“Very well, goodman, very well,” answered Sir Jonathan, “you are doubtless right. I bethink myself that she would be in no mood for amiable converse. But I will come to-morrow, bright and early.” He clapped the jailer on the shoulder and laughed sardonically. “Ha, ha, goodman, ’tis the early bird that catches the worm. Best close a witch’s mouth, I say, lest she fly away to bear tales.” Chapter X A Little Life sweetly Lived Deliverance awakened happily the next morning for she had been dreaming of home, but as she glanced around her, her smile vanished. Nevertheless, her heart was lighter than it had been for many days. Moreover, she was refreshed by slumber and was surprised to find she enjoyed her breakfast. She no longer dreaded the anticipated visit of Sir Jonathan. He seemed only an evil dream which had passed with the night. Yet when she heard the tap of his awful stick in the corridor, and his voice at the door, she had no doubt he was a terrible reality. So great was her fear that she could not raise her voice to greet him when he entered, although, remembering her manners, she rose and, despite the clanking chain, courtesied. He came in pompously, flinging the flaps of his cape back, revealing his belted doublet and the sword at his side. “’Tis o’er close and warm in here,” he said; “methinks you have forgotten a seat for me, goodman.” “Ha’ patience, ha’ patience,” muttered the old jailer, “I be no so young and spry as ye, your lordship.” Grumbling, he left the cell. While Sir Jonathan waited, he leant against the door-casing, swinging his cane in time to a song he hummed, paying no attention to the little maid. The jailer brought him a three-legged stool. He seated himself opposite the little maid, saying naught until the old man had closed the door and turned the key. Deliverance dared not raise her eyes. Sir Jonathan observed her sharply from underneath his steeple-hat, his hands clasped on the top of his walking-stick. This little witch appeared harmless enough, with the fringe of yellow hair cut straight across her round forehead. The rosy mouth was tightly compressed; from beneath the blue-veined lids, two tears forced themselves and hung on her eye-lashes. “There is no need to be afeared of me,” said he. “I come only from a godly desire to investigate how you became a witch, for I am thinking of writing a learned book on the evil art of witchery, which shall serve as a warning to meddlers. Also I seek to lead you to confess, ere it be too late and you descend into the brimstone pit.” Deliverance had heard such words before and known them to be for her soul’s good. But her heart was hardened toward her present visitor, and his words made no more impression upon her than water dropping on stone. She looked up bravely. “Good sir,” she said staunchly, “the King sends for his black powder.”