CHAPTER XVI.
"I am constrained to declare, as the result of as thorough a scrutiny as I could institute, my belief that this dreadful transaction was introduced and driven on by wicked perjury and wilful malice."
UPHAM'S LECTURE OX SALEM WITCHCRAFT.
"Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?"
LEAR.
There seems sometimes to be an element of evil in the heart of a child,that would almost persuade us to believe in original sin. In the breastof those who have been favorably born and kindly nurtured, it may sleepforever; but, when the conscience has been soiled in early childhood, itawakes the appetite for sin, and the restraint that comes afterwardscurbs without subduing the disposition to evil.
It is true that poor Phoebe had felt a strong affection for hergrandmother; and, without all other moral restraint, it was the onlypoint in which her heart could be touched. The vagrant life she had ledhad also had its influence:
"Happy because the sunshine was her dower,"
she could not always be insensible to the beauty of the heaven that hadso often canopied her sleep, or the grandeur of the ocean where she hadpassed whole days playing with the waves. She rebelled against therestraint that every feminine occupation imposed on this wild liberty.She quailed, indeed, before Dinah's more resolute spirit; but Edith'sgentleness had failed to touch her heart; and she knew that her forcedobedience to Dinah was only the result of Edith's authority.
When the child appeared, Edith held out her hand with her own grave,sweet smile; but, the moment the child saw her, she began again to acther part, and to throw her body and limbs into violent contortions.Edith was not alarmed: she saw it was feigned; and, drawing her to herknees, she held both her little hands tightly clasped in hers. Phoebebecame instantly calm; but this was a part of the system ofdeception,--that, as soon as the accused touched the afflicted, theyshould be calmed and healed.
Edith looked in her face, and said, very kindly, "Tell me, my poorchild, who has persuaded you to do this wicked thing,--to accuse me ofthis horrible crime? tell me truly. I shall not be angry with you, Ishall not punish you, if you tell me the truth. Who first spoke to youabout it? What have they promised you for bringing this trouble on me?"
The child, unmoved, said, "You yourself made me do it."
"I! O, my poor Phoebe, how can you be so wicked as to tell this dreadfullie? Do you not know that God sees you and hears you, and that he willpunish you for it? I may die: you may cause my death; but you will liveto repent; and, O, how sorry you will be in after years, when you thinkhow much I loved you, and you have caused my death! But, my poor Phoebe,you know not what you do; you know not what death is."
"My grandmother died," said the child.
"Ah, yes; but she died quietly in her bed, and you were sleeping near;and when I took you in my arms to look at her, you saw only her peacefulcountenance. But I shall not die thus: I shall be dragged before angrymen, and, with irons on my hands and ankles, I shall be lifted to thescaffold, and there, before hundreds of angry faces turned towards me,I shall die alone! not peacefully, as your grandmother did, when with myown hands I closed her eyes, but horribly, in pain and agony! and youwill have done this,--you that I have loved so"--
Phoebe became very red, and the tears came to her eyes.
Edith thought she had touched the child's heart, and continued: "I knewyou could not be so wicked, so young and looking so innocent. No, mychild; you love me, and you will unsay all you have said, and we will gohome again together."
The child answered, with much violence, "No, no, never! you pricked mewith pins, and you tormented me."
"O, monstrous!" said Edith; "if I could believe in devils, I shouldbelieve you were now possessed. O, it is not natural! so young, and witha woman's nature! You do not love me, then. I have punished you when youhave done wrong, and you have not forgiven me: you wish to be revenged.You do not answer. Phoebe! tell me: are you angry that I punished you?God knows it pained me to do so. But your poor grandmother gave you tome that I might try to make you a good child; and if I had not punishedyou when you did wrong, you would have grown up a wicked woman. Godgrant you may not be so now! you are already revenged."
Phoebe said, very sullenly, "You punished me twice."
"Good God! and is it for that you have brought on me this terrible evil?Can such revenge dwell in so young a heart?"
Edith walked several times across the room, trying to calm her agitatednerves. The child stood with an expression of obstinate determination inher whole manner.
At length Edith went to her, and took her, as she had often done athome, in her arms.
