Pope's "Temple of Fame."

Ignorant, of course, of the events which had occurred during his absence, the Knight started from the Indian village in high spirits, as it appeared to Arundel, at the success of his embassy.

"These savages are more placable than I anticipated," said Sir Christopher, "for it must be admitted that, in appearance at least, they have cause for grievous resentment. One might almost suspect that, since their late defiance, a suspicion of the truth had somehow penetrated their untutored minds. At any rate, no war-whoop will be heard for the present, and we have been received and treated with all courtesy."

"A gentler race of wild chivalry," said the young man, "doth surely nowhere exist. Their free and careless lives make me more than ever in love with nature, and long shall I remember the noble Taranteens with pleasure."

"Admired you them enough to cast in your lot with them," said the Knight, with a smile, "I doubt not that you might become a king over regions as extensive as those which owe allegiance to the sceptre of our gracious monarch, Charles."

"My admiration soars not to that height; yet, to my imagination, is there something delightful in the condition of these children of nature, thoughtful only of to-day, and careless of tomorrow, when compared with that of the painful delvers of civilization. The former are birds flying freely in the air; the latter, poultry scratching in a barn-yard."

Sir Christopher laughed good naturedly at the sally of his friend. "Verily," he said, "were it not for thy mistress, I do believe thou hadst remained amongst the Taranteens. Unfortunate for them is it that civilization has an ally in love. Were this life all," he added, gravely, his whole manner changing, "there were some reason in what you say. It were wisdom, then, to sport like insects in sunbeams—to sink at night into dreamless sleep. But such is not man's destiny. What infinite concernments hang on the present moment! How imperative and urgent is our duty to wean these poor heathen from their wild ways and false creed, that they may be rescued from the intolerable perdition that awaits all who are not of Holy Church."

"It surely is a lamentable future for the poor creatures," said the young man; "and yet I suppose it must be so, because the learned of all creeds, which call themselves Christian, do agree therein. Ah, me! poor Sassacus!"

"I opine," said the gentle Knight, "that the flames of hell will be tempered to such poor wretches, in consideration of their ignorance."

"It is horrible to think of," said Arundel, shuddering; and, as if desirous to change the subject, he inquired, "May I ask, without offence, after the country of Sassacus?"

"Assuredly you may. It is some hundred miles to the south of Boston—the principal villages of the Pequots being on a river of the same name, and on a lesser stream called the Mystic, and along the reverberating shores of the Atlantic. It is a pleasant land of bright waters, and fair valleys, and towering hills, fit to produce a race of hardy warriors."

"Hast thou visited it thyself?"

"Once, on a hunting expedition, did I wander thus far, and partake of the hospitality of the Pequot Chief, who, in return, was prevailed upon to visit my poor quarters."

"I wonder what induces the noble savage to linger so long about Massachusetts Bay, after having made his visit to you, and confess to some apprehensions on his account."

"Have no fear on that score," said the Knight, cheerfully. "Sassacus is prudent as well as brave, and, as you saw on the night when he was attacked by the Taranteens, has some of his men with him; besides, the Aberginians are at peace with his tribe."

"It is only the ingenious malice of the Assistant Spikeman that I dread."

"Be assured, also, on that head. He will not venture into Boston during our absence, and will so carefully keep out of the way as to allow no opportunity for violence."

How mistaken was the Knight, is already known; but the most consummate tact and profoundest wisdom are not able to guard against every possible emergency.

With conversations of this kind did the two companions beguile the way, on their journey homeward, which occupied somewhat less time than it took to reach the Indian village. It was early in the morning—that is to say, the sun had just risen—when they stood on the edge of the clearing within which stood the Knight's habitation. Here they were met by an Indian, who, to Sir Christopher's inquiry if all was well, answered, sententiously, "All well." On arriving at the house, they found the soldier, Philip, who manifested his joy at seeing them again in a manner contrasting somewhat with that of the phlegmatic native.

After the demonstrations of welcome, Philip said, "I know not, Sir Christopher, whether you have not got away from one danger, only to fall into another. According to my thinking, a man of any spirit may better trust himself with the salvages, whom I find nice, reasonable people enough, who will not interfere with him if he will let them alone, than with the meddlesome, crop-eared knaves down on the Bay."

"Remember in whose presence you are speaking, Philip," said the Knight, "and that it becomes not me to hear those whose ambassador I am, evil spoken of."

"I crave pardon," said Philip; "but, if all tales be true, they deserve no such forbearance. It was out of no friendship, they sent you to be murdered by them Taranteens, nor will they fire a culverin at your return."

"Out with thy news, at once," cried the impatient Arundel, "nor stand there hanging fire, like a musket when the priming is wet. What hast to tell?"

