Bryant.

"A manifest Papist! I can scent one of them out as easily as a hound doth the hare," said Endicott, after the lady had retired.

"Beyond a peradventure," echoed Dudley; "and the attempt at deception doth aggravate her guilt."

"I, too, remarked," said an Assistant, "that she possesses not the shibboleth whereunto she laid claim."

"Yet, wherefore should they, being Papists, come hither?" said Master Nowell. "I understand not the mystery that surrounds them."

"A circumstance in itself suspicious," said Endicott, "wherefore needs an honest intent to hide its head?"

"On the contrary, it is ever ready to show itself in the sunlight," said Master Nowell.

"Know you what is expected to be learned from the child?" asked an Assistant, of Dudley.

"I surmise our Governor desires something further to quiet his ever-anxious and doubting mind," answered Dudley.

"I lack no light to form a judgment," said Endicott, "and a further inquiry is supererogatory."

"Nevertheless," said Master Bradstreet, "there be some of us on whom a clear light hath not yet shined. My charity strongly inclines me to view this poor woman in a less unfavorable light since she hath avowed herself not to be an idolater of Rome."

"Well saith the Scripture," exclaimed Dudley, "that charity doth cover a multitude of sins. The rule is good in the exercise of judgment in things pertaining to private concerns, but in public business it is naught. But your scruples, and those of Master Winthrop, are likely soon to be satisfied, for here comes the little Canaanite."

And as he spoke the door was opened, and the servitor appeared, bringing in the child.

"Where is the other Indian?" inquired Endicott.

"He will be here incontinently, your worship," replied the man. "As there was some delay in the needful preparation, I did think it expedient not to keep your worships waiting, more especially as it would not be becoming that ye should be put to inconvenience for a heathen red skin."

"Reasoned like Aristoteles," said Dudley, laughing. "Give me a man of thy humor, Hezekiah Negus, who rightly apprehends the value of time, and the danger of keeping his superiors dependent on his laziness."

"Bring hither the child," said Winthrop.

The servitor, in obedience to the order, led the girl to the Governor's seat, and placed her standing by his side.

"What is thy name, little one?" asked Winthrop, putting his hand upon her head.

"Neebin," answered the girl, whose eyes, from the moment of her entrance, had been scanning the company and the room in that quiet, covert way, in which the Indian is wont to gratify his curiosity while endeavoring to conceal it. At the same time, if she felt fear, neither her voice nor manner betrayed it.

"Neebin!" repeated Winthrop. "A very pretty name, and hath a pretty meaning in English, I doubt not."

The child, encouraged by the gentleness of his voice and looks, and perhaps proud of showing her knowledge of the language of the whites, answered:

"Neebin is summer."

"Darling Neebin," said Winthrop, whose countenance really expressed an interest in the little Indian, "hast ever been taught thy prayers?"

"Neebin knows two prayers."

"Will she say them for me?"

The child crossed her arms upon her bosom, after having first made the sign of the cross upon her brow, her lips, and breast; and then, letting fall the long, black lashes of her eye-lids, commenced repeating the "pater-noster." At the sign of the cross, Dudley started; but, as if recollecting himself, sunk back with a groan. After finishing the pater-noster, the little girl began the "Ave Maria;" but this was more than the scandalized deputy could endure.

"I may not," he cried, starting up, "listen without sin to this idolatry. Better to smite—"

"I pray thee to have a little patience," said Winthrop, interrupting him. "None of its guilt attaches itself to us."

"I know not that," replied Dudley. "I will not, like Naaman the Syrian, bow myself down in the house of Rimmon, even although my master leaneth on my hand. I do bear my testimony against these popish incantations."

The face of Winthrop flushed at the taunt conveyed, both in the manner and in the language; but, as his custom was, he paused before replying, which gave opportunity to Endicott to say:

"My teeth, also, as well as those of Master Dudley, are set on edge; and I think that any farther inquiry on this branch of the subject may well be pretermitted."

"In my judgment," said Sir Richard Saltonstall, "it were well, inasmuch as, though not partaking to the degree of their delicacy of the scruples of the Deputy-Governor and of Master Endicott, yet do I respect them, considering the fountain whence they flow. I also highly approve of and thank the Governor for his judicious questions, whereby the truth hath been brought to light, and what was a little dark before hath been made plain. But the end being sufficiently attained, it were better, perhaps, not to press in this way after further knowledge, seeing we neither need nor desire it."

