They had recognized him, however, at once. There was the flowing wig of chestnut hue, the comely countenance, the rich dress, the curled moustache Deliverance had so admired. One of his legs, bound in wool and linen, rested on a pillow. On a table at the further side of the bed were placed some quills, an ink-horn, and paper; also a jug of wine and silver mugs. “By my troth,” cried this fine person, jovially, “I expected none such pretty visitor. Come here and kiss me, little maiden, and I swear you shall have your wish, whatsoe’er it be. And it be not the round moon or the throne of England,” he added chuckling. Abigail courtesied at a safe distance from the bed. Meanwhile, Master Ronald had his eye on Governor Phipps. He feared to mention their errand in the presence of his Excellency, knowing that they might expect neither reason nor tolerance from him. So he drew himself up to his full height and said with confidence, not unbecoming in so learned a Fellow of Harvard:— “Your Excellency, this is a very private and personal business.” Having said this he bowed so low that his dark hair fell over his face. Thus he remained with his head deferentially bent during the moment of amazed silence which elapsed before his Excellency replied. “I have no desire to hear,” he retorted, his small eyes snapping with wrath, “but I would say unto you, young sir, that ’tis exceeding low-bred for you to be setting a lesson in manners to your elders and betters; exceeding unfortunate and ill-bred, say I, though you be a Fellow of Harvard, where, I warrant, more young prigs flourish than in all England.” With which fling his Excellency rose and left the room, followed by his servant. “I ’gin to be fair concerned as to what this mighty business will prove to be,” said the merry invalid; “my curiosity consumes me as a flame. But sit you down, little mistress, and you, young sir. You must not deem me lacking in gallantry that I rise not. Here have I lain two weeks with the gout. Was e’er such luck? But, why fret and fume, say I, why fret and fume and broil with anxiety like an eel in a frying-pan? Yet was e’er such luck as to have your thumb on your man and not be able to take him?” “Sir,” spoke Master Ronald from the stool on which he had seated himself, “we come on a matter of life and death. My sister, Deliverance Wentworth, the child you met in the forest outside Salem Town, some three weeks ago, is to be hanged on the morrow for witchery, unless by the grace of God you have power to interfere.” At these words the invalid’s florid face paled, and he sank back on his pillows with a gasp of mingled horror and astonishment.