ing.

"Do not be too conscientious about the means, my dear friend," continued
Master Raymond. "Do not stand so straight that you lean backward.
Remember that this is war and a just war against false witnesses, the
shedders of innocent blood, and wicked or deceived rulers. If I am
imprisoned, what is to become of Dulcibel? Think of her--do not think of
me."

Joseph Putnam was greatly agitated. "I will do all I can for both of
you. But my soul recoils from anything like deceit, as from wickedness
itself. But I will think over it, and see if I cannot devise some way to
keep Sister Ann away, for a time or altogether."

"Give me at least fifteen minutes to work on the Magistrates, and to
enlist the sympathies of the people in my behalf. For me, so far as my
conscience is concerned, I should not hesitate to shoot that Jezebel.
For the murder of the twenty innocent men and women who have now been
put to death, she is mainly responsible. And to kill her who surely
deserves to die, might save the lives of fifty others."

Joseph Putnam shook his head. "I cannot see the matter in that light,
Friend Raymond."

"Oh," replied Raymond, "of course I do not mean you should kill Mistress
Ann. I only put it as giving my idea of how far _my_ conscience would
allow me to go in the matter. Draw her off in some way though--keep her
out of the room for awhile--give me a little time to work in."

"I will do all I can; you may be sure of that," responded Master Putnam
emphatically.

Here further confidential conversation was prevented by the entrance of
the marshall.

CHAPTER XLII.

Master Raymond Astonishes the Magistrates.

The examination was to commence at three o'clock in the afternoon, and
to be held in the Court House in the town, as being more convenient to
Squire Hathorne than the meeting-house in the village.

As Master Thomas Putnam's house and farm were several miles beyond the
village, it made quite a long ride for them to attend the examination.
He had arranged with his wife, however, to start immediately after their
usual twelve o'clock dinner, taking her behind him on a pillion, as was
customary at that day--his daughter Ann being already in town, where she
was paying a visit to a friend. He had received however a message about
ten o'clock, requesting his immediate presence at Ipswich, on a matter
of the most urgent importance; and though he was greatly puzzled by it,
he concluded to go at once to Ipswich a