areful in the utterance
of their opinions about Dulcibel than they had been relative to the
other accused persons. Not that they had much doubt as to the maiden's
being a born witch--the serpent-mark seemed to most of them a conclusive
proof of that--but what if one of those "spectres," the "yellow bird"
or the uncontrollable "black mare" should be near and listening to what
they were even then saying?

"What do I think about it?" said one of the crowd to his companion. "Why
I think that if he who sups with the devil should have a long spoon, he
who abuses a witch should be certain her yellow bird is not listening
above his left shoulder," and he gave a quick glance in the direction
alluded to, while half of those near him, as they heard his warning
words, did the same. And there was not much talking against Dulcibel
after this, among that portion of the villagers.

Ellis Raymond had heard this speech as he walked silently out of the
meeting-house with Joseph Putnam, and a grim smile flitted over his
face. He felt prouder than ever of his beautiful betrothed. He was not a
man who admired amazons or other masculine women, such, as in these
days, we call "strong-minded;" he liked a woman to keep in her woman's
sphere, such as the Creator had marked out for her by making her a
woman; but circumstances may rightly overrule social conventions, and
demand action suitable to the emergency. Standing at bay, among a pack
of howling wolves, the heroic is a womanly as well as manly quality;
and the gun and the knife as feminine implements, as the needle and the
scissors. Dulcibel had never reasoned about such things; she was a
maiden who naturally shrank from masculine self-assertion and publicity;
but, called to confront a great peril, she was true to the noble
instincts of her family and her race, and could meet falsehood with
indignant denial and contempt. How she had been led to utter those
predictions she never fully understood--not at the time nor afterwards.
She seemed to herself to be a mere reed through which some indignant
angel was speaking.

"Well," said Joseph Putnam, as they got clear of the crowd, "brother
Thomas and sister Ann have wakened up the tiger at last. They will be
"afflicted" now in dead earnest. Did you see how sister Ann, with all
her assurance, grew pale and almost fainted? It serves her right; she
deserves it; and Thomas too, for being such a dupe and fool."

"Do you think it will come true?" said