ister, who, but
for the scales of prejudice covering his eyes, would by no means be so
cruel with her.

"Oh, would that father would return and take me from this place!" sobbed
Cora.

"Cora, are you tired of me? Have I not been kind to you?"

"Yes, you have, and I thank you for all your goodness."

"Are you not happy with me?"

"Yes, I could be very happy, did not Mr. Parris say such vile things of
my father and myself. Do you think me one of Satan's imps?"

"No, no, sweet child; you are one of God's angels."

"But I am the child of a player, and he said none such could enter into
the kingdom of the Lord."

"That is but a display of his prejudice and ignorance, Cora. I have read
the good book from beginning to end, and nowhere do I see anything in
God's Holy Bible that excludes even the player from entering into
eternal rest."

"But he, the interpreter of God's word, says we are doomed."

"He says more than is narrated in the Book of Life. If the ministers
would only keep constantly in their minds these words: 'For I testify
unto every man that heareth the words of the prophecy of this book. If
any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues
that are written in this book,' then there would be less
misconstructions put upon the Bible. Men would be more careful not to
accuse their brother, while the beam was in their own eye. Why, Cora,
you are but a child, and Christ said: 'Suffer little children to come
unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.' Now,
instead of following the holy precept of the Master, whom he feigns to
serve, he declares you an imp of darkness. His zeal hath made him mad.
Where is your father?"

"Alas, I know not."

"When will he return?"

"I know not."

"What are his plans?"

"I am wholly ignorant of them."

Next day Charles Stevens was wandering through the forest near the
spring where he rescued the wounded stranger some years before. Often
had he thought of that melancholy man and the strange resemblance he
bore to Cora's father.

"Where is he now, and what has been his fate?" he thought, as he
strolled toward the spring. Suddenly he paused and looked toward the
brooklet. Well might he be startled. The negro servants, John and
Tituba, were engaged in some of their diabolical incantations in the
stream. Kneeling by the water's side, each bent until their foreheads
touched the water, then, starting up, they murmured strange feti