"But first I must have a promise--your solemn promise before God--that what I say to you shall not be revealed to any living soul till after my death. Samuel Parris, will you give me this promise? Remember it is a dying woman who asks it." "Even if it prove a confession of guilt that you wish to make before me as a minister of the Most High, there would be no wrong in the promise; therefore I will give it." "But there is no confession of sin to wound your ear or trouble your conscience; that which I have to say need not draw a blush to my own face, or a frown from yours. Have I your promise?" "I have promised already," said the minister. "Solemnly and before the God of heaven?" "Every promise that a just man makes is registered in heaven. Lady, thou canst trust me. Never yet have I broken faith with man or woman." "I can trust you--and I will. Samuel Parris, look at me." Barbara unwound the lace scarf that was usually twisted about her head like a turban, and the waves of magnificent hair thus fully exposed fell loose upon her shoulders. Throwing all these golden tresses back from her forehead with a sweep of her two hands, she turned her face full upon the minister. "Samuel Parris, do you know me?" The old man looked at her in dumb bewilderment. The scarlet burning in her cheeks, the splendor of her eyes, made his heart leap toward a full recognition. He could not answer, but stood gazing upon her with a strange, doubtful look. She dropped her hands; the hair fell in curling masses down her back. Her face drooped forward. She was disappointed that he did not recognize her at once. The thin features of Samuel Parris kindled up, first with doubt, then with fear, and again with positive conviction. Her attitude and the disposal of her hair revealed her to him. Samuel Parris stood dumb and pale, gazing at her resolutely. Neither of the two spoke. They looked in each other's eyes afraid: at last the minister found voice. "Alive!" he said, "alive! and here? Oh! my God, my God, what has thy servant done that he should see this day?" "You know me then, Samuel Parris? You know me then?" "Alas! alas!" The old man wrung his hands in wild excitement. "And now you understand my presence here, my anguish and my silence?" "Oh! God forgive us!--God forgive us!" moaned the old man. "You thought me dead, Samuel Parris: would that it had been so, but the unhappy cannot die when they wish." "And thou art condemned to death! we, the wrongers and the sinful, have done this. But it is not too late, it shall not be too late." The old man started toward the door, but Barbara laid her hand on his arm. "I have your promise, Samuel Parris." The old man fell back against the wall as if he had been shot. "Henceforth my fate rests in my own hands," said the lady, with gentle firmness. "If I revealed myself to you it was not to save this poor life, but because in no other way can justice be done to the living."