The morning dawned with a most welcome radiance upon the haggard and exhausted Harris, as he lay on the bank of a muddy brook, from which, after his desperate efforts in the ditch, he had no strength to retreat. But he soon felt the refreshing influence of the morning air, and as he cast his eye over the different and well-known objects around him, his scattered senses began to return and his courage to revive. He saw in the miserable plight of his dress and the bruises on his limbs that he had been foiled in his great battle with the adversary; but he hoped that after all Satan had been so much annoyed by his prayers and quotations, that he had fled out of the region. He dared not, however, venture back into the house, until he saw Bolton coming towards him, who having fled at the first onset, was not so stupified with terror as his friend Harris. Bolton, however, looked as if he had passed a comfortless night. He had been separated from the other guards, who had sought their own safety, and at last found shelter in a cottage, distant from town, where he remained till morning.

'How came you, Bolton, to leave me to fight the battle alone?' exclaimed Harris.

'Because, I am no match for the devil,' said Bolton; 'and you, Harris—did you stand your ground?'

'Stand it? Yes, long after you had left it, and it was not till the monster was directly upon me, that I began to retreat.'

'Retreat! you retreat?' said Bolton; 'why, you said the devil would flee at the first word you uttered. I am afraid, Harris, you are not so much of a saint as you thought.'

'Saint!' replied the indignant Harris, 'it would take an army of saints to drive off such a dragon as he who assaulted me. I tell you, Bolton, if I had not been a saint I should have been consumed by the flames that surrounded me. But thank God, I was delivered out of the mouth of the lion!'

'Shall we venture into the house?' said Bolton; 'it is now clear daylight, and as dragons are abroad only in the night, I think we may go in with safety.'

'I will go,' said Harris; 'my courage revives, and methinks I could even face the dragon again. Oh! Bolton, it is a great thing to have a good conscience!'

'It is a better thing, so far as safety is concerned, to have nimble feet,' replied Bolton. 'I believe you and I, Harris, must trust more to these than to any special friendship with conscience.'

'We are both sinners, Bolton, and saints too, I hope,' said Harris; 'but look, every thing seems natural about the house; there is no mark of fire or brimstone. I have faith to believe that last prayer of mine was not fruitless.'

As the jailer uttered this, they entered the door, and the first objects they saw were the horns, cloak and appurtenances of Strale. A note was seen on the table, and Harris hastily opening it, read as follows:

'The bird has flown. Faithful guards, what account will ye give of your stewardship? Thanks to your superstition and folly, they have given us that, which we sought in vain from your sense of justice and humanity. The wicked flee when no man pursueth. If ye tremble and flee before the painted symbol of Satan, what will ye do when you meet the arch Enemy face to face?

Walter Strale.'

'So then we have run away from a shadow, and the devil was this Walter Strale! I thought the scoundrel was in Boston, and had given up the witch. I would as soon be hung myself, as have this thing known.'

'But it must be known,' said Bolton; 'how else can we give account of the lady's escape? We must see the magistrates, tell them the facts, and take their advice.'

'There is no other way,' returned Harris; 'it is a dreadful alternative, but I hardly think they will wish to betray us on their own account; it would cover them with disgrace as well as us.'

So saying, they proceeded to the house of one of the magistrates, who called in the sheriff and one of his assistants. After a full conference, they decided to report that the escape of Miss Lyford was effected by violence. The injury done to the door would support this view of the case, and the absence of Strale and Lyford, and the sudden departure of the Water Witch would furnish a plausible story, and allay the anger of the populace.

It was now eleven o'clock, and the population of Salem and its neighborhood, near and remote, were assembled on the hill, to witness another act in the tragedies of the times. The scaffold was overshadowed by a tree, whose graceful figure and verdant branches had long attracted the youth and maidens of the vicinity in their summer rambles, and under its pleasant shade, many a whisper of affection and many a secret of innocence and love, had been breathed to willing ears and confiding hearts.

