Читать книгу Ye Lyttle Salem Maide. A Story of Witchcraft онлайн

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“Deliverance Wentworth,” she answered. With confidence inspired anew by the kindly face, she added, “I have a brother in Boston Town, who be a Fellow o’ Harvard. Should ye hap to cross his path, might ye be pleased to give him my dutiful love? He be all for learning, and carries a mighty head on young shoulders.”

Then with another courtesy she turned and fled fearfully along the path, for the red of the sunset had vanished.

Far, far above her gleamed two or three pale silver stars. The gloom of twilight was rising thickly in the forest. Bushes stretched out goblin arms to her as she passed them. The rustling leaves were the whisperings of wizards, beseeching her to come to them. A distant stump was a witch bending over to gather poisonous herbs.

At last she reached her home. A flower-bordered walk led to the door. The yard was shut in by a low stone wall. The afterglow, still lingering on the peaked gables of the house, was reflected in the diamond-paned windows and on the knocker on the front door. There was no sign of life. Save for the spotless neatness which marked all, the place had a sombre and uninhabitable air, as if the forest, pressing so closely upon the modest farmstead, flung over it somewhat of its own gloom and sadness.