Soon after the return of Lyford from Hadley, Strale having no longer any special occasion for Pompey's services, determined to give him his liberty, in advance of the time specified by his father. He accordingly informed Pompey that he now wished him to enjoy the luxury he had so long desired, that of being his own master. Walter furnished him with a small sum of money, and Mr. Gardner assured him he should have employment about the wharf at reasonable wages. Pompey was in raptures in the possession of his newly acquired liberty, and for many days his enjoyment was unbounded. But he had no notion of being employed as a laborer; and having procured a fashionable hat, with silk stockings and a coat well covered with gilded buttons, and silver buckles on his shoes, Pompey strutted up and down King street for a month or more, to the great amusement of the shop keepers, and with such vast opinions of his own consequence, as no amount of ridicule could possibly diminish. But the golden dream could not last always; it was not broken, however, till the last penny of his cash had disappeared, when he awoke to the consciousness that he had played the fool, and that his pretensions to the character of a gentleman of leisure must be abandoned. In this condition, he had recourse to Strale as his only friend, and begged him to find employment for him on a farm, at a distance from town, where he was willing to go back to his old habits of labor and care. Walter had taken no pains to arrest him in his course of folly, believing that experience was the only cure for his extravagant dreams; but he was very willing to assist him in any way, that might promote his good, and accordingly procured for him a situation on a farm in Danvers, occupied by Mr. Putnam, a highly respectable man, who promised to watch the motions and check the follies of Pompey, as much as might be in his power.

It was a new and not very agreeable scene to Pompey. He had no chance for the display of authority; but was ordered to mind his own business, whenever he presumed to step out of his sphere. This life of discipline was too severe to be endured, and he gradually became remiss in his labors, until at length, it required the constant exercise of authority to induce him to labor at all. In this condition, he contrived various methods of escape from a post that was every way disagreeable; but he well knew, that if he left Mr. Putnam without good reason, he had nothing further to expect from Walter. Happily for him, as he thought, the witch delusion was now advancing with a power which nothing could resist; he saw the influence and importance which had been gained by the impostors who pretended to be afflicted; and there seemed no way so likely to mend his fortunes as to be afflicted himself, and then turn informer.

With a view to carry out this policy, Pompey went to Mr. Parris and entered a complaint against his master. He declared, that Mr. Putnam tormented him night and day, and that strange things were going on at the farm; that one morning a field of grass was cut without hands, and the hay was put into the barn, perfectly dry in one hour after cutting; and that only the day before, as he was at work loading hay, Mr. Putnam stood at a long distance from him, with a hayfork in his hand, and that, in a mysterious manner, the fork entered his arm, inflicting a severe wound, the effects of which were now visible. These wonderful events excited the astonishment of the clergyman, who sent for the farmer, and requested his attendance on the afternoon of the next day.

A few minutes after Trellison's departure, the farmer entered the room, and found his minister in a reclining posture, and apparently absorbed in deep meditation. 'I have come,' said he, 'Mr. Parris, in obedience to your summons, and wish to know your pleasure.'

'Satan is among my flock, Mr. Putnam, and as the good shepherd careth for his sheep, I have feared you may be entangled in his wiles.'

'In my belief, and I am sorry to say it,' said the farmer, 'Satan has more to do with the minister than among the people.'

'Dare you speak thus to the Lord's ambassador, his commissioned and anointed servant, whom he has clothed with the helmet of salvation, and the shield of faith, that he may quench the fiery darts of the devil?'

'You claim a high character, Mr. Parris; but I have heard of wolves in sheeps' clothing, and the course you are pursuing, leaves me in little doubt whose servant you are.'

'What other language than this is to be expected from those who have signed the black book, and eaten the sacrament of devils. You have sold yourself to the service of Satan, and these are the cursed fruits of your compact; it was to question you on this point, that I sent for you to-day, and you owe it to my forbearance, that your name is not now on the scroll of the accused. I wished to know whether the evidence of your servant Pompey could be relied on. Your own language now convinces me of its truth, and you will soon reap the wages of your iniquity.'

