Act VI.


_Three weeks later. Lane near Salem overhung by blossoming
apple-trees. Enter_ Hathorne, Corwin, _and_ Parris.

_Corwin._ 'Tis better here, a little removed from the field where
they are putting Giles Corey to death. I could bear the sight of it
no longer.

_Hathorne._ You are fainthearted, good Master Corwin.

_Corwin._ Fainthearted or not, 'tis too much for me. I was brought
not up in the shambles, nor bred butcher by trade.

_Parris._ Your worship, you should strive in prayer, lest you
falter not in the strife against Satan.

_Corwin._ I know not that I have faltered in any strife against
Satan.

_Parris._ Perchance 'tis but your worship's delicate frame of body
causeth you to shrink from this stern duty.

_Hathorne._ This torment of Giles Corey's can last but a little
space now. He hath still his chance to speak and avert his death,
and he will do it erelong. They have increased the weights mightily.
Fear not, good Master Corwin, Giles Corey will not die; erelong his
old tongue will wag like a millwheel.