"Ill news, Master Arundel, folk say can travel a mile, while good is putting on his boots; but you seem not to be contented with its haste. Nay," added Philip, noticing that the Knight began to show impatience, "an' you will have it. It is little less than treason, I fear, they are charging against Sir Christopher. It is a kind of Guy-Fawks plot they are accusing him of hatching—that is to say, that he means to make himself king of both colonies."

"Is that all, Philip," said the Knight, laughing. "By our lady, I have heard worse stories about myself many a time, since I lived in these woods."

"I tell thee, Sir Christopher," said the soldier, earnestly, "this is no laughing matter. If I were in thy place, I would either fall back on Sassacus and his tribe of Pequots, or gather me forthwith a few hundred salvages, under arms, if you mean to stand your ground. It is true, bows and arrows are beggarly things against muskets, in a fight at arms-length, but at close quarters, knives and tomahawks can do somewhat."

"But, good Philip," said the Knight, "thy words convey little information. Canst not be more precise?"

"All I know," said the soldier, "is, that they say the trouble comes from certain letters which have just arrived from England, charging you, Sir Christopher, with I know not what horrid crimes. The person who told me was sure they were very bad; but what they were, knew, forsooth, no better than I."

"Perhaps the Lady Geraldine will be able to clear up the mystery," said the Knight to Arundel. "Let us dismiss all thought of it for the present. There will be time enough hereafter to disquiet ourselves."

"And I will hie me presently," said Arundel, "to Boston, to inform the Governor of your arrival, and to discover, if that be possible, what means the nonsense that has taken possession of Philip, unless Lady Geraldine can explain it, which will save me the trouble. Is it your pleasure to accompany me, or remain you later?"

"I have some trifling duties to attend to," answered Sir Christopher, "and shall remain. It will be enough for thee, with all convenient dispatch, to inform him of the successful issue of our mission."

They now entered the house together, and the Knight went immediately to seek the lady. He was absent but a short time, and, on his return, stated that the only information she had was derived from the soldier. "She bade me say," he added, "that her prayers have been earnest on thy behalf, and that she welcomes thee again to thy friends."

The young man, (who, meanwhile, had been listening to a communication from Philip,) as was meet, returned thanks, and desired his dutiful service to be presented to the lady.

Upon parting, Sir Christopher instructed him respecting his message.

"Present to the Governor," he said, in conclusion, "my congratulations on the successful issue of our enterprise. Now may the husbandman, fearless, sow his seed, and his wife and little ones look with confidence for his return. Midnight treachery and savage cruelty shall not be known, but each one expect with a joyful heart the rising of the sun. But I counsel no attempt at nearer approach. It is better that the English and the Taranteens should avoid one another. Only therein is safety. Say also that I purpose, after needful rest, to wait upon him tomorrow, to enjoy once more the charm of his gracious society, and to possess him more fully of our deeds."

With these parting words, he waived adieu, and, turning, sought the apartment of Lady Geraldine.

The door was opened, as before, by the little Indian girl, Neebin, who, as soon as she had admitted the Knight, ran to the side of the lady, and, falling on her knees, began with curious eyes to examine a book which the lady held in her lap.

The Knight looked affectionately at the child, and, approaching her, placed his hand upon the raven hair that fell low upon the shoulders, and, caressing the bent head, said gently:

"Good little Neebin! Has she learned all about the pretty pictures?"

The girl turned up to him her bright eyes, and, in better English than that commonly used by the Indians, and even with a pronunciation that approached correctness, replied:

"No—Neebin knows very little now, but the lady says the book will talk to her by and by."

It was one of those illuminated missals on which, for want of other occupation, and sometimes with a feeling of superstitious piety, the monks spent incredible pains, and often a capricious and wonderful ingenuity, which the half-reclaimed little savage was looking at. As if unable to satisfy her curiosity fast enough, she turned the leaves over with childish impatience, uttering now and then a cry of delight as she beheld the figure of a bird or of a quadruped, while her eyes would sadden as they fell upon the mournful face of the crucified Saviour, whose image was delineated in several parts of the book.

"She knows all her letters," said Sister Celestina, whose true character as a Catholic and a nun the reader has long ago divined "and I permit her, as a reward, to look at the missal whenever she has been diligent."

"Your task is something like taming a young hawk," said the Knight.

"Neebin is not a hawk!" exclaimed the child. "Hawks do not wear clothes, nor yellow chains, nor can they say Pater noster and Ave Maria."

"No," said the lady; "nor have they a soul to be saved, like Neebin."

"What is a soul?" inquired the girl.

Tears dimmed the eyes of Sister Celestina at the question, and, before she could reply, the Knight said:

"Thou hast asked a question, Neebin, which puzzles wiser heads; but it is something which lives when the body becomes dust."

