to spare my life?"

"I have no occasion to take it."

The crestfallen Virginian said no more. All night long they journeyed
through the forests and across plains. At dawn of day they were among
the mountains. They rested and George Waters kept watch over the wounded
man while he slept.

By the middle of the afternoon, they were on the march again. Mr.
Martin's wounds were inflamed and sore, and he was in a fever. Next day
they reached the village of some friendly Indians, and remained there
two weeks, until the wounded man was able to proceed. George Waters went
with him until they were in sight of a village on the upper James River.

"I can go no further, Mr. Martin," said George Waters.

"I understand," he returned, dismounting from the saddle.

"Can you make your way to those houses?"

"Yes."

"I will take you nearer, if necessary."

"It is not."

George Waters cut two stout sticks with forks to place under his arms as
crutches. Martin watched his acts of kindness, while a softer expression
came over his face. He was about to go away, but turned about and,
seizing Waters by the hand, cried:

"God bless you! You are a man!"

Not willing to risk himself further he turned away, and George Waters
re-entered the forest. He reached Boston early in 1692, just after the
acquittal of his brother and others of the charge of witchcraft.

Everybody realizing that the madness had run its course, Charles Stevens
and his mother went back to their home at Salem, confident that they
need fear no more persecutions from Parris, whose power was gone.

[Illustration: George Waters cut stout sticks as crutches.]

Next day after his arrival, while going down a lonely path near the
village Charles suddenly came upon Sarah Williams.

Her eyes were blazing with the fires of hope, fanaticism and
disappointed pride.

"Charles! Charles!" she cried. "Nay, do not turn away from me, for, as
Heaven is my witness, I did not have your mother cried out upon!"

"Sarah Williams, I am as willing as any to forget the past, or, if
remember it I must, only think of it as a hideous nightmare from which,
thanks to Providence, we have escaped forever."

"Charles, let us be friends."

"Far be it from me to be your enemy, Sarah Williams."

"Can you not be more, Charles?" said the handsome widow, her dark eyes
on the ground, while her cheek became suffused with a blush.

"What mean you, Sarah Williams?"

"You used to love me."

The