⁠Yes, you may, indeed, be well assured that I have never, during all the years in which I have ​served the office of sheriff of this county, performed a duty so painful; and I am very sensible that what I am compelled to summon you to perform, is still more distressing. ⁠Were it not sinful, I could wish myself incapable, from disease or disaster, or any other let, of giving legal testimony. Oh! to think of it clouds my brain with confusion, and makes me sick at heart! Violet Murrey, the young, the unfortunate, the gentle, and, I firmly believe, the innocent,—to give evidence to her prejudice, it is a fearful duty! ⁠It is so, good Sir; yet it must be done. I have taken into custody, on accusation of witchcraft, the fairest woman in the west of Scotland; and you must answer on oath to the questions that may be put to you, whether it be for or against her. If she be innocent, Providence will protect her. ⁠If she be innocent! Can any one reasonably suppose that such a creature would be accused, ​or even suspected, but on the strongest proofs of guilt? Some old haggard beldame, with an ill name at any rate, might be wrongfully suspected; but Violet Murrey, good sooth! must have been where she should not have been, ere a tongue or a finger in the county would have wagged to her prejudice. ⁠That's what your wife says, I suppose. ⁠By my faith, Sheriff, it's what every body says; for it stands to reason. ⁠That it stands to folly, would be an apter cause for every body's saying it, my worthy Baillie. ⁠Grace be with us all! does a minister of the Gospel set his face against that for which there be plain texts of Scripture? And when cattle are drained dry, children possessed, storms raised, houses unroofed, noises in the air, and every one's heart beating with distrust and fear of his neighbour,—is this a time for us to stand still, and leave free scope for Satan and his imps to lord it over a sober and godly land? By my certes! I would carry faggots with my own hands to burn my nearest of kin, though her cheeks were like ​roses, and her hair like threads of gold, if she were found, but for one night, joining in the elrich revelry of a devil's conventicle. (A distant trumpet heard.) Ha! the judges so near the town already! ⁠Would they were further off! they come sooner than I reckoned for. ⁠Soon or late, we must go to meet them, as in duty bound.—You take precedence, Sheriff: I will follow you.
⁠[Exeunt Sheriff and Baillie. ⁠What is or is not in this mysterious matter, lies beyond human reason to decide. That I must swear to the truth of what I have seen, when questioned thereupon by authority, is my only clear point of discernment. Hard necessity! My heart, in despite of every proof whispers to me she is innocent. (A loud brawling and tumult heard without.) What noise is this?—The senseless exasperated crowd besetting one of those miserable women who held orgies on the heath on that dreadful night. ​

Enter Mary Macmurren and Wilkin, in the custody of Constables, and surrounded by a crowd, who are casting dust at her, &c. The Constables endeavouring to keep them off.

⁠Deil's hag! she'll pay for her pastime now, I trow. ⁠For a' the milk kye she has witched. ⁠For a' the bonnie bairns she has blasted. ⁠She girns like a brock at a terry-dog. ⁠Score her aboon the breath, or she'll cast a cantrup, and be out o' your han's in a twinkling. ⁠What gars ye rage at me sae? I ne'er did nae harm to nane o' ye. ⁠Hear till her! hear till her! how she lees! ⁠And what for no? Leeing is the best o' their lear, that hae the deel for their dominie. ⁠Ay, wicket witch; leeing 's nought to her: ​but we'll gie her something forbye words for an answer. Wha has gotten a jocteleg to score the wrinkled brow o' her? ⁠Here! here! ⁠Stand back, I say, every mither's son o' ye, an' every faither's daughter to boot. If the woman be a witch winna she be burnt for 't, as ithers o' that calling hae been afore her? Isna that enough to content ye? ⁠Ay, we'll soon see that ugly face, glowering through the smoke o' her benfire, like a howlet in the stour of an auld cowping barn.

⁠An that piece o' young warlockry by her side, see how he glow'rs at us! Can tu squeek, imp? (Trying to pinch Wilkin, who calls out.)