"O, yes," said the child. "I have heard the lady (for so she had been taught to call Sister Celestina) talk about it. How does it look?"

"There thou askest a question beyond the boundaries of knowledge. No one has returned from the grave to answer it," said the Knight.

"I know," said the child; "my mother told me. It is Neebin's soul which looks at her when she bends over a clear spring; it lives in the water."

"I have tried," said the lady, "to impart the idea, but it seems only to begin to dawn upon her mind. I trust, by Heaven's grace, (crossing herself,) it will grow and bear fruit to the glory of sweet Jesus's name."

"What magnificent results do flow from seemingly insignificant causes!" said Sir Christopher. "A spark shall light a conflagration of a mighty city; an acorn shall bear an oak to waft armies over oceans to conquest; and the conversion of a child to the true faith may change the destinies of nations. It may be thy blessed lot, Celestina, to plant a seed which shall grow into a tree, whose branches shall cover earth with grateful shade, and reach to heaven. There was a time when, influenced by the example of a king or queen, whose mind divine grace had illuminated, whole multitudes rushed to be laved in the saving waters of baptism. Wherefore should not those days return? Now doth the suffering Church mourn like a pelican in the wilderness, and though she gives her blood in streams from her torn bosom—alas! how flows that crimson river, as if in vain!"

"Not all in vain," said the lady. "Cheering accounts of the progress of our missionaries in the Southern portions of this vast continent reach us from time to time, and the prayers of the Church are sanctifying the land from the flood of the Mississippi to the forests of Canada. But tell me now, Sir Christopher, of thine adventures."

The Knight looked significantly at the Indian girl.

"Neebin," said the lady, "take the book and examine it by thyself. Sir Christopher and I desire to be alone. But beware that thou show it to no one, for all are not privileged like thee to see its beautiful pictures."

The child took the missal, but lingered, as if unwilling to depart, and it was not until after a more decided repetition of the command, that, with a pout, she left the room.

"Whom of the holy fathers saw you?" inquired Sister Celestina, after the door was shut.

"Only Father Le Vieux," answered Sir Christopher, "and he charged me with a commission which I now discharge." So saying, he took from his bosom the letter which the Jesuit missionary had entrusted him with, and handed it to the lady.

Sister Celestina took it, and, imprinting a kiss upon the epistle which had come from the holy father's hand, laid it on the table.

"Let my presence be no restraint," said the Knight. "I have nought to say, which can be of equal importance with anything that comes from Father Le Vieux."

"Thanks for your courtesy," said the lady; and, taking up the letter, she broke the wrapper wherein it was contained, and which was fastened together by means of some unknown cement or gum, and commenced its perusal.

Perhaps the Knight had some design in desiring her to open it in his presence, for, during the whole time while she was engaged in reading, he watched her countenance, as if he expected to see the contents of the letter there; and though her training had been as complete as his own, yet, by reason of her more delicate organization, she was unable so to conceal her emotion that it should be entirely unobserved. The faintest possible color suffused her face as she proceeded, and when she raised her eyes at the conclusion, they had in them a look which, though it baffled the sagacity of her keen observer, betrayed a something which he did not like. It was not triumph, nor despondency, nor joy, nor grief, but, according to the fancy of Sir Christopher, a strange mingling of them all. The two had been in the habit, on their arrival in the country, and for some time thereafter, to show to each other their letters—a custom from which the Knight had never departed, but which, of late, had been observed with less scrupulousness by the lady; and he noticed now, that, instead of handing the epistle to him, as formerly, she hid it in her bosom. Something, indeed, she said about its being from her confessor, but the explanation, though natural, did not satisfy. He made no remark, however, but proceeded to give an account of what had befallen him and his companion. He told her how, by an arrangement with Mesandowit, (who had been sent by the Taranteens to inquire of him whether their second, viz., their hostile embassy, would be in danger from the English, and which, in consequence of Sir Christopher's assurances, had been ventured upon,) they had been taken prisoners—of the conversation which passed between himself and Father Le Vieux, and of the means resorted to, in order to remove Arundel from the Indian village. The lady listened with a pleased ear to the recital, and, at its conclusion, expressed her gratification at the dexterity with which the business had been managed, and the success which had crowned it.

"The holy saints and angels have watched over you, to guard you in your ways," she said, "and it proves the Divine approbation."

"Truly, Celestina, is such a belief necessary, else would the things I am called sometimes to do, break me down with their oppressive weight. Only by its means can I satisfy myself, when the commands of my superiors seem to conflict with mine honor."

"Honor!" exclaimed sister Celestina—"what is it but a delusive phantom, whereby ye men are frighted from the noblest undertakings? What right has such a consideration to interfere, when you are called upon to act by them who are set over you, and whom you are bound to obey? It is a deadly sin to dream that they may err, and granting that they do, on them and not on you rests the responsibility."

