A smile, that seemed malicious, quivered across Abigail's lips, but she did not turn her head. Elizabeth tottered across the room, and fell into an easy chair, exhausted. Norman Lovel bent over her, hoping against hope. "It is of no use," she murmured; "he would not let me plead. Oh, Norman! must she die?" "Shall I go now?" whispered Lady Phipps. "He never refused me any thing in his life." "Not yet, dear lady," answered Lovel. "At present leave him alone." "To-night, when he comes to my room," answered the lady; "that perhaps is best." Lady Phipps seemed glad of a reprieve. She went back to her sofa, sighing heavily. "Feel how I tremble!" she said, giving her hands to Norman. "It is strange, but nothing ever shook my nerves so till this lady came across the seas. Oh, Norman! that was a weary day for us." "But most of all for her." "True, true. Poor soul, I shall not sleep till she is pardoned. If she is proven guilty of witchcraft, it was not of a harmful sort, though we have been made very unhappy by it. Elizabeth, child, you are worn out; take my arm and we will go to our chambers, for I, too, am weary. Be hopeful, Norman; I will surely speak to the governor before he goes to rest." But the lady was doomed to disappointment. All that night Sir William remained in his library, with the door locked. In the morning the gentle wife claimed admittance, and he let her in, smiling sadly upon her as she entered. "My husband, this has been a weary night. How mournful and pale you look! Surely, it is not because you have doomed that poor woman?" "She was doomed before her case came before me. God knows, dear wife, I would gladly save her if my conscience permitted." Lady Phipps sat down on a cushioned stool at her husband's feet, resting her hand lightly on his knee. Her sweet, gracious face, formed a striking contrast with the haggard whiteness of his. "Nay, sweetheart; you will be more merciful than the judges," she pleaded. "They are naturally stern and hard--but you--" "Must be stern also, or betray my trust," he answered. "If I pardon this woman, who enlists your sympathy so much more than others, because of her beauty and gentle breeding, what will be said of me--that I withhold mercy from the ignorant crones and common-place witches who have perished, and give it to a gentlewoman because of her fair face? If they were held worthy of punishment for setting a few cows wild, and scattering mischief among their neighbors mostly pertaining to the body alone, how much more severely should this woman be dealt with who fastens her witchcraft on the soul! Have you marked the progress of her sorcery on the young man under our roof, who still clings to her as if she were part of his own being--on the maiden you love so, Elizabeth Parris, whose very life seems to have been half shrunk up under the evil influence which she struggles against in vain?"