"My dear Phoebe, do you remember the day when your grandmother died? Iwas there by her bedside; and you, a poor, deserted child, were cryingbitterly. I took you home to my house. Like myself, you were an orphan;and I prayed to the orphan's Father that from me your little heart mightnever know a pang of sorrow. You fell asleep in my arms; and since thenI have ever loved you almost as though I were indeed your mother, andyou were my own child. And you, Phoebe, you have loved me, have younot?"
The child was silent.
"Do you remember the fever you had soon after? when you were restless inyour bed, and I took you in my arms, and all night my bosom was yourpillow, and I watched you many nights, and thought not of sleep orfatigue when I held your little hand, burning with fever, in my own allnight? Ah! you loved me then; you will love me again, and--"
"I never loved you," said the child; "I do not love you now."
Edith put her quickly from her arms, and turning to the man who waspresent, "Take her away," she said; "take the poor child away. O, myGod! is it for this I have lavished on her the tenderness of my heart! Iwarmed her in my bosom, and she has stung me to the quick. O, had I beenless indulgent, I might have subdued her stubborn nature. Of what availhas been a life of self-denial, of benevolence? Of what avail that Ihave striven to enlighten my own mind and to do good to others? In onemoment, by that child of my own cherishing, but the creature of my ownbounty, I am suspected of a horrible, contemptible crime; humiliated tothe very dust. O, my Father! it is too much." She covered her face withher hands, and burst into tears.
The person who had witnessed the scene with the child was the same elderI have mentioned as possessing much tenderness of heart, but too weak ahead to listen to its dictates when opposed to the influence of others.He had been much affected by her appeal to the child, and came back tourge her, if she had any friends to espouse her cause, to send for them.He said the fanaticism was increasing; that the prisons in many villageswere filled with the accused; that the hearts of the people werehardened against them; and that her own cause had been much injured bythe confession of the old woman: and he ended by entreating her toconfess also, and save her life.
To the last proposal, Edith did not answer. She said she had alreadywritten to the only friend on whom she could rely, and that Paul hadgone himself with her letter. Her cause, she said, seemed already lost,and all she wished at present was, that Dinah might be permitted tovisit her, and that she might be left alone.
When Edith was alone, she felt the depression that succeeds to greatexcitement. She looked back on her life with that sick and heart-brokenfeeling that the young experience after severe disappointments. She wastoo young to die; and, though her life had been comparatively blameless,the excess of feeling she had lavished on a few idols seemed now to heralmost like a crime. She had forgotten, she thought, that her duties hadbeen plain, and simple, and humble, lying all about her path likeunnoticed flowers, while she had longed for something more exciting tofill her heart.
It is easy for the accused to believe themselves guilty. She trembledwhen she thought how many, not weaker than herself, when suspected anddeserted by friends, had yielded to their fears, and even fanciedthemselves _guilty_ of crimes which they abhorred; and she mentallyprayed, "Ah, my Father, save me from myself." Then came the thought ofSeymore, of his g
rief, his desolation! "Ah, who will understand him,"she said; "who will comfort him when I am gone? But will he rememberme?" thought she; "will he think of me in 'widowhood of heart?'"
Who would die and be wholly forgotten? We long intensely to live in thehearts that love us now. We would not pass away "like the summer-driedfountain," forgotten when its sound has ceased. We would have our lowlygrave visited by holy, twilight thoughts, and our image return at thehour of prayer. How few are thus remembered! Now Edith thought of herfather, and all the yearning of her heart, which her love for Seymorehad stifled, came back, and torrents of tears flowed as she recalled herhappy childhood.
They were checked by the entrance of Dinah. She brought comfort withher, and a cheerful countenance, for she did not know the result ofEdith's conversation with the child, and she was full of hope thatPhoebe would retract all she had said.
Edith could not bear to undeceive her poor friend, and smiled, andthanked her as she arranged a nice, clean bed, placed the books she hadbrought within her reach, and pressed her to eat of the delicacies shehad prepared. She arranged the little repast with all the neatness ofhome, and gave to the gloomy apartment an air of comfort; and Edithsmiled again, and felt lightened of half her load of despondency, by thepresence of this faithful guardian.
Delusion; or, The Witch of New England Page 16