"I accede to your wishes, gentlemen," said Winthrop, "though I hardly approve of this cutting short the answer of a witness. Ye shall have, however, your will."

"What!" exclaimed Dudley; "not when the answer is blasphemous, or idolatrous, or otherwise impious?"

"We will have no argument thereupon, Master Dudley," said Winthrop. "Your desire is granted, and that, methinks, should satisfy you."

The door now opened, and Sassacus entered between two soldiers, clanking the fetters on his wrists as he moved. Alas! confinement, though short, had not been without baleful effect on the Sagamore. Not that he appeared cast down or humiliated; not that his gait was uncertain, or his bearing less proud; but a shadow, the shadow of a prison house, encompassed him. The iron was evidently beginning to enter his soul. The free denizen of the boundless forest could no more live without liberty, than flame without air. He was like an eagle struck down from his home in the clouds,

to be chained upon a stump, and approached and gazed at by every wayfarer. The imperial bird darts round the lightning of his eyes, but he knows them to be innocuous, and his head droops at the consciousness.

"Remain where ye are," said an Assistant to the soldiers. "The Governor is engaged at this moment."

"Can Neebin," said Winthrop, resuming his interrogatories, "tell me where is Sir Christopher Gardiner?"

"Flower of the forest and of the wild rushing stream," exclaimed Sassacus, in his own language, "be to him as the rock to which the wind whispers an idle tale."

"What says he?" inquired the Assistants of one another, not one of whom understood more than here and there a word.

"Let the chief keep silent," said Winthrop, addressing Sassacus. "He will soon have an opportunity to say what he will;" and he repeated the question.

But the little Indian showed herself no longer docile as before, but to every question returned a stubborn silence.

"We have made a mistake in bringing in the chief," said an Assistant. "She will not open her lips again. He hath said something to frustrate our inquires."

"Thou hast rightly divined," said Winthrop, after another vain attempt to induce the child to speak. "And now what shall be done? for I hold it unmeet that she should be sent back to the source whence, instead of the Gospel truth she should have been taught, she hath sucked only error."

"That were indeed a deadly unkindness to the poor fawn," said Sir Richard, "seeing it would be imperiling her eternal salvation."

"Better," said Endicott, "that she should continue in a darkness penetrated only by the dim light of nature than be made a victim of Roman superstition."

"If any one of ye, gentlemen, will take her in charge," said Winthrop, "gladly will I resign the child into your hands; but if not, then will I receive her into mine own household, where, by God's grace, the tares which the enemy hath sown may be eradicated."

No one manifesting a desire to accept the offer of Winthrop, he ordered the child to be removed to his own house.

As the little girl on her way out of the apartment passed nigh the chief, she stopped, and with childish impatience strove to take the manacles from his arms. A sad smile crossed the face of Sassacus at her vain attempt, and he said:

"They are the presents of Owanux. Neebin will not forget."

"Allow no farther speech between them," cried Winthrop, as the Sagamore commenced saying something more. "Part them, and take her instantly away."

"Waqua, or Sassacus, or whatever be thy name," said Winthrop, "wherefore, being at peace with my people, have you slain two of my men."

The chief looked steadily at the questioner, but returned no answer.

"We know," said the Governor, "that thou hast sufficient knowledge of our tongue to make thyself intelligible, for thou hast conversed with me. Speak, lest for thy refusal it should go the harder with thee."

Thus addressed, Sassacus surveyed with an indignant look his chains, and then stretching out one of his arms as far as his bonds permitted, spoke in a bold tone several sentences in his own language in reply.

"The spirit of the old proverb," said an Assistant, "that one may lead a horse to water, nathless it will be impossible to compel him to drink, applies, it seems, as well to Indians as to horses."

"Why sit here to be scorned by this unbreeched heathen?" cried Dudley. "Away with him! He was taken in the very act, and can render no excuse for this devilish malignity."

"Under favor," said Sir Richard, "that were but a hasty conclusion. It is only Christian mercy to labor with him a little more."

"It may be," said Winthrop, "that on an occasion so momentous, he distrusts his ability worthily to defend himself in a speech wherewith he is imperfectly acquainted. He must not be condemned unheard. The flashes of nobility I have discovered in him did once prepossess me greatly in his favor, and, therefore, if for nought else, would I be indulgent. But, besides, he is a man whose blood is not to be spilled like a wild animal's."

"Be it so," said Dudley, "If ye can make him speak, I will promise to listen."

