been all the time in correspondence with Joy, and with him had
concerted the plan whereby he had been betrayed into the hands of the
savage, to be outraged and mocked, and made to suffer all but the
bitterness of death. He gnashed his teeth with rage as these
reflections stormed through his mind, and, far from being grateful for
his deliverance, resolved to exert the whole force and subtlety of
which he was capable, to revenge himself on his tormentors. The fire
of his indignation burnt not so fiercely against the Pequot, yet he,
too, was embraced in the schemes for vengeance, for Spikeman fully
comprehended, from his parting words, that the enmity betwixt them
could be satisfied only by the destruction of one or both. Turning all
these things over in his mind, he quickly formed a plan, which he
determined to put as soon as possible into execution.

The dawn broke before his guides left the Assistant; but it was too
early to venture to return home, instead of which, he sought his
store-house, and there passed, meantime, awhile, brooding over schemes
of revenge. Of himself he was powerless; it was therefore necessary to
set other forces at work, and, in the letters which had been received
reflecting on the character of the Knight, he thought he saw the means
of driving, not only him, but Arundel also, out of the colony; and
they being once removed, he trusted to his ingenuity to rid himself of
the simple soldier and the Indian. The political power of the colony,
in short, was to be compelled to effect his private designs. This, in
the condition of the little State, was no difficult enterprise. In a
strange land, hemmed in by savages, whose power they were unable to
estimate with any degree of certainty, and who, however contemptible
singly, were formidable by reason of their number--upon whose
friendship they could never securely rely--on the eve of a war,
probably, with the Taranteens--distrustful of even some of their own
people, who murmured at the severity of the discipline they were
subjected to--the government felt that they had need of all the eyes
of Argus, and of as many ears, to guard against the dangers by which
they were beset. They were like, in one respect, to the timorous
rabbit, snuffing the faintest hint of danger in the breeze; but unlike
him in that, they sought safety, not in avoiding, but in anticipating
and confronting danger.

"Dear life!" cried Dame Spikeman, as the haggard face of her husband
presented itself in the morning, "where hast thou been all the night?
You look mightily cast down, and--O Lord! Heaven forgive me!--you have
a wound on the side of your head. Husband, what is the matter?"

"Why, dame," answered the Assistant, "is it a new thing for me to be
absent one night? Bethink thee how often my occasions call me to the
plantation?"

"Out upon the weariful plantation! O, sweetheart!" said the jealous
but fond wife, "I like not these absences. But, how got you this
hurt?" she inquired, parting his hair on the temple, and exposing the
dried blood.

"It is only a scratch I received in the forest, and hardly worthy thy
notice, dame. But where is Mistress Eveline? and I see not Prudence?"

"The young lady is still in her chamber, and, as for the waiting maid,
I heard her but five minutes since singing away as if there were no
music in the world but her own. Truly, it sounded more like a snatch
from some profane ballad than a godly hymn. I will tutor her about
this levity. Now do not be angry, dear life," added the dame, whose
heart was made more tender, and her tongue more communicative, by the
anxieties she had suffered during the night, on her husband's account;
"but I have fancied that you looked at the girl oftener, sometimes,
than was becoming in a man who had a wedded wife who never said him
nay."

"Fie, Dame," said the Assistant, laughing, and pinching, and kissing
her still tempting cheek; "what crazy fancies be these? Consider my
years, and profession, and dignity, and, most of all, my love for
thee. Why, this is very midsummer madness."

"I suppose I am foolish," replied the dame, wiping a tear away, "but I
feared, lest the girl might derive some encouragement from it, though
otherwise, Prudence is a good lass, and obedient, and I have no other
fault to find with her; but I recollect now, when I was a girl, how I
did feel when you came near me, and I have not got over all these
feelings yet, nor do I choose that Prudence should have them. So, dear
husband, it were safer for the girl that you should look oftener at
me, and less at her."

"My good, and faithful, and loving wife!" exclaimed the Assistant,
enclosing her in his arms, and feeling something like compunction at
the moment, "you deserve a better mate. But trouble not thyself with
such misgivings. Do not this wrong, sweet, to thine own charms, and to
my profession and station, as one of the congregation and a
magistrate."

