Well, What Now?
The crowd drew long breaths as they emerged from the meeting-house.

This was the first time that the accused had fully turned upon the accusers.
It was a pity that it had not been done before; because such was the superstition of the day, that to have your death predicted by one who was considered a witch was no laughing matter.

The blood ran cold even in Mistress Ann Putnam's veins, as she thought of Dulcibel's prediction; and the rest of the "afflicted" inwardly congratulated themselves that they had escaped her malediction, and resolved that they would not be present at her trial as witnesses against her, if they could possibly avoid it.

But then that might not be so easy.
Even the crowd of beholders were a little more careful in the utterance of their opinions about Dulcibel than they had been relative to the other accused persons.

Not that they had much doubt as to the maiden's being a born witch--the serpent-mark seemed to most of them a conclusive proof of that--but what if one of those "spectres," the "yellow bird" or the uncontrollable "black mare" should be near and listening to what they were even then saying?
"What do I think about it ?" said one of the crowd to his companion.