"Samoset is in the settlement, and may be instantly forthcoming," suggested Master Nowell.

"Let him then be called," said Winthrop.

But a short time elapsed before the messenger returned with the Indian, Samoset, who, in consequence of his superior acquaintance with the English language, had often acted as interpreter between his countrymen and the white strangers. This knowledge he had acquired from his intercourse with the English fishermen, before the wanderers who erected their tabernacle at Shawmut arrived in the country. He was a quick, apprehensive fellow, who, on account of the services he had rendered the colonists, stood high in their favor, and was treated with considerable confidence. No sign of recognition passed betwixt him and Sassacus on his entrance, but they regarded one another as strangers.

"We have called thee, Samoset," said Winthrop, "to interpret between us and this prisoner. Ask him if he acknowledges himself to be the famous chief of the Pequots."

"Tell him," replied Sassacus, "that I am that eagle at whose scream the Narraghansetts hide themselves like little birds in the bushes."

"A bold answer," said Winthrop. "Ask him now, wherefore he hath been lurking in the woods in the vicinity of our lodges."

"The feet of Sassacus," answered the chief, "tread upon the forest leaves at his pleasure. His ancestors never inquired of the Taranteens nor of the Narraghansetts where they should hunt, and he will not ask permission of the strangers with beards."

"Frank and defiant," muttered Endicott. "Come, I like this."

"The forests are very wide," said Winthrop, "and the game is not so abundant in our immediate neighborhood. There must be some more particular reason for thy conduct."

"Listen, O, white chief!" returned the Indian. "The path whereon the tongue of Sassacus travels is a straight path. A great chief disdains to tell a lie. Know then, that, for a long, long time—our oldest men cannot recollect so far back, for they heard the legend from their grandfathers, and they again from theirs—it hath been told among us, that a race with a skin like the snow should come to our land, with strange manners, and speaking a strange language; and when I heard of Owanux, I came to see whether they were the men, for it becomes a chief to watch for his people."

"And what said the tradition," asked Winthrop, "should be the fate of the two races?"

"Tell him not, O, Samoset! my friend, who hast eaten with me from the same pot—that the legend, sadder than the wail of warriors from an unsuccessful expedition over the dead; than the sobs of the wintry wind around the grave of my first-born—that, like the cloud in the full moon, we were to waste away, and the intruders to occupy our hunting grounds."

"He says," said Samoset, interpreting to suit the chief, "that the Indians were to drive the strangers, as the wind whirls the leaves into little heaps."

"There will be two words to that bargain," said Dudley. "I trow it will take more than one Powah to make me believe such a story."

"It is the inspiration of the devil, who is ever the father of lies," observed Endicott. "Go to, with nonsense like this, but I do admire the brave bearing of the savage."

"Yet is it an unfortunate belief to prevail among the natives," said Master Bradstreet. "If extensively entertained, it may be fraught with great peril."

"A cunning invention of the Powahs, no doubt, to sustain the fainting courage of their deluded followers," said Sir Richard.

"Give me three hundred stout and well-armed fellows, trusting in the Lord, and careful to keep their powder dry and bullets ready, and I will so take the conceit out of their red-skins, from the Kennebec to the mouth of the Connecticut, that they will never tell this story again," said Endicott.

"Ask him," proceeded Winthrop, "if this Sir Christopher Gardiner is his friend."

"Soog-u-gest is my brother," answered the Sagamore.

"Does he know the occasions of Soog-u-gest's frequent absences from home?"

"He hunted sometimes with Sassacus," was the answer.

"And what knows he of the woman?"

"She is the sister of Soog-u-gest."

"Is she not his wife?" demanded Dudley.

But Sassacus, merely shaking his head, made no reply.

"The proud savage disdains to answer your question, Master Dudley," observed Endicott, with a smile.

"Nay," answered Dudley. "It is because he cannot deny it."

"We will see," said Winthrop; and he put the question.

It was as Endicott (better acquainted from his longer residence in the country than the others with the feelings of the natives) had suggested, for now Sassacus spoke without hesitation.

"Soog-u-gest is the woman's brother. His wigwam is large. The woman and Neebin, the little sister of Sassacus, live in one part, and Soog-u-gest and his men in the other."

An expression of great astonishment was visible in the faces of the members of the Council, as Sassacus avowed his relationship to the little girl, but nothing was said. The thoughtful countenance of Winthrop became still more grave, and a moment or two passed before he asked the next question.