"True; yet speak not slightingly of a feeling which is ever the parent of glorious deeds. Was it not inspired by honor, that the Roman Regulus returned to certain torture and death? that the chivalrous King of Israel, when fainting with thirst, poured out to the Lord the water for which his soul longed? that gallant hearts innumerable have crimsoned the battle-field with their hearts blood, rather than that even a suspicion should soil their escutcheon?"

"Were a profane heretic, or an accursed Jew, or a misguided heathen, to set these up to himself as ensamples, it might be excused," said the sister, scornfully; "but what has the soldier, who has enlisted under the banner of the blessed St. Ignatius, to do with imaginations alike fantastic and full of a sounding frenzy? Was it for the glory of God that these men died, or because they coveted the praise of the world, and gratified a ferocious instinct of their nature?"

"I deny not the superior nobility of the principle of my order," returned the Knight, "inasmuch as it excludes selfishness, save as it is of necessity, connected with the aspiration for salvation; still can I not be mistaken in the admiration of a sentiment which lifts man above all baseness, and prompts him to achieve exploits that shall send his name reverberating through the halls of princes and the cabins of laborers, to be warbled by the lips of beauty at the festival, or shouted in front of the charging host. Yet, mistake me not, Celestina, but believe, that while my heart loves not honor less, my understanding renders a deeper homage to the principle of Ignatius. But whither hath my wandering talk strayed?" he added, checking himself. "I did desire, after delivering thy letter, to say, that it is my purpose to follow hard on the heels of Master Arundel, and also to caution thee to continue to keep carefully concealed, during my absence, the sacred crucifix, and whatever else might betray us to our enemies. Forgive me that I give this advice, but I see that thou hast relaxed thy watchfulness over the missal."

"The warning is unnecessary. Nightly is the blessed cross, whereon the hands of his holiness have been laid, deposited with my missal and rosary in our place of concealment. And as for Neebin, fear not to trust her. She is as jealous of her treasure as could be thou or I. But leave me not until you receive tidings from the heretics. These ill-omened reports I like not. They may, indeed, be idle, yet it is only, prudence to wait."

"I care not for them, yet, to pleasure thee, would I do more. I will remain, according to thy wish, and, meanwhile, to-night, seek Sassacus, who soon returns to his distant tribe."

"Be it so, then," said the lady. "Neebin." she called to the Indian girl, who was in the adjoining apartment, and who, at the summons, came running up; "give me now the book, and I will tell thee a story about one of the pictures."

The Knight understood this as a signal to withdraw, and accordingly took his leave.

The lady, on his departure, instead of talking with the child, returned her the missal with no excuse, and drawing the letter of Father Le Vieux from her bosom, commenced reading it again.

"My judgment, then," she murmured, "is confirmed by that of the holy father. Thus writes he: 'I fear, my daughter, that the leaven hath not done its perfect office. There be many called, but alas, how few are fit for the work! In some things hesitancy is a deadly sin. Let the faint hearted step aside, that more vigorous souls may take their place.' Whatever may be the consequences," she continued to herself, "I feel cheered, in that my course will be approved by the father. Thou knowest, holy Mary, that it was through no ignoble motive, but only for thy glory I did this thing, whereof, alas! my poor woman's heart more than half repented. Oh! pity, that one endowed with so many gracious qualities as Sir Christopher, should lack the iron firmness which gives consistency and dignity to life, and that his weakness compelled me to that which I would not, for the world, his noble nature should suspect: But since this letter from the father, no doubt assails me. The course I have adopted I will pursue, nor shall my constant soul falter. Sooner shall the needle desert the beloved pole."

The face of the woman assumed an expression of indomitable resolution. She looked like one incapable of a weakness—like one who, mastered by an engrossing purpose, feels that all else is trivial, and to be as little regarded as the dust which the traveller shakes from his soiled garment.

CHAPTER XXV.

Paradise Lost.

When Arundel arrived at the little settlement, he proceeded straightway to the hostelry, which was his usual stopping place, and as he entered, was met by the landlord with those demonstrations of welcome, wherewith the publican is in the habit of greeting his customers.

"So you have got safe off from them bloody salvages, (praised be the Lord for all his mercies)," said goodman Nettles. "And you look browner, as though you'd caught some of their color from being with them, but hearty as my tapster, Zachariah Sider, who can begin with the head of an ox, and never stop till he wipes his mouth with the tuft on the end of the tail, washing it down, moreover, with a quantity of ale that ails me—ahem!—(here Nettles put his finger on the side of his nose, and grinned as if he had really said a capital thing,) to see wasted on his lean carcase. But, Master Arundel, you must be dry. There is some of the old Canary left."