⁠O dull, o' dear! the're meddling wi' me. ⁠Shame upon ye, shame upon ye a'! Ha' ye nae better way o' warring wi' the deel than tormenting a poor idiot? ​ ⁠Shame upon ye! he's a poor fatherless idiot. ⁠Fatherless, forsooth! He's a fiend-begotten imp I warrant ye, and should be sent to the dad he belongs to. (Trumpet heard nearer.) ⁠Red the way, I say, and gang out o' our gait, ilka saul and bouk o' ye! The judges are at han', and my prisoner maun be kary'd or they come, else they'll order ye a' to the tolbooth at a swoop. ⁠What a braw thing it is to hear the trumpet sound sae nobly! There they come now; the judges, and the sheriff, and the baillies, and the deacons—a' the grand authorities o' the country. ⁠Hegh saf ' us, what a gurly carle that judge is on the left! nae witch that stan's before him wull escape, I trow, war' she as young and as bonny as the rose-buds in June. ⁠Hau'd your tongue, mither, that a body may ​see them in peace. It's an awfu' thing but to look upon them here: the Lord help them that maun face them in condemnation! ⁠Daft bairn! wull the Lord help witches, think'st tu?

Enter Judges in procession, followed by the Sheriff, Baillies, Gentlemen of the county, and Attendants, &c. &c., and passing diagonally across the Stage, exeunt.

⁠Now let me breathe awhile, and enjoy my hard-earned triumph unconstrainedly.——Revenge so complete, so swift-paced, so terrible! It repays me for all the misery I have endured.——May I triumph? dare I triumph?——Why am I astounded and terrified on the very pinnacle of exultation? Were she innocent, ​Providence had protected her. What have I done but contrived the means for proving her guilt? Means which come but in aid of others that would almost have been sufficient. ⁠O dool, O dool! she's condemned! she'll be executed, she'll be burnt, she'll be burnt the morn's morning at the cross, and a' through my putting that sorrowfu' gown into your hands, and by foul play, too, foul befa' it! O hone, O hone! ⁠What's all this weeping and wringing of hands for? Art thou distracted? ⁠I kenna how I am, I care na how I am; but I winna gang to hell wi' the death of an innocent leddy on my head, for a' the gowd in Christentie. ⁠Poor fool! what makes thee think that the gown thou gottest for me had any thing to do with her condemnation? ⁠O you wicked woman! I ken weel enough; and I ken what for you confined me in that back ​chammer sae lang, and keepet my brains in sic a whirlegig wi' whiskey and potations. ⁠Thou knowest! how dost thou know? ⁠I set my lug to a hole in the casement, and heard folks below in the close telling a' about the trial. It was that gown spread out in the court, wi' a hole in the sleeve o't, matching precisely to a piece o' the same silk, which na doubt you tore out yoursel whan it was in your hands, that made baith judge and jury condemn her. ⁠Poor simpleton! did'st thou not also hear them say, that the minister, sore against his will, swore he saw her on the moor, where the witches were dancing, in company with a man who has been in his grave these three years? was not that proof enough to condemn her, if there had been nothing more? ⁠It may be sae. ⁠And is so. Is not Mary Macmurren a witch? and has not she been condemned upon much slighter evidence? Thou'rt an absolute fool, man, for making such disturbance about nothing. ​ ⁠Fool, or nae fool, I'll gang to the sheriff and tell him the truth, and then my conscience wull be clear frae her death, whate'er she may be. ⁠Her death, frightened goose! Dost thou think she will really be executed? ⁠I heard them say, that she and Mary Macmurren are baith to be brunt the morn's morning. ⁠They said what they knew nothing about. Mary Macmurren will be burnt, for an example to all other witches and warlocks, but a respite and pardon will be given to Violet Murrey: it is only her disgrace, not her death, that is intended; so thy conscience may be easy. ⁠If I could but believe you! ⁠Believe me, and be quiet; it is the best thing thou canst do for thyself, and for those who are dearest to thee. Be a reasonable creature, then, and promise to me never to reveal what thou knowest. ⁠I will keep the secret, then, since she is not to ​suffer. But winna you let me out the morn to see the burning o' Mary Macmurren? It wad be a vexatious thing to be sae near till 't, and miss sic a sight as that. ⁠Thou shalt have all reasonable indulgence. But what scares thee so?