"Why did Sassacus give away his own sister?"

"He gave her not away. She was to remain to learn the wisdom of the white man, as the little bird stays in the nest until it is strong enough to fly."

Another pause ensued, for the reply of the Sagamore had furnished pregnant matter for thought, until the silence was broken by the voice of Winthrop.

"Why did Sassacus attack my people, and kill two of my men?"

"A superfluous question, after what we have heard," said Sir Richard Saltonstall.

"Nevertheless, it is involved in the purpose for which the Indian was brought before us, and he shall have the benefit of a reply, Sir Richard," answered the Governor.

"Is it an earnest question the white chief asks," demanded the Pequot chief. "Why does the bear attack the hunter who has robbed her of her cubs? Shall Sassacus love Neebin less than a bear its cub? Owanux burned the lodge of my friend. They seized his sister and Neebin, and carried them away, and their chief asks why Sassacus fought for his friends, and for the daughter of many Sachems! What white man ever before was hurt by Sassacus? Who ever came to his lodge, and he set not a meal before him? Who ever was tired, and Sassacus gave him not a skin whereon to lay his limbs? When the white chief burns our lodges, and carries away captive our women and children in the dark, must Sassacus run with a bowl of succotash to refresh him, after his great victory?"

"A shrewd retort withal, and, according to the law of nature, and of the woods, an all-sufficient justification," said Sir Richard Saltonstall, who had been opposed to the plan to capture the Knight from the beginning.

"And yet none other than I expected," said Winthrop, whose generous design in allowing the chief to exculpate himself in his own way was only now understood. "Gentlemen," he added, desirous to take advantage of the favorable impression produced by the Sagamore's reply, "what remains but to remand our prisoner, unless it be your intention to discharge him in consideration of the provocation, and that he can hardly be said to be as fully amenable to our laws as they who understand what these laws are."

"I desire to express my hearty astonishment," exclaimed Deputy Dudley, "at the extraordinary proposition of the Governor. The consequences which lie hid therein are horrible. Are our friends, engaged in the execution of our orders, to be slaughtered with impunity, and thus others to be encouraged to like atrocities?"

"Blood for blood," thundered Endicott. "If that of Abel fell not to the ground unavenged, though the slayer knew no law, save that written in his heart, to forbid the deed, so now may not this savage escape. Besides, the example were impolitic, as hath been already set forth."

Similar opinions were uttered by almost all of the Assistants, being none other than anticipated by the wily Governor, who meant not what he said, but desired to mitigate the severer counsels of his associates.

During these remarks, a conversation in a low tone had been passing betwixt the Sagamore and Samoset.

"Has the heart of Samoset turned white?" asked the Pequot.

"Samoset is an Indian," replied the interpreter, "and his heart is red."

"Has he forgotten the time when, with Sassacus and his Paniese, he drank of the Shetucket, where it bounds into the river of the Pequots, when he was thirsty with driving the Narraghansetts over the hills, like leaves chased by the wind?"

"Samoset has not forgotten."

"Does he powah with Owanux, or is he true to the faith of his fathers?"

"The feet of Samoset will chase the deer and the bear over the happy hunting grounds, whither his fathers have gone. He would not know what to do in the heaven of Owanux."

"Then is not Samoset my brother, and lies he not close to the heart of Sassacus, as a pappoose nestles up to its mother?"

"Samoset will do the bidding of the great Sagamore," said the interpreter, anticipating what was to follow.

"Go then, my friend, my brother, terror of the Narraghansetts, praise of the valiant Pequots, and find Soog-u-gest. Tell him that the blood of Sassacus is running away, like water from an overturned vessel, and that soon all will be spilled, unless he comes to set up the vessel. Tell him to come quickly, and deliver the great Sagamore of the Pequots, and his sister, and the young man with eyes like the sky."

"The feet of the blue eyes are free," said Samoset. "I saw him only a little while ago."

"Good!" said the chief. "Then seek first my young friend, for he loves Sassacus, and tell him, and do what he says. But if they cannot help, fly, like the swallow over the hills and streams, to the hunting grounds of my tribe, and say to my people that their Sachem is a wolf in a trap, and Neebin a slave to Owanux."

"What says he?" inquired Endicott, whose attention had been attracted by the longer speech, and somewhat raised tone of the Sagamore's voice.

"He says," answered Samoset, drawing readily on his invention, "that a great Sachem ought not to be put into a box for killing wolves who run into his wigwam."