Near this spot stood the unhappy Trellison; around and before him, and stretching away to the base of the hill, a silent and solemn multitude were waiting the arrival of the officers of the law and their hapless victim. On his right, the beautiful town was reposing in the brightness and calm of a clear summer day; but to the eye of man, a strange and startling gloom had fallen upon a scene, which up to this fatal period, had been radiant in the fairest forms of beauty and loveliness. One spot only riveted the gaze of Trellison, and as his eye explored the shaded avenue, along which the sad procession must pass, the ashy paleness of his victim's countenance, the neglected ringlets that once with magic power had played upon her neck of spotless white, and the slender figure whose graceful proportions had charmed every beholder, completely filled his imagination, and threw over his face the gloom of despair. The heavy moments rolled on, and at length the hour of twelve was announced by the under sheriff, while neither officer nor prisoner appeared. A beam of hope now lighted the eye of Trellison; he knew some unseen power had suspended or averted the fatal sentence, and with unutterable emotions, he saw the sheriff at last ascend the platform to explain the mysterious absence of the prisoner. The multitude gathered around, while the officer declared, as he said, with grief and shame inexpressible, that Miss Lyford had been withdrawn by violence; that Ringbolt and the crew of the Water Witch, in concert with Strale, had effected by stratagem and force, the escape of the criminal, and thus the law was defrauded of its demands, and the majesty of Heaven of a sacrifice, which would have done much to vindicate its insulted honor, and defeat the machinations of the devil. The people were exhorted to go home, and if any of them felt encouraged in the practice of these wicked arts, by the escape of Miss Lyford, they might be assured the law would not relax its demands, nor the officers of justice their vigilance, but the land must, at all hazards, be purged of Satan and his devices. They were also charged to pray that the mischievous and wicked maiden who had escaped, might be overtaken by the Divine vengeance, and punished for her sorceries.

At that moment, Trellison mounted the scaffold. His face, which till now had worn the livid hue of death, was covered by the flush of emotion. Every eye in that immense assemblage was fixed upon him. As he flung off his cap and threw back his disordered hair, he seemed moved by an impulse little less than divine. In a few moments his aspect became composed, and in a calm and clear voice he gave utterance to the feelings which moved his inmost soul.

'Heaven, to-day, has interposed,' said this master of the assembly, 'and spared the innocent blood. Why slept thy thunders, oh Jehovah! when the dire machination entered my heart? when I cursed the innocent victim and laid snares for her life? Thou didst turn back upon my soul a tide of guilt and horror, which would have drowned me in destruction and perdition, and now thou hast checked its rage, and given me space to proclaim the innocence of that victim, whom thou hast this day saved from the altar of Moloch. Hear me, magistrates and men, and ye ministers of an insulted God! hear me, old age, middle life and youth! I proclaim in your ears that the maiden who has this day escaped death, was guiltless of the crime for which she was condemned to die! Deceived by my own heart, mistaking the bitter passion of revenge for zeal in the service of my Maker, it was this hand that brought down the threatened ruin upon that child of innocence and love. The fetters that bound me in delusion and shame are broken for ever. But who shall wash our guilty hands from the blood we have shed? Who shall reanimate the cold forms that but yesterday lived and breathed in our midst? Here, from this fatal hill, shall go down a memorial through all departing generations, which shall brand us for ever. The winds that sweep over these valleys and rocks shall testify against us. Yonder tree, riven by lightning, and blasted to its very roots, shall testify against us. This mount of offence, on which we now stand, shall testify against us. For me, I go from this place, to solitude, penitence and prayer. Go you to the like solemn offices, and bless your Maker, as I do, that this vial of wrath has been stayed. Hold back your hands from blood; already it cries for vengeance from the ground. Be grateful, as I am, that we are not yet pursued by his avenging hand, or smitten by the thunders of his wrath.'

The speaker descended from the scaffold. As he passed through the spell-bound and awe-struck multitude, no one molested him. He lingered for a moment on the edge of the forest, and then waving his hand, as if he would again impress the solemn truths he had uttered, on the minds of the audience, he disappeared among the tress. An unbroken silence reigned for a few moments through all that vast assembly, and the first words that were spoken, were an expression of thankfulness that the innocent maiden had escaped; but the solemn impressions of the day failed to arrest the mighty torrent of superstition that was now rushing over the land. There were not wanting those who attributed this change in Trellison to the power of her magic arts. This belief gained ground, as Trellison was never more seen in public, and his retreat was undiscovered and unknown. The delusion still prevailed; other scenes of blood were witnessed; and history, faithful to its trust, has branded that age and its men of power and influence with an infamy which must abide upon them for ever.