_Hathorne._ Olive, what did you wear when you walked with the black
man?

_Olive._ Your worship, I walked with no black man.

_Ann._ There he is now, standing behind her, looking over her
shoulder.

_Hathorne._ What say you to that, Olive?

_Olive_ (_looking in terror over her shoulder_). I see no one. I
pray you, let my father stand near me.

_Parris._ Nay; the black man is enough for you.

_Giles_ (_forcing his way to his daughter_). Here I be, lass; and it
will go hard if the hussies can see the black man and old Giles in
one place. Where be the black man now, jades?

_Hathorne_ (_angrily_). Marshal!

_Corwin_ (_interposing_). Nay, good Master Hathorne, let Goodman
Corey keep his standing. The maid looks near swooning, and albeit
his manner be rude, yet his argument hath somewhat of force. In
truth, he and the black man cannot occupy one place. Mercy Lewis,
see you now this black man anywhere?

_Mercy._ Yes, your worship.