⁠[Voice heard without.]

⁠I hear the voice o' Grizeld Bane. She man ha' been below the grund wi' her master sin' we last gat sight o' her at the tower, else the sheriff officers wad ha' grippet her wi' the rest.—Lord preserve us! is she coming in by the door or the winnoch, or up through the boards o' the flooring? I hear her elrich voice a' round about us, an my lugs ring like the bell o' an amos house. ⁠Now, my brave lady, my bold lady, my victorious lady! Satan has many great queens in his court, many princesses in his court, many high-blooded beauties in his court; I saw them all last night, sweeping with their long velvet robes the burning pavement of it: thou wilt have no mean mates to keep thee company, and ​thou wilt match with the best of them too; there is both wit and wickedness in thee to perfection. ⁠Hush, hush, Grizeld Bane! What brings thee here? Is there not good ale and spirits in thy cellar, and a good bed to rest upon? What brings thee here? ⁠Shame of my cellar! think'st thou I have been there all this time? I have been deeper, and deeper, and deeper than a hundred cellars, every one sunken lower than another. ⁠I tauld you sae, madam. ⁠Go to thy chamber, if thou'rt afraid. ⁠Ay, deeper and deeper——— ⁠Thou need'st not speak so loud, Grizeld Bane: I understand thee well enough. I hope thou hast been well received where thou wert. ⁠Ay; they received me triumphantly. They scented the blood that will pour and the brands that will blaze; the groans and the shrieks that ​will be uttered were sounding in their ears, like the stormy din of a war-pipe. What will be done to-morrow morning! Think upon that, my dainty chuck! and say if I did not deserve a noble reception. ⁠No doubt, with such society as thy imagination holds converse with. ⁠Yes, dearest! and thou, too, hast a noble reception abiding thee. ⁠Heaven forfend! ⁠Ha, ha, ha! Art thou frighten'd, dearest? Do not be frightened! it is a grand place: my own mate is there, and the cord about his neck changed into a chain of rubies. There is much high promotion abiding thee. ⁠And will have long abiding, I trust, ere I am invested with it. ⁠Not so long; not so long, lady: whenever thou wilt it may be. Dost thou love a clasp'd gorget for thy pretty white neck? (Going up to her with a sly grin of affected courtesy, and attempting to grasp her throat.) ​ ⁠Blasted witch! wad ye throttle her? ⁠Ha! imp! hast thou followed me so fast behind? Down with thee! down with thee! There is molten lead and brimstone a-cooking for thy supper; there's no lack of hot porridge for thee, varlet. ⁠Oh madam, oh madam! what hae ye brought on yoursel and on me, that was but a poor ignorant callant! O send for the minister at once, and we 'll down on our knees, and he'll pray for us. The damnation of the wicked is terrible. ⁠She is but raving: the fumes of her posset have been working in her brain; be not foolish enough to be frightened at what she says. ⁠I wish, O I wish I had never done it! I wish I had never set eyes or set thoughts on the mammon of unrighteousness. Oh, oh! ⁠Ha, ha, ha! Thou 'rt frighten'd, art thou? ⁠Thou see'st she is in jest, and has pleasure in ​scaring thee. Go to thy chamber, and compose thyself. (Calling him back as he is about to go, and speaking in his ear.) Don't go till she has left me. Hie to thy cellar, Grizeld Bane. ⁠And leave thy sweet company, lady? ⁠For a good savoury meal, which is ready for thee; I hear them carrying it thither. Go, go! I have promised to visit Lady Dungarren at a certain hour, and I must leave thee. (Calling very loud.) Landlord! Landlord! Is Grizeld Bane's meal ready? (Significantly.)

