Close to the prison door was drawn a rude cart, with a stool fastened to the floor in the back. The driver, indifferent through much similar experience, sat nodding on the seat. The soldier who had preceded Deliverance, waited to assist her in the cart, which was too high a step for a little maid. He lifted her in bodily, kitten and all, keeping his eyes turned from her face. The driver clucked to his horse, the soldier mounted his and rode ahead, and the Beadle walked pompously at the side of the cart, moving slowly down the street. All Salem had gathered to behold this hanging, which was of awful import to the townspeople, brought to a frantic belief that Satan had taken possession of the heart of one of their children, known and loved by them all her life. A strange, sad thing it was that the Devil should have taken on himself the guise of a motherless young maiden. So although the crowd through which the cart passed was large, but little noisy demonstration was made, and few curses or mutterings heard. Several boys who ventured to call jeeringly, were sternly hushed. In the throng there was only one near friend to the prisoner. This was Goodwife Higgins, who plodded bare-headed beside the cart, weeping. Neither her father nor brother was to be seen. All night following the trial, Master Wentworth had wandered in the fields in a drenching rain, and had returned home to succumb to an illness, from which he daily grew weaker, lying unconscious this very morning. Many of the women were affected to tears by the sight of the little maid, seated on the stool in the cart, the kitten clasped to her breast. Deliverance knew naught of this sympathy. She had but a dull sense of many people, and that the sun had never shone so brightly before. She was dazed by terror and grief, and a stupor crept over her, so that her head hung heavily on her breast and her limbs seemed cold and of leaden weight. The cart passed out of the street into a rocky path, and ascended by imperceptible degrees to the summit of a low, green hill. The little maid lifted her head and looked steadfastly at the scaffold there erected. On the platform she saw the figures of the minister and the hangman, dark against the blue sky. Chapter XIX On Gallows’ Hill At the foot of this scaffold, the driver stopped. Deliverance was bidden to step out. Attended by the guard, she ascended the ladder. Only one instinct remained to the heart-broken child, and that was to clasp still closer to her breast the little kitten, the one faithful and loving friend who clung to her in this dread hour. “Deliverance Wentworth,” spoke the minister in a loud, clear voice, “will you, while there is yet time, confess your sin of witchery, or will you be launched into eternity to the loss of your immortal soul?” She looked at him vaguely. His words had not pierced to her dulled comprehension. He repeated them.