die two weeks before her, to make ready for her coming!
And you," turning to the constables on each side of her, "for your cruel
treatment of innocent women, shall die by this time next year!"

The constables loosened their grasp of her hands and shrank back in
dismay. The "afflicted" suddenly hushed their cries and regained their
composure, as they saw the accused maiden's eyes, lit up with the
wildness of inspiration, glancing around their circle with lightning
flashes that might strike at any moment.

Even Squire Hathorne's wine-crimsoned face paled, lest she would turn
around and denounce him too. Even if she were a witch, witches it was
known sometimes spoke truly. And when she slowly turned and looked upon
him, the haughty judge was ready to sink to the floor.

"As for you, John Hathorne, for your part in these wicked doings," here
she paused as if waiting to hear a supernatural voice, while the crowded
meeting-house was quiet as a tomb--"No! you are only grossly deluded;
you shall not die. But a curse shall be upon you and your descendants
for a hundred years. They shall not prosper. Then a Hathorne shall arise
who shall repudiate you and all your wicked works, and the curse shall
pass away!"

Squire Hathorne regained his courage the instant she said he should not
die, little he cared for misfortunes that might come upon his
descendants.

"Off with the witch to prison--we have heard enough!" he cried hoarsely.
"Tell the jailer to load her well with irons, hands and feet; and give
her nothing to eat but bread and water of repentance. She is committed
for trial before the special court, in her turn, and at the worshipful
judges' convenience."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Well, What Now?

The crowd drew long breaths as they emerged from the meeting-house. This
was the first time that the accused had fully turned upon the accusers.
It was a pity that it had not been done before; because such was the
superstition of the day, that to have your death predicted by one who
was considered a witch was no laughing matter. The blood ran cold even
in Mistress Ann Putnam's veins, as she thought of Dulcibel's prediction;
and the rest of the "afflicted" inwardly congratulated themselves that
they had escaped her malediction, and resolved that they would not be
present at her trial as witnesses against her, if they could possibly
avoid it. But then that might not be so easy.

Even the crowd of beholders were a little more c