After this she rose and put the cell in order, making the straw bed over nicely. Then she wrote a note on a leaf torn from Abigail’s diary, and pinned this note by a knitting-needle on the stocking she had completed. Having finished, she sat down and waited patiently. It was not long before the jailer again appeared. She saw behind him the portly Beadle. “How now, witch,” cried the latter, peering in over the old man’s shoulder, “hath prison-fare fattened ye?” But as he caught sight of the prisoner he started. “I’ faith,” he cried, “how peaked ye be. Go in, goody, and fetch her forth,” he commanded the jailer. “Na step will I take toward the witch,” chattered the jailer. “Step in, step in, goody,” advised the Beadle; “how can I convey the witch away unless ye free her?” But the jailer was not to be persuaded to go near the prisoner. He and the Beadle fell into an angry controversy over the matter and were near to serious quarrelling, when a soldier appeared at the doorway. “What causeth the delay?” cried the guard, crossly. “Hath the witch flown out of the window?” “They be feared lest I cast a spell on them and so dare not unlock my chain,” spoke Deliverance, “but I wot not how to cast a spell and I would, good sir.” “Give me the keys,” said the guard, brusquely. He snatched them in no gentle manner from the jailer. “Enough, enough of this foolishness, ye chicken-hearted knaves. Stand up, mistress,” he added, entering the cell. He knelt in front of the little maid, fumbling to find the right key of the bunch. Deliverance, suddenly grown faint, rested one hand on his shoulder. He started and his heart leapt for fear, but the continued touch of the small, trembling hand, so weak and helpless, changed his fear to pity. So he said naught, but was willing the witch-maid should lean on his strong shoulder. He unlocked the padlock and flung the chain aside. Deliverance stood unbound once more. She turned and lifted the stocking with the note pinned on it, from the floor. “Oh! would ye mind,” said she, “to bear this to my father for me?” The soldier, with a gruff assent, put the stocking and note in his pocket. He turned away, no longer caring to look into those blue, beseeching eyes, which filled him with tormenting misgivings. “Come, come,” he cried to the Beadle, “it waxeth past time. Let an ill duty be done quickly, say I.” He strode out of the cell and down the corridor. The Beadle reached in and touched Deliverance’s shoulder with his staff of office. “Step forth,” he commanded, “and follow yon soldier, and I will come up behind.” Suddenly the little maid bent down and lifted something from the straw pallet. As she turned they saw she held a little black kitten, curled in slumber, against her breast. The old jailer shuddered and muttered a prayer, and the Beadle’s fat face grew white. They believed that she, after the manner of witches, had summoned an imp from Hell to bear her company.