⁠Yes, madam, and with as good brandy to relish it as either lord or lady could desire. (To Grizeld Bane.) Come, my lofty dame, let me lead you hence. (Fixing his eyes stedfastly on her face, while she sullenly submits to be led off.)

⁠The Lord be praised she is gone! for she has been in the black pit o' hell since yestreen, and ​wad pu' every body after her an she could. Dear leddy, send for the minister. ⁠Hold thy foolish tongue, and retire to thy chamber. Violet Murrey's life is safe enough, so thy conscience may be easy. Follow me, for I must lock thee in. ⁠Mun I still be a prisoner? ⁠Thou sha' n't be so long; have patience a little while, foolish boy.⁠[Exeunt.

A Prison. Violet Murrey is discovered sitting on the ground, by the light of a lamp stuck in the wall; her face hid upon her lap, while a gentle rocking motion of the body shows that she is awake.

Enter Dungarren by a low arched door, which is opened cautiously by a turnkey, who immediately shuts it again and disappears.

⁠Violet, O Violet, my once dear Violet! dost ​thou know my voice? Wilt thou not raise thy head and look upon me? ⁠I know your voice: you are very kind to come to me in my misery. ⁠Misery, indeed! Oh that I should see thee thus,—the extremity of human wretchedness closing around thee! ⁠Say not the extremity, Robert Kennedy, for I am innocent. ⁠I will believe it. Ay, in despite of evidence as clear as the recognition of noon-day,—in despite of all evidence, I would believe it. The hateful sin of witchcraft, if such a sin there be, thou hast never committed; it is impossible. ⁠I know thou wilt believe it: and O! that thou could'st also believe that I am innocent of all falsehood and fickleness of affection! But thou canst not do so; it were unreasonable to expect it. Thou wilt think of me as an ungrateful, deceitful creature; and this is the memory I must leave behind me with Robert of Dungarren. ​ ⁠I forgive thee! I forgive thee, dear Violet! for so in thy low estate I will call thee still, though thou lovest another as thou hast never loved me. ⁠I love him, full surely, as I cannot love thee, but not to the injury of that affection which has always been thine. ⁠I came not here to upbraid: we will speak of this no more. ⁠Alas, alas! I should speak and think of things far different, yet this lies on my heart as the heaviest load of all. May God forgive me for it! ⁠And he will forgive thee, my dear friend! for such I may and will call thee, since I may not call thee more. ⁠Do, my noble Robert! that is best of all. And, resting in thy mind as a friend, I know—I am confident, that something will happen, when I am gone, that will discover to thee my faithfulness. Death will soon be past, and thou wilt live to be a prosperous gentleman, and wilt ​sometimes think of one——my evil fame will not——thou wilt think, ay, wilt speak good of Violet Murrey, when all besides speak evil. Thou wilt not——(Bursts into tears.) ⁠My dear, dear creature! dear as nothing else has ever been to me, thou shalt not die: the very thought of it makes me distracted! ⁠Be not so: it is the manner of it that distresses thee. But has it not been the death of the martyrs, of the holy and the just; of those, the dust of whose feet I had been unworthy to wipe? Think of this, and be assured, that I shall be strengthened to bear it. ⁠Oh, oh, oh! If deliverance should be frustrated! ⁠What art thou talking of? thou art, indeed, distracted. Nay, nay! let not my execution terrify thee so much. I, too, was terrified; but I have learnt from my gaoler, who has been present at such spectacles, that the sentence, though dreadful, is executed mercifully. The flames will not reach me till I have ceased to breathe; and many a natural disease doth end the course of life as mine will be terminated. ​ ⁠God forbid! God help and deliver us!
I do not hear them yet: if they should fail to reach it in time, God help us! ⁠What dost thou there? What dost thou listen for? What dost thou expect? ⁠Means for thy deliverance,—thy escape. ⁠Say not so; it is impossible. ⁠It is possible, and will be, if there's a Providence on earth—if there's mercy in heaven.

