“And she who had it after you, won her lover with but a plain white stone?” asked the chief magistrate, interested in spite of himself.
“With just a plain white stone and a happy heart,” answered Alisoun. “It seemed to be enough.”
“He-hem!” The dignified magistrate was just able to suppress a chuckle by putting his hand before his mouth. He glanced nervously at Master Cotton Mather, who stood frowning and nonplussed. While he waited, Hugh Atherton, standing among the spectators, raised his voice so that all could hear.
“I also would say a word for this poor old woman,” he began. “She was my nurse when I was a boy, and a simpler, gentler soul has never lived.”
“Master Atherton,” shouted Cotton Mather suddenly. “You who would be a minister some day, have a care what you do. Think not that you can ever find a church to receive you, if it be known that you defended a proven witch and turned Devil’s Advocate.”
“I should not be worthy of a church,” retorted Hugh, “did I stand by in silence and let justice go so woefully awry. Here are grave and learned men threatening the life of a poor, quavering old dame, and here are none who dare to speak for her save a woman, a young maid and a little boy. Where is our manhood, to be so afraid at such a time? Do you remember,” he went on, looking from one to another of those who stood so intently listening, “you—and you—and you, that day in the school house, when some of us, as children, sat upon the benches, and some of you, as grown men, stood about the walls and listened to the words that Master Simon spoke in our midst? It was of priests of the Roman Church and of Free-Thinkers and Quakers that we were in such deadly terror then, although we have since learned to let them dwell in peace and know that they can bring us no harm. But to-day we cower before a new fear, of spells and witchcraft and muttering old women, and it would be well could Master Simon rise up from the grave to soothe our terrors with those famous words of his—‘Walk not in fear, ye men of God!’”
“Silence,” roared Master Mather, leaning far out over the stairs. “Away with him; he is bewitched like the woman and the maid. Away with them all to jail!”
But the crowd was no longer with the great minister, the bubble of the witchcraft terror had burst. Murmurs and exclamations began, cries of “Good, good, Master Hugh!” “Good, brave Mistress Alisoun!” Then suddenly the murmurings grew into a rumble and the rumble into a mighty roar as the whole assembly surged forward.