“But I can’t imagine any of them are witches,” said Purity.

“That’s not for you to decide, is it?” said Quill. “Name the names, and let me examine them. If they’re witches, I’ll have it out of them eventually. If they’re innocent, God will preserve them and they’ll go free.”

“Then let God show them to you.”

“But I am not the one being tested,” said Quill. “You are. This is your chance to prove that your repentance is real. You have denounced the stranger. Now denounce the snake in our own garden.”

She imagined herself naming names. Whom would she denounce? Emerson? Reverend Study? These were men she loved and admired. There was not witchery in them, nor witchism either.

“All I know of witchcraft is my own knack,” she said. “That and the men I already denounced.”

Suddenly tears appeared in Quill’s eyes. “Now Satan fears that his whole kingdom in this land is in jeopardy, and he terrifies you and forbids you to speak.”

“No sir,” said Purity. “Honor forbids me to name those who are not witches and who to my knowledge have done only good in the world.”

“So you are the judge?” whispered Quill. “You dare to speak of honor? Let God judge them; you have only to name them.”

Now she remembered Reverend Study’s admonition. Why did I ever speak at all? Is this where it always leads? I cannot be considered pure unless I falsely accuse others?

“There are no other witches but myself, as far as I know,” she said.

“I ask for witchists, too, remember,” said Quill. “Come now, child, don’t fall back into the cruel embrace of Satan out of a misplaced sense of loyalty. If they are Christians, Christ will keep them safe. And if they are not Christians, then do you not better serve them and the world at large by exposing them for what they are?”

“You twist everything I say,” she said. “You’ll do the same to them.”

“I twist things?” said Quill. “Are you now denying your confession of witchcraft?”

For a moment she wanted to say yes, but then remembered: The only people ever hanged as witches were those who confessed and then either did more witchcraft—or recanted their confession.

“No sir, I don’t deny that I’m a witch. I just deny that I ever saw anyone from Cambridge do anything that I might call witchery or even... witchism.”

“It’s not a good sign when you lie to me,” said Quill. “I believe you attend a class taught by one Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

“Yes,” she said, hesitantly.

“Why are you so reluctant to tell the truth? Is Satan stopping your mouth? Or is that how these other witches punish you for your honesty, by stopping up your mouth when you try to speak? Tell me!”

“Satan isn’t stopping my mouth, nor any witch.”

“No, I can see the fear in your eyes. Satan forbids you to confess the names, and even frightens you into denying that he is threatening you. But I know how to get you free of his clutches.”