Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. "You heard me say it! It was inevitable.
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