_Olive._ Think you I can wed when you--

_Giles._ Ay, I do think so, lass, and so ye will.

_Olive._ Father, I will not. But if you plead I will, I promise you
I will.

_Giles._ I will not, and you will. Lass, since you be here, I pray
you set a stitch in this seam in my coat. I would look tidy at the
trial, for thy mother's sake. Hast thou thy huswife with thee?

_Olive._ Yes, father.

[Olive _threads a needle, and standing beside her father, sets the
stitch; weeps as she does so._

_Giles._ Know you every tear adds weight to the stones, lass?

_Olive._ Then will I weep not. [_Mends._

_Giles._ Be the child and the old woman well?

_Olive._ Yes, father.

_Giles._ Look out for them as you best can. And see to 't the
little maid's linen chest is well filled, as your mother would have.

[Olive _breaks off the thread._

_Giles._ Be the stitch set strong?

_Olive._ Yes, father.

_Giles_ (_turning and folding her to his arms_). Oh, my good lass,
the stones be naught, but this cometh hard, this cometh hard! Could
they not have spared me this?

_Olive._ Father, listen to me, listen to me--

_Giles._ Lass, I must listen to naught but the voice of God. 'Tis
that speaks, and bids me do this thing. Thou must come not betwixt
thy father and his God.

_Olive._ Father! father!

_Giles._ Go, Olive, I can bear no more. Tell me thou wilt wed as I
command you.

_Olive._ As thou wilt, father! father! but I will love no man as I
love thee.

_Giles._ Go, lass. Give me a kiss. There, now go! I command thee to
go! Paul, take her hence. I charge ye do by her when her father be
dead and gone, as ye would were he at thy elbow. Take her hence. I
would go to prayer.

[_Exeunt_ Paul _and_ Olive.

_Olive_ (_as the door closes_). Father! father!

Giles Corey _stands alone in cell. Curtain falls._

Act VI.

_Three weeks later. Lane near Salem overhung by blossoming
apple-trees. Enter_ Hathorne, Corwin, _and_ Parris.

_Corwin._ 'Tis better here, a little removed from the field where
they are putting Giles Corey to death. I could bear the sight of it
no longer.

_Hathorne._ You are fainthearted, good Master Corwin.

_Corwin._ Fainthearted or not, 'tis too much for me. I was brought
not up in the shambles, nor bred butcher by trade.

_Parris._ Your worship, you should strive in prayer, lest you
falter not in the strife against Satan.

_Corwin._ I know not that I have faltered in any