Ere either could speak, there was a rapping at the door. In answer to the young minister’s summons to enter, Sir Jonathan Jamieson came in. Deliverance glanced dully at him, all uncaring; for she felt he had harmed her all he could, and now might nevermore injure her. The young minister, having much respect for Sir Jonathan, rose and begged that he be seated. But Sir Jonathan, minded to be equally polite, refused to deprive Mr. Mather of the stool. So they might have argued and bowed for long, had not the jailer appeared with another stool. “I did but see you enter now, as I chanced to come out of the tavern near by,” remarked Sir Jonathan, seating himself comfortably, leaning back against the wall, “and, being minded to write a book upon the evil ways of witchery, I followed you in, knowing you came to exhort the prisoner to repentance. So I beg that you will grant me the privilege to listen in case she should confess, that I may thereby obtain some valuable notes.” As he spoke he shot a quick glance at Deliverance. She could not divine that menacing look. Was he fearful lest she should confess, or did he indeed seek to have her do so? Cotton Mather turned, his face filled with passionate and honest fervour, toward the speaker. “Most gladly,” he answered with hearty sympathy; “it is a noble and useful calling. I oft find more company with the dead in their books than in the society of the living, and it has ever been one of my chief thanksgivings that the Lord blessed me with a ready pen. But more of this later. Let us now kneel in prayer.” They both knelt. But Deliverance remained seated. “Wicked and obstinate o’ heart I be,” she said, “but Sir Jonathan holds me from prayer. I cannot kneel in company with him.” She no longer felt any fear to speak her mind. At her words Cotton Mather glanced at Sir Jonathan and saw the man’s face go red. His suspicions were aroused thereat, and he forgot all his respect for Sir Jonathan’s great position and mickle gold, and spoke sternly, as became a minister, recognizing in his profession neither high nor low. “Do you indeed exercise a mischievous spell to hold this witch-maid from prayer when she would seem softened toward godliness?” “Nay,” retorted Sir Jonathan, “’tis the malice of her evil, invisible spectre whispering at her ear to cast a reflection on me.” “I prithee go, however, and stand in the corridor outside, and we will see if the witch-maid, relieved of your presence, will pray,” advised Cotton Mather. Sir Jonathan was secretly angered at this command, yet he rose with what fair show of grace he could muster, and went out into the corridor. But an indefinable fear had sprung to life in his heart. For, lo, but a look, a word, an accusation, and one was put upon as a witch. Deliverance, although she feared the young minister, yet knew him to be not only a great but a good man, and desirous for her soul’s good. Thus willingly she knelt opposite him.