'I well know,' replied Mr. Putnam, 'how little evidence it takes to satisfy you, when you are resolved to carry out your purposes. Your own inward convictions, you say, support the evidence of my servant. It will, however, be well for you to inquire, how far his testimony may be trusted. I have brought him with me, that you may question him in my presence.'

'It is a grace you do not deserve, but to show you my forbearance and lenity, I will admit and question him now. You shall not be condemned without a hearing.'

This concession from Mr. Parris was sudden and unexpected; but he knew the sturdy character of Putnam, his excellent reputation, and the danger of pushing matters to extremity. He was therefore glad of the opportunity to come down from the high ground he had taken, and to assume the appearance of fairness and liberality.

Pompey was now introduced, and the poor African was in no very enviable position, between the two inquisitors; but he made the best of his circumstances, and sat down quietly to undergo the examination.

'You seem to be in a calmer state to-day, Pompey,' said the clergyman; 'I hope the cause of your trouble is removed.'

'Witch gone, Massa Parris, all gone; Pompey well as ever.'

'Thanks be to God!' said the clergyman; 'he has heard my prayer. I wrestled with him a full hour on your account, and he gave me faith to believe that the devil would be cast out.'

'Massa Putnam got the witch out; he did it all himself—nobody helped him.'

'What do you mean, Pompey? I do not understand you.'

'I must now explain,' said Putnam, 'and am willing to apologize for the language I used when I came in, so far as to express my belief that you are under a strong delusion, and I do not wish to impute to you corrupt and wicked motives. You have been a good minister, and a kind man in past years, and you well know that in the contest for your parish rights, I have taken your side and supported your claims; but in these witch prosecutions, I have been astonished at the madness of your course, and can only account for it on the ground that you are partially insane; and now in regard to the change in Pompey, I will tell you all the facts. I went out this morning to oversee some men whom I had employed to dig a well. Pompey was there, dancing about in strange attitudes, and presently he threw himself on the ground and began to bite the roots of a tree, and fill his mouth with gravel. I asked him the cause of his strange conduct, and his only reply was, 'Witch, Massa, witch got into Pompey.'

'Who put the witch in, Pompey?' was my next question.

'You, Massa; all well, when you go away.'

'Well, Pompey,' said I, 'if I made you sick, I ought to cure you. The same person who put the witch in, ought to drive the witch out; and taking him to a tree, I gave him, at least, forty stripes, every one of which seemed to possess a magic power. The witches fled in every direction, and I have brought him to you to-day, clothed, and in his right mind. Now, Mr. Parris, I would not detract from the efficacy of your prayers; you know my reverence for religion; but in my poor opinion, if you would take those four wicked girls, (one of whom, I grieve to say it, is my niece, and bears the honest name of Putnam,) and apply the same remedy which has done so much for Pompey, no sign of witchcraft would be seen, and the community would be restored to reason and common sense.'

So saying, the farmer took his departure with Pompey, leaving the minister to his own reflection, and to the deep mortification and shame, in which his own credulity and folly had involved him.

The position of Mary Graham was now critical and alarming. Since her return to Salem, she had boldly condemned the witch proceedings, and in every circle where she moved, her whole influence was directed against the prevailing delusion. Unappalled by the dangers that surrounded her, she extended her sympathy and pity to those who were in prison, and favored the escape of some who were in imminent danger of arrest. In these offices of love and charity she was nearly alone; for though her friends admired her courage and fortitude in the cause of humanity, yet few of them dared to imitate her example. She wrote to Walter and her brother, begging them in concert with Mr. Willard to see Dr. Mather, who had returned from England, and enlist his influence to suspend all further prosecutions. But this good man, though he deplored the excesses into which the community was rushing, either believed the evil would soon be cured, or was so far influenced by his son, that he could not be induced to take a bold stand against the courts; yet it is believed he used much private remonstrance and expostulation, and it was generally supposed the public movements had none of his countenance and support.

