Ah, she is dying! TITUBA.
That is the way the Obi men destroy The people they dislike! That is the way Some one is wasting and consuming you.
MARY.
You terrify me, Tituba! Oh, save me From those who make me pine and waste away! Who are they?
Tell me.
TITUBA.
That I do not know, But you will see them.

They will come to you.
MARY.
No, do not let them come! I cannot bear it! I am too weak to bear it! I am dying.
Fails into a trance.
TITUBA.
Hark! there is some one coming! Enter HATHORNE, MATHER, and WALCOT.
WALCOT.
There she lies, Wasted and worn by devilish incantations! O my poor sister! MATHER.
Is she always thus?
WALCOT.
Nay, she is sometimes tortured by convulsions.
MATHER.
Poor child! How thin she is! How wan and wasted! HATHORNE.
Observe her.

She is troubled in her sleep.
MATHER.
Some fearful vision haunts her.
HATHORNE.
You now see With your own eyes, and touch with your own hands, The mysteries of this Witchcraft.
MATHER.
One would need The hands of Briareus and the eyes of Argus To see and touch them all.
HATHORNE.
You now have entered The realm of ghosts and phantoms,--the vast realm Of the unknown and the invisible, Through whose wide-open gates there blows a wind From the dark valley of the shadow of Death, That freezes us with horror.
MARY (starting).
Take her hence! Take her away from me.

I see her there! She's coming to torment me! WALCOT (taking her hand.
O my sister! What frightens you?
She neither hears nor sees me.
She's in a trance.
MARY.
Do you not see her there?
TITUBA.
My child, who is it?
MARY.
Ah, I do not know, I cannot see her face.
TITUBA.
How is she clad?
MARY.
She wears a crimson bodice.

In her hand She holds an image, and is pinching it Between her fingers.