some demon were turning the elements into great bursts of wrath. Had the trial ended? Was the beautiful witch condemned; and were kindred demons tearing through the elements, exhausting their fiendish powers there which had been insufficient to save her? This thought certainly passed through his disturbed mind, but took no lasting hold there. But for the strange influence this woman had exercised over his own feelings, his reason, always clear and logical, would have rejected such wild fantasies. But something weird, and yet enthralling in his own soul, rendered the strong man for once clearly superstitious.