A pleased expression lighted up the face of the captive chief at the answer, which he perfectly understood, as indeed he had much that had been spoken. His avoiding to use the English language, as through ignorance, having had for him, at least, the advantage of putting his examiners off their guard, and inducing them to speak more freely in his hearing. The tone of Samoset's voice, and the reply, satisfied the Pequot that he was secure of the interpreter's fidelity, and he stretched out both his arms, as though grasping his recovered liberty.

Endicott bent his brow at the reply, as a suspicion darted through his jealous mind; but the stolid mien of the Indian, who bore the look as if he had been a statue carved out of the heart of the cedars of his native hills, baffled his penetration.

"Why do I distrust him?" he murmured, under his thick moustache. "Yet is distrust the mother of safety, and in our situation a duty."

"Let him return now," said Winthrop, "and take order that every comfort be supplied consistent with safe keeping. Noble Sassacus," he added, "it grieves me that we meet and part thus."

The savage, who, through the whole interview, could not mistake the favorable sentiments of Winthrop, answered as before, in his own Pequot tongue.

"Sassacus understands the thoughts of chiefs, for he is one himself. The voice of the long knife (alluding to the rapier worn by Winthrop) is not so unpleasant to him as those of these counsellors, and he hopes that what he is about to say will be listened to as the words of a great Sagamore. Sassacus is very tired of lying in a box, but not afraid to die. Let him depart to his own country, or if the white chief will kill, let him, with his long knife, pierce the bosom of Sassacus, for the blood of a chief should be shed by a chief."

"It may not be, noble savage," said Winthrop, mournfully. "Such is not our custom. Yet be not cast down, but rely upon our justice."

The withdrawal of the captives was a signal for the discussion of what had been elicited by their examination. It had confirmed suspicions before entertained, and more than that, revealed an intimacy betwixt the Knight and Pequots, a warlike and restless, though not numerous tribe, which filled the minds of the Assistants with apprehension. If the influence of Sir Christopher (whom not one doubted to be a Catholic) extended as far as they suspected, he might make himself a formidable enemy. He had been able to induce the chief of the Pequots to intrust to him his own sister, to be taught the Catholic faith, doubtless intending to make her conversion the means of extending among the tribes the superstitions of Popery. The success of the plan was fraught with danger to the colony, for the new religion would be a means of reconciling the differences of the tribes, and binding them together, in a common union with the Eastern Indians, already much under the influence of the Romish priests. Favored secretly or openly by the French government, which they were sure to be, and supplied with fire-arms, they might become too powerful to be resisted, and, reversing the campaign of the Israelites in the wilderness, drive out those who had intruded into their Canaan, only themselves to fall finally a prey to the French, and to have one form of idolatry substituted for another. Sternly frowned Dudley, and grimly stroked Endicott his tufted chin, as they revolved such thoughts, and inly vowed, as they trusted in the God of Jacob, that such things should not be. The conclusion to which the council came, was that the Pequot and the woman should be detained in custody until the Knight was taken, whose capture they considered not difficult, and that then the fate of the three should be decided.

As for Samoset, he sought Arundel at the earliest opportunity when he could do so unnoticed, and acquainted him with the message of the chief. With this coadjutor it was easy to establish a communication with his friends in the forest, the consequences of which will presently be seen.

CHAPTER XXXI.

Old Ballad.

In order to secure the person of the Knight of the Golden Melice, several small parties were dispatched to scour the forest—another object being to protect the remoter colonists against wandering Taranteens, should any have the temerity to venture near the settlement. A reward was offered to the Indians for the apprehension of Sir Christopher—strict injunctions being given that he should be taken alive. An increased vigilance also was exercised over the rude prison wherein the captives were confined—a soldier being kept constantly on guard before its entrance.

On the plot in front the sentry was pacing his round on a night which was dark and threatening. No rain had fallen, but the clouds were constantly becoming denser, and it was plain that a storm might soon be expected. With the wind rose also the voice of the ocean, murmuring along the curving shores of the bay, distinctly heard in the silence of the night by the solitary soldier, whose thoughts it carried back to the sea-beaten island he had left.

"An' my guns deceive me not," he said to himself, "it should be past midnight. There is no moon, nor star, to be sure, to tell by, but I have mounted guard before, and my feelings let me know as surely as a dial what's the hour. Hark! (as a measured step was heard approaching) that must be Cowlson. Stand," he cried, "and give the countersign!"

