Drearily the long afternoon wore away. Deliverance wondered why she did not cry, but she seemed to have no tears left, and she felt no pain. So she began to believe her heart had indeed grown numb, much as her fingers did in cold weather. She longed to know if the stranger she had met in the forest had yet arrived from Boston Town. However, she felt that if he had he would have found her before this. Something entirely unforeseen must have detained him. Had he not said he would return in state in a few days? Toward sunset she heard a rustling in the leaves of the apple tree and the snapping of twigs as if a strong wind had suddenly risen. She looked up at the window. Something was moving in the tree. After a breathless moment, she caught a glimpse of the sad-coloured petticoat of Abigail Brewster. Her heart throbbed with joy. The leaves at the window were parted by two small, sunbrowned hands, and then against the bars was pressed a sober face, albeit as round and rosy as an apple, and two reproachful brown eyes gazed down upon her. “Deliverance,” asked the newcomer, “might ye be a witch and ne’er telled me a word on it?” Hope came back with a glad rush to Deliverance and lit her eyes with joy, and touched her cheeks with colour. For several moments she could not speak. Then the tears streamed from her eyes, and she put forth her arms, crying, “Oh, Abigail, I be fair glad to see ye! I be fair glad to see ye.” “I thought ye would have telled me on it,” repeated Abigail. “Ye be right,” answered the little maid, solemnly, “I be no witch. I speak true words, Abigail. I ken not how to be a witch and I would.” “I calculate ye were none,” answered the other, “for ye were ne’er o’er quick to be wicked save in an idle fashion. I calculate ye would ne’er meddle with witches. Ye were gone so daffy o’er the adorning o’ your sinful person that ye had thought for nothing else in your frowardness and vanity.” Severe though the words were, the speaker’s voice trembled and suddenly broke into sobs. “Oh, Deliverance, Deliverance, I ken not what I shall do and ye be hanged! I tell ye a wicked witch has done this, and hanged her evil deeds on ye to escape her righteous punishment.” “Ye silly one, hush your soughing,” whispered Deliverance, sharply, “or the jailer will hear ye and send ye away.” She glanced toward the door to assure herself that it was closed, then whispered, “The Lord has put into my mind a plan by which ye can free me, and ye be so minded.” “I ken not how to refrain from soughing when I think o’ ye hanging from the gallows, swinging back and forth, back and forth,” wept Abigail. Deliverance shuddered. “Ye were ne’er too pleasant-mouthed,” she retorted with spirit, despite the terrible picture drawn for her; “but ye be grown fair evil and full o’ malice to mind me o’ such an awful thing.” She pointed frantically to the door. “Hush your soughing, ye silly one. Methinks I hear the jailer.”