"Let me have a bottle, and, if agreeable to thee, we will empty it together."

As the landlord left the room, Arundel, on looking round, discovered what he had not observed before, viz., our old friend, Master Pront, in a sort of recess, formed by the projection of the chimney. The worthy functionary was engaged, at the moment, in taking his eleven o'clock refreshment of a pot of beer, (a habit from which his exile from the old country had not been able to wean him,) but, at the approach of the young man, he rose, and gravely shook hands with him. Miles had barely time to offer a share of the wine, which, however, Master Prout refused, when Nettles returned with a bottle.

"There," said he, setting it down, and looking affectionately at it, "I warrant me you get no such soul of the grape among the red heathen, though if they had any wit they might have puncheons of it, if they only knew how to make them, for they say there is store of grape vines growing about."

"As for me," said Master Prout, after raising the tankard to his lips, and taking a draught, long and deep, "I'm a genuine Englishman in my taste. Give me, say I, your humming beer, with a body to it, in place of all the wishy-washy wines of the Frenchman or the Spaniard. They only pucker one's mouth, and heat one's blood; but there is neither bread nor cheese in them, as in good John Barleycorn."

"The ale deserves all your praise, Master Prout," said the host, "though I say it myself; nevertheless, is the good wine not to be despised. I know no reason why a true born Englishman may not like both."

"It may be well for thee, whose business is to get thy living from their sale, to talk thus," replied Master Prout; "but for all that, I relish not these foreign decoctions—your Canaries, your Sherries, and your Portos. Their very names have a smack of popery in them. Down with the Pope, and all his inventions to tickle men's palates and damn their souls."

"And so say I, down with the Pope, but up with good wine, and down with it too, so it only runs in the right place; but it grieves me to hear you, good Master Prout, evening down good wine to the Pope—why—"

"Contradict me not, goodman Nettles," interrupted the guardian of public morals. "I say that I have ever remarked the man who prefers wine to ale, to be of an unsteady faith. It savors of a hankering after the flesh-pots of Egypt. Let not such a man be trusted."

As the constable was speaking, Arundel could not help fancying that he looked hard at him, as if some personal application of the words were intended. He took no notice, however, of them, especially as mine host immediately rejoined:

"Dear, good Master Prout, speak not so. Why, if my customers were to hear you, the character of my house might be ruinated. Whoever heard before that the Pope had ever anything to do with wine? I do not believe he drinks it at all."

"Art thou a Christian man, and so ignorant of the things that pertain to salvation? Tells us not the Book of Revelations of the merchandise of the great city of Babylon, when it shall fall—cinnamon, and odors, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine; and sayest thou the Pope hath no part thereof?"

"An' you are for Scripture," answered mine host, "have at thee with a text in return? Saith not the Scripture, also, He giveth wine to gladden man's heart? Moreover, though there be wine at Rome, it doth not follow, therefrom, that it is drunk by the Pope."

"Contradict me not, I say, goodman, and pervert not the Scriptures with thy famulistical interpretations. I observed you spoke but a moment ago of the soul of the grape, as if it were possible that a divine principle could lodge therein, I caution thee against this, as a profane and indecent form of speech, unbecoming in one of the congregation; and, besides, an' thou wouldst retain my custom, take heed thou put more malt into thy ale."

"It is strong enough to answer thy purpose," muttered the offended landlord, but in so low a tone as to be unheard; and, as new customers began to come in, he left, in order to assist in manipulations of the bottle and spigot, his tapster, Zachariah Sider, whom his late flourishing fortune had enabled him to add to the establishment.

"Has anything worthy of note occurred, during my absence of three weeks?" inquired Arundel of Master Prout.

"How were it possible otherwise?" replied the constable, whom the colloquy with the host seemed not to have left in the best of humors. "Here hath been Increase Faith Higginson twice coopered up in a barrel, once for drunkenness, and a second time on suspicion thereof; Jonathan Makepiece hath lain in the stocks for quarreling with, and using contumacious language toward David Battle; Susannah Silence hath sat tied in a chair, before her door, with a cleft stick upon her tongue, for being too free in the use of that member; divers godly persons have connected themselves with the congregation, and two unworthy Achans been driven therefrom—the one for incontinence, until he repent thereof, and the other for denying the just power of the elders."

Arundel could not forbear smiling at this odd enumeration of important events, which his informant observing, and construing into disrespect, immediately added:

"Have a care, Master Miles Arundel, unto thyself. I wish thee well, for thou art a proper young man, and, did the inner garnishing correspond with the outer adornment, thou wert indeed a comely vessel of grace; and, therefore, say I unto thee, there be other matters touching thee more nearly than those things whereof I have spoken, and whereat, I know not wherefore, it pleased thee to smile."

