Two black men now bore out the Governor’s state sedan-chair, upholstered in crimson cloth and gold fringe, the outside painted cream-colour. It had one large glass door. Lady Phipps hovered near, a feather duster in her hand. Lord Christopher next appeared, leaning on two slaves, his face pale from his recent bleeding. Groaning, he seated himself in the chair. When he was comfortably settled, one of the slaves at her ladyship’s direction shut the door. Abigail saw Lord Christopher’s face change from pallor to crimson. He strove to open the door, but it was locked on the outside. He rapped sharply on the glass and shouted to the slave to let him out. Lady Phipps, alarmed lest he have a fit or break the door, opened it herself. “Madam,” said the great physician, fixing her with his stern eye, “was it at your request that I was boxed up in this ungodly conveyance to suffocate to death?” “Sir,” replied she with spirit, “my glass door shall not go swinging loose to hit against the bearers’ heels and be broken on the journey.” “Madam,” thundered he, “am I to suffocate to gratify your inordinate vanities?” Her ladyship tilted her chin in the air. “Sir,” she replied, “nothing could compensate me for the breaking of that door.” “Madam,” he retorted angrily, “in my condition, I should perish of the heat.” “Sir,” she replied serenely, “I will lend you a fan.” [Illustration: _Copyright, 1898, by Lamson, Wolffe and Company_ _Her ladyship tilted her chin in the air._ _page 260_] His lordship gasped. The spectacle she invoked of himself sitting in a closed chair, energetically fanning himself through the long night, incensed him beyond the power of speech for several moments. “Fy, fy, Lady Phipps,” he said at last, wagging his head at her, “is this the way you Puritan wives are taught to honour your husbands’ guests?” “Where should I find such another glass door?” quoth she. “Very well, madam,” retorted he, “not one step do I go toward Salem, and that little maid may go hang, and her death will be due to your vanities and worldlinesses.” At this her ladyship’s black eyes sparkled with wrath, but those near by saw her proud chin quiver,—a sign she was weakening. For several moments there was silence. The students looked preternaturally grave. The waiting soldiers smiled. Lord Christopher folded his arms on his breast, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling of the chair, and sighed. The voices of Master Ronald and the Governor, inside the house, could be heard distinctly. This painful calm was suddenly broken by a shrill little voice above their heads. “Why don’t ye take the door off’n its hinges and put it in the house?” All looked up. There, leaning out of the second-story window, was a small excited maiden, unable to contain longer her anxiety at Lord Christopher’s threat that her friend might go hang. On beholding her, the students cheered, the soldiers laughed openly, and the slaves showed all their white teeth in delight.