⁠(Puts his ear to the ground as before.)

⁠I hear nothing. What is it thou expectest to hear? ⁠I do hear it now: they are near; they will open upon us presently. ⁠What dost thou hear? ⁠The sound of their spades and their mattocks. ​O my brave miners! they will do their work nobly at last. ⁠A way to escape under ground! my ears ring and my senses are confounded. Escape and deliverance? ⁠Yes, love, and friend, and dear human creature! escape and deliverance are at hand. ⁠How good and noble thou art to provide such deliverance for me, believing me unfaithful! ⁠Come, come; that is nothing: be what thou wilt, if I can but save thee!—Life and death are now on the casting of a die.——The ground moves; it is life! (Tossing up his arms exultingly.) ⁠The ground opens: wonderful, unlooked-for deliverance! Thank God! thank God! his mercy has sent it. ⁠May we descend? are you ready? ​ ⁠In two minutes the passage will be practicable. ⁠Make no delay; we will pass any how. ⁠How quickly they have worked, to mine so far under ground since yesterday! ⁠That mine was completed many months ago to favour the escape of a prisoner, who died suddenly in prison before his projected rescue. The secret was revealed to me yesterday, by one of the miners, who had originally conducted the work. ⁠We are ready now. ⁠Heaven be praised! I will first descend, and receive thee in my arms. ⁠Ha! company admitted without due permission! Dungarren here! Your underling, Mr. Gaoler, is a rogue. How is this? ​ ⁠As I am a Christian man, I know no more about it than the child that was born since yestreen. ⁠It is only one born since yestreen that will believe thee. A hole in the floor, too, made for concealment and escape! Dungarren, you are my prisoner in the king's name. To favour the escape of a criminal is no slight offence against the laws of the land. ⁠You distract me with your formal authorities: the laws of the land and the laws of God are at variance, for she is innocent. ⁠She has abused and bewitched thee to think so; and a great proof it is of her guilt. ⁠It is you and your coadjutors who are abused, dreadfully and wickedly abused, to hurry on, with such unrighteous obduracy, the destruction of one whom a savage would have spared. Tremble to think of it. At your peril do this. ⁠I am as sorry as any man to have such work ​to do, but yet it must be done; and at your peril resist the law. Holloa, you without! (Calling loud.)

Take Robert Kennedy, of Dungarren, into custody, in the king's name.

⁠Witchcraft! heaven grant me patience! her life to be taken for witchcraft? senseless idiotical delusion! ⁠Do your duty, fellows: he is beside himself; distracted outright. ⁠Noble Dungarren! submit to the will of heaven. I am appointed to my hard fate; and God will enable me to bear it. Leave me, my dear friend! be patient, and leave me. ⁠They shall hack me to pieces ere I leave thee. ​ ⁠Dear Robert, these are wild distracted words, and can be of no avail.—Good Mr. Rutherford, and Lady Dungarren, too; ye came here to comfort me: this I know was your errand, but O comfort him! speak to him, and move him to submission. ⁠Your present vain resistance, Dungarren, does injury to her whom you wish to preserve. ⁠My son, my Robert, thou art acting like a maniac. Retire with these men, who are only doing their duty, and neither wish to injure nor insult you. I will stay with Violet, and Mr. Rutherford will go with you. ⁠Leave her, to see her no more! ⁠Not so; the sheriff will consent, that you may see her again in the morning, ere—— ⁠I do consent: you shall see her in the morning, before she goes forth to—to the—to her—— ​ ⁠To that which is so revolting and horrible, that no one dare utter it in words. Oh! oh, oh!

⁠His mind is now exhausted, and unfit for present soothing; attempts to appease and console him must come hereafter; there is time enough for that. (To Violet, with tenderness.) But thy time is short; I would prepare thee for an awful change. Unless thou be altogether hostile to thoughts of religion and grace, which I can never believe thee to be.