Walter replied to Mary's letter, and informed her that no measure had been left untried with Sir William Phipps and his advisers; but nothing could be done; the delusion had seized the minds of the most gifted men in the land, and it was vain to hope for relief until the public malady had run its course; and he expressed his fears that her own standing in society, and the general esteem in which she was held, might not prove a sufficient protection against the envy and malice of some, and the credulity and superstition of others. He expressed his admiration of the course she had taken, but in the present violent stage of the delusion he thought it would be best for her to retire from active participation in any remedies which might be applied, as they could not benefit others, and might be attended by the worst consequences to herself.

Stoughton's court was now in full operation. His associates were Gedney, Winthrop and Sewall. This court was confessedly illegal, but the urgency of the occasion was considered a sufficient warrant for its organization. It was, in fact, an exparte tribunal, as all the judges were known to favor the superstition, and the only hope for those who were brought before it was in the jury, who were so perplexed and overawed, as in general to conform their verdicts to the known opinions of the court.

While affairs remained in this state, there was little prospect of relief from courts and judges. No other hope remained than that the delusion would soon show itself in forms so extravagant and revolting as to excite the contempt and rouse the indignation of the public. This conviction soon reached the mind of Miss Graham, and she forbore to remark upon the subject with her accustomed freedom. In fact it was no longer safe to ridicule or condemn; and with all her popularity and the universal esteem in which she had been held, it was evident she was now regarded with distrust and suspicion. Mr. Ellerson, whose views in general agreed with those of Mary, was extremely guarded and cautious, and often suggested to her his fear that she spoke with too little reserve. In fact, she was soon painfully convinced on this point: many of those whom she loved, began to withdraw from her society, and in various methods discovered their coolness and reserve. She was no longer welcomed with the smile of confidence and affection, and her evening walks, in which she was usually attended by several young ladies and gentlemen, were either wholly omitted or kept up in solitude. This change of the public feeling towards Mary was equally sudden and startling. She was unable to perceive the causes, or trace the insidious agents, who were fastening their toils around her. Neither explanation nor satisfaction could be had, and the mysterious reserve still gathered and increased, wherever she went. Some of her friends, particularly the Higginsons, confessed they dared not be seen in her society, while they privately assured her that their friendship was unabated, and begged she would still regard them with confidence and love.

There was a beautiful walk on the ground now occupied by the Salem Common and the buildings on its left, in the direction towards Beverly. This was a favorite resort for Mary, a place where she indulged in many a happy contemplation on the works of nature, and the wonders of Providence: here too, in the sweet interchange of sympathy and affection with her young companions, she found sources of innocent and unalloyed satisfaction, and sometimes when alone, as she penetrated the depths of the forest and sat down on the green border of the rivulet, or under the shade of the magnificent elm, she realized what the poet many years after sung, in numbers that will never cease to move the contemplative and pious mind:

Though forsaken in great measure by her friends, Mary continued her visits to this chosen retreat, and there, in pensive recollection of other days, and a humble trust in Providence, she found solace and support for her disturbed and anxious mind. Mr. and Mrs. Ellerson, conscious of her innocence, did every thing in their power to soothe her feelings and sustain her sinking courage, but her sensitive mind drooped under the cold neglects of the world, and she even imagined that Walter's letters, though written in all the warmth of affection, began to show symptoms of coldness. Mr. Ellerson thought it his duty to inform Lyford of the state of things, and request his immediate attendance at Salem: this was accordingly done without her knowledge, and on the evening of the twenty-sixth of June, she found herself in the arms of her affectionate and sympathizing brother.

Lyford was soon convinced that some deep laid plan had involved Mary in the suspicion and distrust of the community; but while he trembled at the dangers which surrounded her, his first object was to soothe her feelings, by the kindest offices which affection could suggest, while he constantly revolved in his mind the most probable methods for her deliverance. He wrote immediately to Strale, concealing none of the difficulties and dangers of the case, but requesting he would not now visit Salem, as he feared it might increase the danger, and excite a greater watchfulness against any means that might be devised for her escape.

