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 her back to his wife who believed the little thing to be the child of the Devil. And so the little creature came secretly to think herself. She could remember once gathering nuts in the woods with her mother and a fine gentleman, appearing in a great flash of light, drew marks upon her forehead. Or did she dream it, or was it a story that her mother had told her? She believed herself signed to the Devil and that he would come to her—even in this distant new land. Secretly and joyously she worshipped her god amidst all the Puritans of Salem. And at last he came—her god and her devil. She met him one night in the birch woods and knew him by a sign that he bore. He was really a sailor charged with piracy hiding for his life. She never saw him except at night. When she saw the tiny monkey which he carried about with him inside his shirt, she knew he was the Devil himself. This hobgoblin was 'the sign,' the proof of its master's infernal origin. (Lanice shut her eyes and saw the tiny creature's head against the broad brown chest. It peeked out wistfully from the open shirt as a lady might from between portieres. One little hand was clutched in the coarse hair of the man's chest.) The whole was a thing remembered. A terrible nightmare. It gripped her until her body grew rigid and her clenched hands white. Then there was the terrible end. The young witch, happy in the knowledge that she had seen her god, dying on the dirty straw of the town jail, while Mr. Noyes and Mr. Parris prayed and exhorted her and the village wives whispered outside, smelt brimstone, saw wonders, and watched for