"Poh! Job Bloyce," answered a voice. "You know my croak as well as your own; but babes and sucklings must be taught, and it is regular, so I will let you know lest you may have forgotten—the sling of David."

"Always full of thy nonsense," said Bloyce. "But what made thee so late?"

"Late is it? It can be but a matter of ten minutes past twelve, and it takes a little while to rub one's eyes and get them open after being called. Hast seen or heard anything on thy watch?"

"Nothing. I had better have been in my warm bed and asleep, considering the hoeing I must give my corn-field to-morrow, than be watching a skeary Indian and a woman."

"Thou hast little need to trouble thy gizzard on that score," returned Cowlson; "for, an' I mistake not greatly, the rain will fall heavy enough to spoil thy chance at hoeing. It is blacker than the darkness in Egypt. I cannot see the tip of thy nose."

"That is of no consequence. My nose is a white nose and no Indian's, and I take it that it is for the copper skins you are to watch."

"And they will be still harder to be seen. But I care not. I am good for ten Indians any day, though I expect not that they will venture to sneak into our streets, be it light or dark."

"Nevertheless, keep your eyes open, for thou mayest need them; so good night."

"Good night, and shut thine own, so soon as Dame Bloyce will permit thee."

The two knew not, so dark was the night, that a third person stood so near to them that he had overheard the whole of their dialogue. Soon after the departure of the first sentinel, his successor, Cowlson, seemed to consider it of very little importance to make his rounds with much diligence, and to be more intent on protecting himself from the rain, which began to fall, than to perform his duty. He, therefore, after a few turns, ensconced himself as comfortably as possible on the lee side of the building during the violence of the storm, taking advantage of occasional intermissions to resume his walk. The stranger waited until the little vigilance of the sentinel was relaxed, and, noting exactly the place where he had bestowed himself, stole noiselessly back to a group of three or four persons. Here a whispered conversation was carried on until the rain began to pour more violently, when, as if they thought it a favorable moment for their enterprise, the whole party began to move forward in Indian file—that is to say, following one another in a line—led by the man who had overheard the conversation of the soldiers. Such was the noise made by the falling drops, and so dark the night, that they had approached close to the sentry before he became aware of any one's presence. An accidental slipping of one of the men betrayed them, and, presenting his piece, he demanded the countersign.

"The sling of David," was the reply, and the sentry dropped the breech of the musket on the earth. He had hardly done so before he was violently seized. A strong hand grasped his throat; another was applied to his mouth; his piece was wrested from him, and, disarmed and unable to utter a cry, he was hurled to the ground. His hands and feet were then bound; a gag inserted into his mouth; his coat taken off and muffled around his head to stifle the least sound, and he was then removed to a little distance behind the building, and one left to guard him and give notice of any approach. The rest of the party next proceeded to the door of the cabin occupied by the jailer Bars. A light was burning inside, but it was impossible, through the oiled paper, to see anything within. He who appeared to be the leader, having disposed his men on each side of the door, rapped upon it. No answer was returned, and it was not until after repeated rappings, and the patience of the strangers was becoming exhausted, and they had begun to consult respecting bursting open the door, when some one was heard moving and growling at the disturbance of his slumbers.

"Who is there?" he demanded, impatiently.

A low voice from the outside now entreated to be let in, for a moment, out of the rain.

"Nay," returned Bars. "You put no foot into my house, at this time of night, without the countersign."

"The sling of David," replied the voice.

"All right," said Bars, beginning to unbar the door, "But what do you"—

He was unable to finish the sentence, for, as soon as the door turned on its hinges, a rush was made by those on the outside, and poor Bars, half clothed, rudely upset on the floor. "Murder," he undertook to cry, but his throat was choked whenever he attempted to make a sound, and he was soon disposed of in like manner as the sentinel, and thrust into a corner, after having discovered that his assailants were Indians. All this, with however little noise accomplished, could not be done without disturbing Dame Bars, who, from the closet where she slept, inquired what was the matter. One of the party thereupon gliding over the floor with moccasoned feet, presented himself with finger on lip before her. Terror benumbed the tongue of the poor woman at the sight, and the cry she strove to utter died in her throat. By smiles and gestures the Indian endeavored to satisfy her that no injury was designed, and then, as if to confirm his peaceable intentions, retired, drawing the door after him; and frightened, though in some slight degree re-assured, the dame employed the respite in clothing herself in her day-apparel.