The next evening, Lyford and his sister walked together and visited the place which was so much endeared to her, by its many delightful associations. It was a fitting occasion to reveal all her griefs, and Lyford no longer wondered at the unbroken sadness of her feelings. She informed him, that as she walked on the borders of a little stream in the forest, she had several times heard voices, pronouncing her real name, and sometimes accompanied by a soft strain of music, inviting her to new habitations among the immortals, and making promises of every kind of enjoyment, if she would but consent to join a company of spirits now on a visit to earth, and offering her distinctions and honors in a new kingdom, which was about to be established in the world. In conclusion, she had no doubt a conspiracy had been formed against her reputation and life, and she believed Trellison had set in motion these unseen agencies, which she feared would soon betray her to prison and death.

'And now, dear brother,' said she, 'what can I do? friends have deserted me on every side; wherever I turn, I meet no response to the most common offices of friendship and good will. When the Sabbath comes, that day of holy rest, whose heavenly influences have fallen so peacefully on my heart, it brings no relief to my troubled spirit: in the very temple of God, I see nothing but averted faces or disturbed looks, and I go and come more lonely and neglected than even the sparrow, who finds a nest for herself among the altars of God.'

'I know not what it means,' said James; 'I am sure, Mary, it is not safe for you to remain here, and yet to attempt flight would probably be followed by instant pursuit, and go to confirm the suspicions that already exist. I shall not leave you, but we will consult together, and our earnest prayers must go up to Heaven for light and deliverance.'

'I have thought, James,' said Mary, 'that it is no longer of any use to conceal my name. The purpose intended by this concealment has been answered; and though it may prejudice my cause still more with the authorities at Boston, yet, in my present circumstances, I wish there may be no ambiguity or deception in any part of my conduct: besides, it is already known to some extent, for it has been repeated in yonder woods in my hearing.'

'You are right, Mary,' replied her brother. 'I believe more good than evil will result from the disclosure: I will get Mr. Ellerson to mention the facts to a few of his friends, and they will soon become generally known; but dear Mary, do not sink under this load of sorrow; Walter and myself will love you even unto death. It is a dark day, but light may arise, and I feel assured that your deliverance will in some way be effected.'

'Ah! my brother,' said Mary, 'I would that such a hope could send its reviving influence to my heart, but I have the most gloomy anticipations and painful forebodings of the result. As I was walking, a few evenings since, by the side of this beautiful stream, I was enabled to cast my eye forward to the land of perfect and eternal repose; the lovely images of nature reflected to my mind the glories of the heavenly world, and I longed to put on the garments of immortality and walk among those pleasant landscapes, where the storms of trouble never blow. But the strife will soon be over, and 'mortality will then be swallowed up of life.''

'Why speak so mournfully, dear Mary? This world is not yet a desert, which no flower of hope nor green beauty of summer can adorn. Winter may come with its frost, but spring will return and bring freshness, blossoms and life in its train. There is a bright side to the picture; do not refuse to behold it.'

'Hush,' said Mary, 'hear you not the voices in yonder forest?' James paused, but no sound reached his ear. The wind sighed mournfully along, as if in sympathy with the sadness which had fastened deeply on the minds of brother and sister, as, arm in arm, they walked on the borders of the forest.

'Listen again,' said Mary; 'surely you must hear them, James.'

A low strain of music, like a faint chorus of voices, now fell upon his ear; in a moment it swelled to a distinct sound and sent its notes of melody among the valleys and rocks. A few words only of the first and second verses were distinguished, but every sound became more clear and impressive, until the following lines were distinctly understood:

At this stage of the music the words became inaudible, until the sound died away in the forest, and the quiet stillness of the evening again rested on the landscape.

'These are strange things, Mary,' said her brother, 'but they are only a part of the snares which are intended to betray you. Time will soon disclose all; meanwhile, have courage, my dear sister; in your conscious rectitude you will find consolation and support; in God there is abundant strength, and what man can do shall be faithfully done. Have no distrust of Walter; his love to you is all you can desire; he would be here to-day but for my cautions and warnings. As the danger thickens around you, we will watch and protect you at every step; but let us not trust in ourselves; it is not to be denied that your danger is great, and I am now of opinion that immediate flight is necessary: we will consult our friends to-night, and what we do must be done quickly.'

They soon returned home; it was too late for any hope of flight, and that very evening, Mary Lyford, by a warrant from the magistrate, was placed in the custody of the sheriff, to await her trial for the practice of witchcraft and sorceries.