rring, some new arrest, some new confession, some new
and outrageously absurd charges.

Master Raymond's hand, if anyone accosted him suddenly, instinctively
sought the hilt of his rapier. He was better skilled in the use of that
weapon than was usual, and had no fear that he should be unable to
escape from the constables, if not taken at a disadvantage. Still, as
that would compel him to fly into the woods, and as it would separate
him from Dulcibel, he had been very careful not to express in public his
abhorrence of all the recent proceedings. I am afraid that he was guilty
of considerable dissimulation, even paying his court to some of the
"afflicted" maidens when he had the opportunity, with soft words and
handsome presents; and trying in this way to enlist a party in his
behalf, in case he or any of his friends should need supporters.

Joseph Putnam censured him one day for his double dealing, which was a
thing not only out of Master Joseph's line, but one which his frank and
outspoken nature rendered it very difficult for him to practise. But
Raymond with his references to King David's behavior towards Achish,
King of Gath, and to certain other scripture, especially Paul's being
"all things to all men that he might save all," was rather too weighty
for Joseph, whose forte was sensible assertion rather than ingenious
argument. And so Master Raymond persevered in his course, feeling no
more compunction in deceiving the Salemites, as he said to himself, than
he would in deceiving and cheating a pack of savage wolves, who were
themselves arrayed in sheep's clothing.

Jethro Sands had of late shown a disposition to renew his attentions to
Dulcibel; but, after two or three visits, in the last of which he had
given the maiden the desired opportunity, she had plainly intimated to
him that the old state of affairs between them could never be restored.

"I know the reason too," said Jethro, angrily "it is all owing to that
English popinjay, who rides about as if we colonists were not fit to
dust his pretty coat for him."

"He is a gentleman, and a friend of mine," replied Dulcibel warmly.

"Why do you not say a lover of yours, at once?"

"You have no right to talk to me in that manner. I will not endure it."

"You will not--how will you help it?" He was now thoroughly angry, and
all his native coarseness came to the surface.

"I will show you," said Dulcibel, the Norse blood of her father glowing
in her face. "Good