Meanwhile, one of the Indians, who had found two or three large keys tied together, had taken them from the peg where they hung and proceeded to the prison. His actions evinced a strange familiarity with the place. He advanced straight to the prison door, and, fitting the key, presently stood in the narrow passage which ran round the two cells into which the central part was divided. Only one of these was locked. Opening it, he called, in a low tone—"Sassacus."

"Who wants Sassacus?" asked the chief in his own language out of the darkness, for the stranger had come without a light.

"I do not understand your gibberish," answered the other. "Know you not Philip's voice?"

"Thou hast come to place the feet of Sassacus on the forest leaves. Quick! O good white man! and free him," cried the impatient chief.

Philip, guided by the sounds, bent down, and feeling for the shackles which confined the legs of the captive, soon unfastened them, and the liberated Sagamore stretched out with delight his cramped limbs. "Sassacus," he said, "shall see again the pleasant river of the Pequots, and he will deliver Neebin from the robbers." Then following Joy, the two entered, noiselessly, the cabin of the jailer.

During the absence of Joy, a scene of a different kind had been passing. The Lady Geraldine, aroused by the sounds, had left her couch, and appeared among the intruders. She manifested no fear at sight of the Indians, (for what had she to dread from those who had always shown her kindness?) and when owe of them glided to her side, she strove not to avoid him.

"Celestina!" said a well-known voice in her ear, "hasten to accompany me from this wretched den, and the tyranny of your oppressors."

She started at the first sound, but quickly recovering herself, replied, in a tone as low:

"Of what avail? My usefulness here is ended. I will give place to another, and Heaven will employ me somewhere else."

"Be it so," said the Knight; "yet fly, for the sake of thy liberty, perhaps of thy life."

"I fear not for my life," she added; "and as for my liberty, I cannot long be deprived of it."

"Time flies! What madness is this? I have risked my life to rescue thee, and now dost thou reject my service?"

"I cannot fly with thee. Better to die."

"What strange language do I hear? What mean you? Explain quickly, for our time is short."

"I have no explanation, except that I will not go. The heretics may rage, but the virgin will protect me."

"O, listen!" urged the Knight. "You shall be delivered from this atrocious persecution. I will take thee to the French settlements, where thou wilt be secure, and mistress of thine own movements."

"And thereby seem to admit the truth of all wherewith we are charged. That were in some sort a betrayal of our trust, and what neither thou nor I may do."

"Call you the preservation of our liberty and lives a betrayal of trust? Celestina, grief hath crazed thy brain."

"Nay, Sir Christopher, I have thought over all these things, and the virgin inspires my determination. I will do nought to confirm a suspicion already entertained, that we are Catholics, which would be turned into certainty, were we to take refuge among our French neighbors. Thus should we make the task more difficult for the successors who must take our places, since we have been found unworthy."

"Then we will remain among the Indians, if that please thee better."

"To bring trouble upon them for their hospitality; to cause them to be hunted on our account, like wild beasts. Thy generosity would disdain safety purchased by another's suffering."

"We will go to some distant tribe. Anything is better than to remain in the hands of these pitiless fanatics."

"I dread them not," answered Sister Celestina, loftily. "The talisman of the true faith will preserve me."

"Is, then, thy resolution fixed beyond change? Will no prayers, no entreaties change thee?"

"It is better thus: the poor Sister Celestina knows how to suffer and to die, but not how to desert the post entrusted to her by her superiors."

At this moment Joy and Sassacus entered, and the former, approaching the Knight, informed him that all was ready for a start.

"I am ready," said the Knight. "Yet, once again, before I hasten away, O, Celestina, come! I cannot bear to leave thee with these men with natures rougher than the savage."

"If I were to tell thee all," she said, moved by his importunities, "thou thyself wouldst bid me remain. Noble gentleman! unfortunate and slandered Knight, save thyself from thine enemies. Hasten away; there is danger in every moment's delay. Whatever may become of me, no fault is thine."

She took his hand in hers, and as she pressed it to her lips, the Knight felt a tear trickling over its surface.

"Farewell, then," he said, "since it must be so; but I will hover near to assist thee, shouldst thou change thy resolution."

He turned away, greeted the Sagamore, and, with his followers, began to leave the cabin. As he passed the jailer, he stooped, and, removing the gag from his mouth, looked at him steadily an instant, and then placed two broad gold pieces on the floor before him.

