She knew that Sir Jonathan’s proposal to procure a new trial for her had found favour in her heart, and she feared what her answer would be on the morrow. Underneath her tears and prayers, underneath her gladness and relief to see Abigail and the plans they had devised, was the shamed determination to reveal the secret rather than be hanged. She would hold out to the last moment, then—if Abigail were able to accomplish nothing—the little maid’s cheeks burned in the darkness, burned with such shame at her guilty resolve that she put her hands over them. In the darkness she saw forming a shadowy picture of the dearest face in the world to her, her father’s long thin face, with its kindly mouth and mild blue eyes. All her life Deliverance believed that, in some mysterious way, her father came to her in prison that night. However it was, she thought that he asked her no question, but seemed to look down into her heart and see all her shame and weakness. She shrank from his gaze, putting her hands over her breast to hide her heart away from him. Was it not better, she urged, she should commit just one small sin, and return to him and Ronald, and live a long life so good that it would atone for the wrong-doing? But he answered that a little life sweetly lived was longer in God’s sight than a life of many years stained by sin. She asked him if it were not a great pain to be hanged when one was innocent, and he admonished her that it was a greater pain to lose one’s loyal word and betray one’s King who was next to God in authority. All at once he faded away in a bright light. Deliverance opened her eyes and found that the long night had passed, that the morning had come, and that she must have been dreaming. She lay silent for a long time before rising. All the shame of yesterday had gone from her heart, which was washed clean and filled with peace. She whispered very softly the words of her dream, A little life sweetly lived. Her hour of temptation was passed. Thus Deliverance knew God had pardoned her sins. Chapter XI Abigail goes to Boston Town That same morning, while it was still in the cool of the day and the sun cast long shadows across the dew-wet grass, Abigail was making her way along the forest path which led to Deliverance’s home. In a pail she carried ginger-cookies her mother had sent in exchange for some of Goodwife Higgins’ famous cheese-balls. Since such woeful misfortune had befallen its little mistress, the farmhouse seemed to have acquired a sorrowful aspect. The gate swung open dismally, and weeds had sprung up boldly in the garden. Abigail went round to the kitchen. It was empty. The floor had been freshly sprinkled with sand; the milk-pans were scoured and shining in the sun; a black pot, filled with water, swung over the fire, and Deliverance’s kitten slumbered on the hearthstone.