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CHAPTER XI.
THE MERCHANT'S WIFE.
"I call her angel—but he called her wife."
It was in Salem, at noon, on Saturday, and the court, which held its sessions in the great First Church on Essex Street, had just risen and adjourned to the coming week, when Justice Jonathan Corwin, leaving the heated and oppressive air of the court-room (oppressive at once to mind and body), passed with slow, dignified steps, thoughtfully depressed head, and arms crossed behind him, down Essex Street, to a large house then standing upon the site of the present market-place in Derby Square, and occupied by the Honorable Colonel William Browne.
Entering unannounced, with the familiar air of a frequent and ever welcome guest, he passed through the hall which divided the