"I pray you to pardon my involuntary offence," said the young man, "and to believe that my smiling betokened no disrespect. My mirth was awakened by the comical pictures which thine ingenious answer conjured before the imagination."

"I trow," said Master Prout, "they who come under the displeasure of our magistrates, will find their punishments no such comical matters. There be such things as whippings and nose-slittings, as well as sittings in the stocks, and the like."

"I know," answered Arundel, "that your magistrates are no lambs. Yet of thy complaisance, tell me wherein I am interested in aught that has befallen in my absence."

"This Sir Christopher Gardiner, the man who is sometimes called 'The Knight of the Golden Melice,' is a great friend of thine, is he not?" asked Master Prout.

"I account it an honor to call him my friend. A worthier or more honorable gentleman lives not in the colony."

"There be different opinions on that head, my young master. The closer thy friendship, the worse, I fear, it will be for thee."

"Speak out, Master Prout," exclaimed Arundel, losing patience. "If thou knowest any talk prejudicial to the fair fame of the Sir Christopher, let me know it, that the calumniator may be dragged to light, and receive deserved punishment."

"It would take a long arm to reach his accusers, seeing they are on the other side of the ocean. Hark ye, young sir—it is in every one's mouth that thy famous Knight is an agent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, who makes unrighteous claim to the lands granted us by his Majesty King Charles, and, moreover, thou art connected with him, in men's minds, as in some sort an accomplice."

"Is that all?" said the young man, scornfully. "I judge from thy speech that these lies come in letters from England. Pray, are they credited by any one, save by them of the baser sort?"

"Callest thou me one of the baser sort? Wilt thou revile them who are set in authority over thee? Have a care, my young cockeril, or thy own comb may chance to be cut."

"Out with thee, malapert knave," said the young man, in his vexation, "and know to respect thy betters. Truly, the world is come to a pretty pass, when a fowl like thee is permitted to ruffle his feathers at a gentleman."

"An' he were not in some sort an ambassador, whom I have heard it is unlawful for a constable to touch," growled Master Prout to himself, as Arundel angrily turned his back upon him, "I had taught him incontinently, better than to speak to me in this fashion. As it is, I will advise with Master Spikeman about this matter." So saying, with a flushed brow, the irate officer of the law departed.

"What means this, Colonel McMahon?" demanded Arundel. "Here have I been a bare three weeks away, on business of the commonwealth, and on my return I find myself rewarded with sour looks and unpleasant speeches, sans any consciousness of deserving them. I cannot ask a plain question, without being answered in riddles that would have crazed the brain of Œdipus."

The person addressed, a grave man, of middle age, and the same who had had the words with Endicott about the cutting out of the cross, took the questioner aside, and, as soon as they were out of hearing, answered:

"Truly am I afraid that I shall also be involved in thy condemnation of those who return answers after the manner of the sphynx; but, to be short, there have two ships lately arrived from England, bringing, it is said, unpleasant tidings touching Sir Christopher Gardiner."

"What be these tidings?" inquired Arundel, noticing that the speaker hesitated.

"I neither am, nor desire to be, in the confidence of the government," answered Colonel McMahon, haughtily, the wounds inflicted on whose loyalty by the mutilation of the standard, were not yet healed; "and the information I have is derived from a private source and uncertain rumor. For the former, the Knight is pointed at as an agent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges; for the latter, it becomes me not to heed the idle chatter of the vulgar."

"Comports it with your sense of propriety to reveal more?" asked Arundel.

"Were I never so desirous," said the Colonel, courteously, "I should be unable. In fact, what I have told is the sum of my knowledge. I could, indeed, indulge in surmises based on rumor, but that were too much like the gossiping of old women, and both unbecoming in me to speak and in you to hear, more especially as that rumor attaints in other respects the fair fame of your friend. It is different with the base-born scullions around us, who are licensed to utter whatever their unruly imaginations may conceive; but a gentleman will not allow epithets upon his tongue to the disparagement of another, which, after all, may be false."

Having thus spoken, the Colonel raised his steeple-crowned hat in a formal manner, slightly bending his body, and walked up to the landlord, to whom he paid his score, and then left the apartment.

"I will endure this no longer," said Arundel to himself, putting on his own hat. "I will seek the Governor immediately, and demand from him its explanation."

Upon arriving at the house of Winthrop, he learned, with a feeling of disappointment, that the Governor was absent on a visit at Plymouth, and he turned reluctantly away, in order to communicate to the rough Dudley, instead of the polished chief magistrate, the result of the mission, and to obtain that information which would enable him to give shape to the chaotic rumors.