"Nay," answered the pleased wife, "I distrusted thee not so much as
the presumption of the damsel; and if the devil goes about as a
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, as we know he does, from the
precious book, what place is more likely for him to be in than these
awful woods, filled with red heathens, whom I take to be little better
than his children; and whom would he sooner devour, than a pretty
maiden like Prudence?"

"Enough of this, dame," said the Assistant, with difficulty
suppressing a smile at his help-mate's simplicity. "Bethink thee, that
though thy loving words are a feast to the spirit, the body requires
more substantial fare?"

"True, and you shall have it forthwith, although, you wicked man, I
did sleep hardly a wink for thinking of thee." So saying, the dame
hurried off to hasten the morning meal.

The Assistant watched the countenances of Eveline and her attendant
that morning at breakfast, and, in spite of the efforts of the former
to appear unconstrained, and the demureness of the latter, detected,
he thought, sufficient to justify his suspicions. He doubted not that
the girl had betrayed his weakness to her young mistress, and that all
along he had been a laughing-stock for both. "I will teach them," he
said to himself, as he reflected with bitterness on his failure, "how
to offend one who has the power and the will to crush them. The
banishment of her minion, who, a love-sick swain, has followed her
across the sea, only to be sent back a disappointed fool, will answer
for my young lady; and as for the girl, the slitting of Joy's ears and
nose, and an acquaintance of her own pretty feet with the stocks, will
suffice. It shall not be said that the sword of the magistrate was put
into my hands in vain."

While the Assistant was busying his brain with machinations like
these, the opportune arrival of another ship from London, with letters
to himself, containing accusations against Sir Christopher Gardiner,
filled his heart with joy, and furnished additional means to
facilitate his purpose. Without delay, he took them to Winthrop, and
demanded a private audience. After reading the letters received by
Spikeman, the Governor opened his desk, and handed to his councillor
others addressed to himself, and which had arrived by the same
opportunity. Greedily did the Assistant devour their contents, and
unbounded, though concealed, was his joy at finding them in one
particular of the same purport as his own. His face, however, was sad,
and his voice mournful, as, returning the epistles, he said--

"A grievous thing is it, that hypocrisy, so finished, should walk the
earth. It is a day of rebuke and of scandal to us, as magistrates,
that we should be so deceived."

"I am not altogether convinced," said Winthrop, who, steady in his
friendships, and prepossessed from the beginning in favor of the
Knight, was loth to think evil of him, "that these charges are true.
My own letters mention them only as reports--thine speak of them more
positively. Vouch you for the truth of your correspondent?"

"There is no man more truthful," answered Spikeman, who, had it been
necessary, would have been a guaranty for Beelzebub himself. "I have
known him long. He has never deceived me, nor can I imagine motive
therefor now."

"So fair, and yet so false!" murmured Winthrop; "and yet we know that
the evil one appears sometimes as an angel of light. I will not trust
in human appearance more. What shall be done with him on his return?"

"Let him be sent out of the colony, and they who are leagued in his
plots with him," said Spikeman. "I understand now the wonderful
eagerness of Master Arundel to be joined with him in this embassy.
Birds of a feather, says the proverb, do fly with greatest joy
together. Out upon this false Knight, for his pretended love of
retirement; upon his leman, this lady Geraldine, forsooth; and this
squire of dames, Master Miles Arundel, whose counterfeited affection
for my ward may be only another cloak for most pernicious plots."

"Thou art becoming suspicious of all the world. Master Spikeman," said
Winthrop, smiling.

"And is it not time to be suspicious, when those who have been honored
with the confidence of our government, and to whom we have entrusted
an important matter, are discovered to be no better than landlaufers
and conspirators?"

"Dost distrust the good faith of the Knight in his embassy?" inquired
the Governor.

"A bitter fountain cannot send forth sweet water, and should even the
undertaking of this false Knight be successful in appearance, would
not my suspicion be quieted."