⁠O no, no! that were a dreadful hostility; and thou, even thou, the good and enlightened Rutherford, my long-tried monitor and friend, can express a doubt whether I am so fearfully perverted. Alas! death is terrible when it comes with disgrace,—with the execration of Christian fellow-creatures! O pray to God for me! pray to God fervently, that I be not overwhelmed with despair. ​ ⁠I will pray for thee most fervently; and thou wilt be supported. ⁠I have been at times, since my condemnation, most wonderfully composed and resigned, as if I floated on a boundless ocean, beneath His eye who says, "Be calm, be still; it is my doing" But, oh! returning surges soon swell on every side, tossing, and raging, and yawning tremendously, like gulfs of perdition, so that my senses are utterly confounded. My soul has much need of thy ghostly comfort. ⁠Comfort her, good Rutherford! I forgive her all that she has done against my poor child, and may God forgive her! ⁠And will nothing, dear Madam, remove from your mind that miserable notion, that I have practised witchcraft against the health and life of your child? Can you believe this and pity me? No, no! were I the fiend-possessed wretch you suppose me to be, a natural antipathy would rise in your breast at the sight of me, making all touch of sympathy impossible. I am innocent of this, and of all great crime; and you will know it, when I am laid in a ​dishonoured grave, and have passed through the fearful pass of death, from which there is no return. ⁠You make me tremble, Violet Murrey: if you are innocent, who can be guilty? ⁠Be it so deem'd! it is God's will: I must be meek when such words are uttered against me. (After a pause.) And you think it possible that I have practised with evil powers for the torment and destruction of your child; of poor Jessie, who was my little companion and play-fellow, whom I loved, and do love so truly; who hung round my neck so kindly, and called me——ay, sister was a sweet word from her guileless lips, and seemed to be——(Bursts into an agony of tears.) ⁠She may well weep and wring her hands: it makes me weep to think of the power of the Evil One over poor unassisted nature. Had she been less gentle and lovely, he had tempted her less strongly. I would give the best part of all that I possess to make and to prove her innocent. But it cannot be; O no! it cannot be! ⁠Forbear! forbear! Prayer and supplication ​to the throne of mercy for that grace which can change all hearts, convert misery into happiness, and set humble chastised penitence by the side of undeviating virtue,—prayer and supplication for a poor stricken sister, and for our sinful selves, is our fittest employment now. ⁠Thanks, my good Sir; you are worthy of your sacred charge. I am, indeed, a poor stricken sister; one of the flock given you to lead, and humbly penitent for all the sins and faults I have really committed. Pray for me, that I may be more perfectly penitent, and strengthened for the fearful trial that awaits me. ⁠Thou wilt be strengthened. ⁠O! I have great need! I am afraid of death; I am afraid of disgrace; I am afraid of my own sinking pusillanimous weakness. ⁠But thou need'st not be afraid, my dear child; trust in his Almighty protection, who strengthens the weak in the hour of need, and gives nothing to destruction which in penitence and love can put its trust in Him. ​ ⁠I will strive to do it, my kind pastor; and the prayers of a good man will help me. ⁠Let us kneel, then, in humble faith. ⁠Not here, good Sir; I cannot leave her here, even with a man of your cloth, and that opening for escape in the floor. ⁠As you please, Sir; remove her to another cell: or, if it must be, let a guard remain in this. ⁠It is ready, Sir. ⁠You must be removed to another prison-room. ⁠As you please, Sheriff. ⁠Lean upon me, Madam: woe the day that I should lodge so fair a lady in such unseemly chambers! ⁠I thank you for your courtesy, good ​Sheriff:—you do what you deem to be your duty; and when you are at last undeceived, and convinced of my innocence, as I know you will one day be, you will be glad to remember that you did it with courtesy. ⁠Blessing on thy lovely face, witch or no witch! dost thou speak to me so gently!

⁠[Exit Violet, leaning on the Sheriff.

⁠A bonny witch, and a cunning ane, as ever signed compact wi' Satan! I wonder what cantrap she'll devise for the morn, whan the pinching time comes. I wish it were over.

⁠[Exit, locking the door.