Sir Jonathan’s face grew white and he stared at her long. He opened his mouth to reply, but his dry lips closed without a sound. He jumped up, overturning the stool, and paced up and down the cell. “You witch!” he cried: “for I ’gin to think you are a witch and a limb of Satan.” Deliverance prayed aloud, for she feared he would strike her with his walking-stick. Sir Jonathan paused and listened with amazement. At last he laughed abruptly. “Are you indeed a witch, or are you gone daft and silly that you pray?” “I be no witch,” replied the little maid with dignity, “and it be no daffy nor silly to pray. And if it seemeth so to ye, ye be a most ungodly man and the burning pit awaits ye.” Sir Jonathan turned up the stool and sat down again. “Mistress Deliverance Wentworth,” quoth he, wagging his red beard at her, “children were not so illy brought up in my young days. They were reared in righteous fear of their elders and betters. But I have important business with you and no time to talk of froward children. Now, you will please tell me who taught you the lesson you repeat so well.” Deliverance answered never a word. Sir Jonathan regarded her anxiously. “I could go to the magistrate and have you forced to speak,” he said slowly, after awhile, “but ’tis a very private matter.” Suddenly a light broke over his countenance. “Ha, ha, my fine bird,” he cried, “I have caught you now! You saw the parchment with the royal seal I left with your father.” “Good sir,” she answered wonderingly, “I wot not what ye mean.” “You have been well taught,” he said, frowning. “Ay, good sir,” she replied sincerely, “I have been most excellently taught.” He puzzled long, shaking his head anon, gazing steadily at the ground. “Mistress,” said he at last, looking up eagerly, “I had no thought of it before, but the man in the forest—who might he be? Ay, that is the question. Who was he? In velvet, with slashed sleeves, the old yeoman said. Come, come,” tapping the floor with his walking-stick, “who was this fine gentleman?” Deliverance perceived he was greatly perturbed, as people are who stumble inadvertently upon their suspicions of the worst. “I cannot get through my head,” said he, “who this fine gentleman might be. Come, tell me of what sort was this fine Cavalier.” Deliverance made no reply. “I am sore perplexed,” muttered Sir Jonathan; “this business savours ill. I fear I wot not what. Alack! ill luck has pursued me since I left England. Closer than a shadow, it has crept at my heels, ever ready to have at my throat.” So real was his distress that Deliverance was moved to pity. For the moment she forgot his persecution. “I be right sorry for ye,” said she. Now as Sir Jonathan heard the sympathy in the sweet voice, a crafty look came into his eyes, and his lids dropped for fear the little maid might perceive thereby the thought that crossed his mind. He rested his elbow on his knee, bowed his head on his hand, and sighed heavily.