"Come, Master Spikeman, remember that you may be called to sit as a
judge on the fate of this gentleman, and that it becomes men in our
positions to keep the mind free from injurious prepossessions, for
only thus may justice, which is a ray from the effulgent countenance
of Him who sits on the circle of the heavens, be attained."

"This is no private matter of mine own," answered the Assistant, "but
a thing of public concernment; and I humbly trust, should ever my
voice be demanded in its decision, that it will be raised to the glory
of God, and the advancement of the interests of the colony which he
has planted. But I should consider myself derelict to duty, and
unworthy of the trust committed to me, were I to hold back my honest
judgment, in view of the evidence now before me, subject to such
modification as further examination may give rise to, especially when
that judgment is asked for by the honored head of our oppressed
Israel."

"It is my purpose," said Winthrop, rising, wherein he was imitated by
the other, "to call together, this evening, at this place, for the due
consideration of this subject, such of the Assistants as may be here
present in Boston, and to advise with them thereupon, when and where I
shall hope to be favored with the presence and counsel of my friend,
whose zeal is never slack in aught that may redound to the welfare of
the Commonwealth."

"My presence, God willing, may be depended on, worshipful sir,"
answered Spikeman.

A meeting of the Assistants was accordingly held at the house of the
Governor the same evening, and the subject of the letters received
from England, and the course to be pursued in view of their contents,
considered in all their aspects. No great diversity of opinion
prevailed in respect to the necessity of caution, in reposing any
further confidence in Sir Christopher; but as for the proceedings to
be adopted on his return, there was a considerable difference of
sentiment. The more moderate, and least prejudiced against the Knight,
at the head of whom was Winthrop, advised that he should be received
with all honor, and the charges laid privately before him, in the
first instance, and an opportunity afforded him to refute them. This
they urged was the more just and honorable mode, inasmuch as the
accusations came not before them invested with any judicial authority.
But an opposite party, headed by Spikeman, strenuously insisted on
another course. They contended, that in a matter of the kind,
severity, and even what might look like precipitation, was better than
a slackness, which might defeat their object. They pressed the point,
that such was the number of letters received (some of them by private
persons) reflecting on the character of Sir Christopher, it was
impossible the information they contained should be concealed from the
public, and that, consequently, even before the return of the Knight,
news of it would reach his house. This, they said, would put the false
Lady Geraldine on her guard, and afford opportunity to destroy papers,
or whatever else might be in existence to inculpate the Knight. It
was, therefore, their opinion, that the lady, with whatever might be
found in the house to assist their judgment, should be instantly
seized, and such other measures taken as to insure the arrest of Sir
Christopher. There was, however, too much nobleness of feeling in a
majority of the Council to relish invading the privacy of a female, on
mere suspicion, while her protector was absent, engaged in business of
the State. Winthrop looked displeased at the suggestion, and even the
brow of the rough Dudley was corrugated into a haughty frown. As
usually happens between differing opinions, a half measure was
resolved upon, which satisfied neither party. It was to keep so strict
a watch, that the moment of Sir Christopher's return should be known,
and a file of armed men despatched by night, who should serve partly
as a guard of honor, and partly as a restraint upon the person, to
escort him to Boston. At the same time, with apologies for its
necessity, his books and papers were to be secured, and the lady
brought in all honor with him. This was the plan, should the Knight
visit his house before coming to Boston; but if he arrived at the
settlement first, he was to be detained and examined, after an account
of his mission had been received.

CHAPTER XXIV.

  "The flying rumors gathered as they rolled;
  Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told;
  And all who told it added something new,
  And all who heard it made enlargement too;--
  In every ear it spread--on every tongue it grew."

  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.

                           He hears
  On all sides, from innumerable tongues,
  A dismal, universal hiss.

  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 OEdipus."

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.

  "Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh!
  Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
  Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?"

  CAMPBELL'S "_Lochiel_."

As Arundel left the hostelry, whither he had returned after his
snap-chance, he observed the figure of a man, whom he had seen several
times during the day, standing at a distance in the street. Unless his
suspicions had been excited, he would probably have paid no attention
to the circumstance; but, in the present condition of his mind, he
could not avoid connecting the man's frequent appearance with himself.
It seemed, indeed, as if his motions were watched, though why, he knew
not. In order to satisfy himself whether it were so, he stopped when
he reached the edge of the forest, and, concealing himself, waited for
the purpose of ascertaining whether he were followed; but, after
remaining some time without seeing any person, he concluded that he
must be mistaken, and more leisurely resumed his walk.

