to it."

"Of course not. Witches' books never burn," said Squire Hathorne.

"Here are the images," said a constable, producing two little
rag-babies, that Dulcibel was making for a neighbor's children.

The crowd looked breathlessly on as "these diabolical instruments of
torture" were placed upon the table before the magistrates.

"Dulcibel Burton, stand up and look upon your accusers," said Squire
Hathorne.

Dulcibel had sunk upon a bench while the above conversation was going
on--she felt overpowered by the curious and malignant eyes turned upon
her from all parts of the room. Now she rose and faced the audience,
glancing around to see one loved face. At last her eyes met his; he was
standing erect, even proudly; his arms crossed over his breast, his face
composed and firm, his dark eyes glowing and determined. He dared not
utter a word, but he spoke to her from the inmost depths of his soul:
"Be firm, be courageous, be resolute!"

This was what Raymond meant to say; and this is what Dulcibel, with her
sensitive and impassioned nature, understood him to mean. And from that
moment a marked change came over her whole appearance. The shrinking,
timid girl of a moment before stood up serene but heroic, fearless and
undaunted; prepared to assert the truth, and to defy all the malice of
her enemies, if need be, to the martyr's death.

And she had need of all her courage. For, before three minutes had
passed--Squire Hathorne pausing to look over the deposition on which
the arrest had been made--Mistress Ann Putnam shrieked out, "Turn her
head away, she is tormenting us! See, her yellow-bird is whispering to
her!" And with that, she and her little daughter Ann, and Abigail
Williams and Sarah Churchill and Leah Herrick and several others, flung
themselves down on the floor in apparent convulsions.

"Oh, a snake is stinging me!" cried Leah Herrick.

"Her black horse is trampling on my breast!" groaned Sarah Churchill.

"Make her look away; turn her head!" cried several in the crowd. And one
of the constables caught Dulcibel by the arm, and turned her around
roughly.

"This is horrible!" cried Thomas Putnam--"and so young and fair-looking,
too!"

"Ah, they are the worst ones, Master Putnam," said his sympathetic
friend, the Rev. Master Parris.

"She looks young and pretty, but she may really be a hundred years old,"
said deacon Snuffles.

Quiet at last being restored, Magistrate Hathorne said:

"Dulcibel Burto