'T is the
Familiar
Spirit that attends her.
Longfellow
I cannot help it. I am sick at heart!
COREY.
O Martha, Martha! let me hold your hand.
HATHORNE.
No; stand aside, old man.
MARY (starting up).
Look there! Look there!
I see a little bird, a yellow bird
Perched on her finger; and it pecks at me.
Ah, it will tear mine eyes out!
MARTHA.
I see nothing.
HATHORNE.
'T is the Familiar Spirit that attends her.
MARY.
Now it has flown away. It sits up there
Upon the rafters. It is gone; is vanished.
MARTHA.
Giles, wipe these tears of anger from mine eyes.
Wipe the sweat from my forehead. I am faint.
She leans against the railing.
MARY.
Oh, she is crushing me with all her weight!
HATHORNE.
Did you not carry once the Devil's Book
To this young woman?
MARTHA.
Never.