He was received with neither cordiality nor incivility by the Deputy Governor, to whom the young man communicated the success of the conciliatory efforts of Sir Christopher with the Taranteens, and at the same time delivered the Knight's message. His auditor listened in grim silence, interrupting him by no inquiry, nor did he, when the communication was finished, vouchsafe a word of thanks for the service rendered. Dudley had been a soldier in his youth, having received a captain's commission from Queen Elizabeth, and commanded a company of volunteers under the chivalrous Henry Fourth of France, at the siege of Amiens, in 1597; and, if he had not the quality of frankness by nature, had acquired an appearance of it in the camp, together with a military decision and roughness of manner. It was not his wont to disguise his feelings, and on the present occasion they were obvious, even before he opened his lips to speak. When Arundel had concluded, he waited for the comments of the Deputy, nor had he to wait long. First, however, Dudley inquired,

"Is there nothing more thou wouldst communicate?"

"If there be any thing of importance or of public concern omitted, it is done unwittingly," said Arundel.

"Then is thy news most jejune and unsatisfactory, seeing that our condition is neither war nor peace, but of sort of armed truce, liable to be broken at any moment by these treacherous savages. I am not to be deceived by the promise, that, for the present, we need fear no hostilities. I know their craft. If they refuse formally to make peace, they are preparing for war. Well, they may try their hand. But I am disappointed in the opinion I had of the extent of the influence, by some means acquired, over the Indians by this Sir Christopher Gardiner, if he indeed have authority to bear the title."

"Who dares to say," exclaimed Arundel, whose irritation this fresh taunt increased, "that Sir Christopher assumes a title which belongs not to him, or to asperse in any respect his character?"

"It will come to light," said Dudley, "in its own time; but tell me now, wherefore made not the Knight, as you choose to call him, his appearance himself? Methinks such proceeding were more respectful to the authority which commissioned him."

The brow of the young man flushed at the rude speech, and it was with difficulty that he restrained his feelings; but he succeeded so far as to reply with an appearance of tolerable calmness, that it was only that morning they had returned, and that the Knight purposed to present himself on the morrow, being detained for the present by reasons which doubtless ought to be satisfactory.

"It were strange," said the surly Dudley, "if his private affairs should be of more importance than the interests of our Commonwealth; and yet it seems that the former do, in his estimation, outweigh the latter."

"I pray of your goodness to pardon the fault," said Arundel, who was determined that nothing should provoke his anger again that day. "Sure am I that, had the Knight of the Golden Melice known the importance attached to his presence, he had come forthwith, without stopping for rest, or to change his soiled garments, instead of sending me, his unfortunate and most unworthy substitute."

"I like not this fantastic title," said Dudley, whose ill-humor seemed not at all soothed by the gentle language of the young man, but rather to increase. "I like it not, whether it be an idle appendage stuck on by the humorous learning of Winthrop, as I have heard, or a quaint conceit springing out of the man's own vanity. I deny not honor and dignity, where they rightfully belong, but what is to become of the realities, if the shams receive an equal consideration?"

"I wander like a man in a mist, who sees not a foot before him," said Arundel. "I have entreated your Worship to deal more plainly with me, but it has been your pleasure to seem as if you heard me not; and, for the report which, in the discharge of my duty, I have made, I have received only innuendos against the fair fame of my friend, and which do, in some sense, alight upon myself. From whatever quarter they may proceed, I scorn and defy them, and brand them as false; and, I doubt not, the appearance of Sir Christopher will force his detractors to disappear, even like so many whipped curs."

Arundel spoke with a feeling of anger, notwithstanding his resolution to keep command over himself, and rose to take his leave. The spirit which he had shown in his last speech, so far from displeasing the Deputy, had a contrary effect; for, rising himself, Dudley grasped his visitor's hand, and dismissed him with less frigidity than he had received him. Something also he said, as if in excuse of his conduct, about the necessity of caution, amounting sometimes to unreasonable suspicions on the part of the rulers of a weak colony, depending more upon the wisdom of its counsels than upon force for its existence, intimating at the same time, that if any suspicions were attached to the young man, it was doubtless more in consequence of his accidental connection with Sir Christopher, than because he deserved them.

It is natural that Arundel, after his long absence, and the unpleasant events of the day, should desire to derive some consolation from the society of his mistress. We are not surprised, therefore, to find him taking his way toward the house of the Assistant Spikeman, in the hope of receiving some signal which would permit him to enter. Nor was he disappointed—Prudence, with a light kerchief thrown over her head, being just stepping out of the door on an errand to some neighbor as he came up. The girl gave a pretty start as she beheld Arundel, partly natural and partly affected, and then beckoned to him to enter.

"O! how you frighted me!" she said, after she had carefully closed the door. "You have sent all the blood into my heart; and it flutters so!"

"I will bring it back again into thy cheeks, where it shows so prettily," replied Arundel, saluting her.