The lady pursued with her eyes the retreating figures till swallowed up by the darkness. "I will bear my cross as I may," she said to herself, "for I deserve it for all my unhappy suspicions of his generous nature. But I will do nothing which may give further color to the malignant charge devised by the justly-slain Spikeman, and taken up by his associates. An escape with him were sure to do that. The tongue of calumny would wag, and the finger of scorn be universally pointed at me, and all would cry, 'aha! we said it.' Such triumph shall not mine enemies have over me."

Her meditations were interrupted by Bars, who now begged her to release him from bondage, or call his wife to do the friendly office for him.

"I desire to take you to witness," said the lady, "that, though flight was in my power, I have not availed myself of the opportunity. Say that to my oppressors, to increase the guilt of their cruelty."

"I will say what you please," Answered Bars, peevishly, "an' you will untie me."

"I will do so, if you promise to make no hue and cry."

"What should I want of tramping after Indians in the dark, and perhaps catch an arrow in my paunch for my pains?" groaned the jailer; "though I have some notions of my own about the Indian part of the business."

"Trusting thy promise, I will relieve thee from thy bonds," said the lady, cutting the cords.

"I made no promise," said Bars, as soon as he was set at liberty, "though I will behave as if I had. These be brave Indians," he said to himself, slyly taking up the gold, "and pay handsomely for their right to be considered such. An' it be thy pleasure that it should be so," he added aloud, "these golden Indians shall remain Indians till the day of judgment, for all Bars—"

Dame Bars, now, from her nook, made her appearance on the scene.

"O, Sam!" she exclaimed, "be they gone, and have not they scalped you?"

"You can look for yourself, wife," answered Sam, passing his fingers through his shock of hair, as if to satisfy any doubts of his own. "But what should they want with my scalp, I wonder."

"I am sure I can't tell what they do with such things," said the dame, "unless to cover their own heads when they get bald."

"A pretty figure," grunted Bars, "my red crop would make on the top of one of them salvages. It never will come to that, goody. But I must not stay here talking about scalps, when, perhaps, the poor sentinel may have lost his." And he started toward the door.

"O do not go, do not go, Sam!" said his wife, throwing her arms around him; "they may be watching for thee on the outside."

"Women be always cowards," said the jailer; "but thou need not hug me so tight now. I warrant, having got what they wanted, they are in the woods before this time."

"Yet stay a little longer," persisted his wife. "If the poor soldier be murdered, thou canst do him no good."

"You forget, goody, that I am a public officer, and must do my duty," said Sam, extricating himself from her grasp; and, lighting a lantern, he went out of doors.

Bars directed his course straight to the door of the prison, which he found open.

"It is as I expected," he thought, "There is no use in going in. The Indian's long legs are loping far away in the forest, be sure. Cowlson! friend Cowlson!" he asked, "art thou dead, or only scalped?"

He listened for an answer, but none was returned. Proceeding round the little building, he soon found what he sought—the soldier, tied by the neck and heels, in a most uncomfortable posture, and soaked with the rain.

"Humph!" ejaculated Bars; "these salvages be learning civilization fast. An' I had done it myself, I could not have tied the knot with more judgment."

The soldier (to add to whose misfortunes, his musket was gone, together with the powder and ball wherewith he had been furnished) felt in no talking humor, and sulkily followed the jailer into the house, where he recovered his speech, and recounted his portion of the adventures of the night. Bars pretended to believe that the party consisted entirely of Indians; of which, however, Cowlson could by no means be persuaded; "for how," asked he, "could they learn our countersign?"

"They be cunning vermin," said Bars. "But now, that I recollect, methinks that when they deceived me it sounded a little heathenish."

"Then, why did you admit them?" demanded Cowlson.

"A fine question for you to ask, Jim Cowlson. An' I had not, the chance is they would have bowled you off with them, as a hostage for the sachem, and like as not burned us up besides. But the fact is, I was half asleep. An' I had been wide awake, perhaps I would have discovered the trick. And who would have guessed that Indians knew anything about countersigns? I wonder how they found it out."

"I must report this night's work forthwith," said Cowlson, rising; "but I had almost as lief have lost my scalp as my musket."

The disconsolate soldier accordingly wended on his way, to tell the best story he could to save himself from blame; while Bars, after relocking his empty prison, and barring his door, snuggled himself alongside his partner to busy his rather obtuse brain with schemes of a like nature on his own behalf.

CHAPTER XXXII.