"Fie! Master Miles," exclaimed Prudence, but not looking at all displeased. "It is well Master Prout sees thee not. Well, what do you want? I suppose you came to see me?"

"I have seen thee, pretty Prudence, and am so unreasonable as to desire also to be shown to thy mistress. She is well?"

"I humbly thank your Worship," said the girl, curtseying awkwardly, and snuffling through her nose in a manner intended to ridicule the grave Puritans, "worthy Dame Spikeman is well in body, albeit ill in spirit, being afflicted with a grievous visitation called a husband."

"Come, come, you mad-cap girl," said the young man, laughing at the caricature, "pervert not my meaning, but show me the way to Mistress Eveline. If thou wilt, I promise thee a husband for thyself in good time."

"From plague, pestilence, famine, and husbands, (I did ever think the litany deficient,) good Lord deliver us," exclaimed Prudence, holding up her hands. "Do I look, forsooth, like one in need of a husband, or likely to assist my young mistress therewith? She deserves better at my hands. I see, besides, Master Miles, that you are ignorant of the law in this blessed country, which forbids young men to woo maidens. I know all about it, for I had it from the lips of a venerable Assistant. Shall I rehearse it to you?"

"Why, what has got into the girl?" said Arundel, tired of this foolery. "I prithee no more, sweet Prudence, but conduct me at once to Eveline. Consider how long it is since I saw her."

"Nay, an' you come to calling me sweet, there is no resisting you. I do love sweet things, and it is pleasant to be called sweet by some persons. I will delay you no longer," she added, resuming her natural manner, "since Mistress Eveline must by this time have made up her toilette. So, please you, follow me."

So saying, she tripped forward, and ushered Arundel into a room, where we have already seen him, and retired. Almost instantly, the beautiful Eveline came in with a smile upon her lips and a blush on her cheeks, for from her room, the door of which was open in that warm season, she had overheard the whole conversation, as indeed Prudence had intended she should.

"A strange way, Miles," she said, biting her red lips to restrain a laugh, "to show the devotedness of your affection to the mistress by kissing the maid. Is it a fashion taught thee by the savages?"

Arundel, notwithstanding the words of Eveline, could not discover much severity either in the tones of her voice or the glances of her eyes, for those were days when scarcely so great a delicacy of manners prevailed as in the present; and, catching her to his bosom, he found little difficulty in obtaining pardon for his fault.

"Ah, you know, Miles," said Eveline, withdrawing herself from his embrace, "that a maiden who scolds her lover has more than half forgiven him already."

It is unnecessary to dwell upon the particulars of a meeting, which, even without experience of like scenes, the imagination will suggest, and which, lacking the spice of personal interest, might appear tame, even to those whose recollection of early emotions still has power to send the blood with a livelier glow through the heart. From his conversation with Eveline, the apprehensions in regard to Sir Christopher, which began to invade the mind of Arundel, were increased, although his fears were of an indefinite character. Without being able to determine exactly what were the accusations against the Knight, of one thing at least he became certain—that they were commonly considered of too serious a nature to be passed by in silence; that any services would hardly screen him from censure or punishment of some sort, if they were proved; and that Spikeman was exerting his malignity against him to an extraordinary degree.

Upon leaving Eveline, Arundel meditated on the conduct he ought to adopt, whether to remain and await the arrival of Sir Christopher on the next day, as he originally intended, or to return and inform him of what he had learned. That some calamity threatened his friend, was plain. What it was, was not so evident. The only cause of complaint against him he could discern, was a supposed connection with Sir Ferdinando Gorges. On this point he knew that Winthrop and his council were extremely sensitive, warmly resenting the claim which that gentleman made, and was trying to prosecute in England, adverse to their patent, which he declared was void, and determined to punish whoever should assert the title of Sir Ferdinando as superior to their own, or should in any respect countenance or abet him in his schemes. As for other intimations, Arundel considered them as only additions, which stories, like rolling snowballs, naturally receive in their progress, and which, in the present instance, deserved even less credit than usual, on account of their vagueness and improbability. What motive could there be, for example, to induce Sir Christopher to arrogate a title which did not belong to him, when there was every chance of detection, and no important advantage to be gained? He had never noticed in the Knight any assumption of superiority, but, on the contrary, rather a careless cordiality, amounting almost to bonhommie. Everything which he had seen about his friend forbade the supposition. From the baselessness of this, he inferred the falsity of all other charges, whatever they might be; and yet, notwithstanding his conviction of the innocence of his friend, it appeared to him that information of the disposition of Dudley ought to be made known to Sir Christopher, in order to enable him to decide for himself upon the steps necessary to be taken, before he should be assailed unawares. Having arrived at this conclusion, Arundel lost no time in hurrying off to the residence of the Knight.

CHAPTER XXVI.