The day had been one of exceeding warmth, which circumstance, in
connection with the excitement he had passed through, produced an
exhaustion that indisposed the young man to exertion. In consequence
of this, it was at a slow pace he proceeded, imagining any haste
unnecessary, and esteeming it a matter of indifference at what hour he
reached his destination. Hence it happened that the evening was
considerably advanced before he had passed over half the distance
which he had to go. He had advanced as far as the spot where he
encountered the panther, and was thinking of his peril then, and of
Sassacus, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by a number of
armed men, one of whom demanded his piece. Arundel instantly
recognised in the man who spoke, and appeared to be the leader, the
Assistant Spikeman; and, suspecting mischief wherever he was
concerned, and indignant at being stopped, refused to deliver up the
gun. The refusal was useless, for it was forthwith wrested violently
from his hands, after a struggle, in which he gave and received some
unimportant hurts.

"What means this outrage, Master Spikeman," demanded Arundel, "on one
in the king's peace, and quietly about his own business?"

"We desire your company," replied Spikeman. "It is out of our abundant
affection therefor that we have been so bold, and in consideration of
the motive, we pray you to pardon the offence."

"This is insulting one who is unable to defend himself," answered the
young man; "but be sure, Master Spikeman, that for this, and other
like favors, a day of bitter reckoning will come."

"Spare thy threats, beardless boy," said the Assistant, "and know that
what I do is not without warrant. Thy wisdom consists in submission,
for thou seest we have a force thou art unable to resist. But I may
not waste further words. Place the prisoner in the middle; watch him
closely; treat him well, if submissive; but should he attempt escape,
shoot him down. Forward!"

After these orders, the men started on, taking Arundel with them, who
entertained no purpose of flight, even though a favorable opportunity
should present itself.

If he had doubted at first whither the party were directing their
steps, the doubt was soon dissipated, and he became sure that it was
to the habitation of Sir Christopher. Meanwhile, he had been turning
over in his mind his observations through the day, and became
satisfied that he had been watched, and that the band by which he had
been captured was sent after him, and, by taking a course somewhat
different from his own, and hastening their speed, had succeeded in
throwing themselves in front, so as to cut him off from the Knight's
house, whither they rightly judged he was going. The determination was
obvious, he thought, that, for the present, there should be no
communication between Sir Christopher and himself.

Rapidly and in silence the party pushed on, until they came to the
small clearing surrounding the Knight's house. Here they halted, and
Spikeman placed his men around the open space so as completely to
surround it, with orders for half or their number to advance
simultaneously toward the centre, while the others remained in the
shadow of the wood. The manoeuvre was so skilfully executed, that it
was impossible for any one within the house to escape--the men
composing the circle, meeting at the same moment at the centre.

The deep silence of the night was first interrupted by the noise the
Assistant made on the door with the handle of his dagger.

"Who is there?" inquired the drowsy voice of one as if just awakened.

"A person demanding admission," answered Spikeman.

"I know that, else would you not be knocking. Very well; abide a
moment till I don some clothing and I will open, when we will become
better acquainted."

Accordingly, in a few moments the door was opened, and Spikeman, with
half a dozen men, rushed into the house, leaving the others to guard
the exterior. Philip Joy (for it was he) was instantly seized, and
ordered to tell where the Knight was to be found.

"It is easier to ask questions than to get answers," said Philip. "For
me, I never could speak plain till I had been awake a half hour or
so."

"Sirrah!" cried Spikeman, sternly; "trifle not, or I will have thee
scourged within sight of the gates of death. Answer--where is Sir
Christopher Gardiner?"

"An' I knew I would not tell thee," replied Philip. "Make no ugly
faces at me, Master Spikeman, for it is of no use. Look for yourself,
an' you like."

"He cannot avoid us, if he be in the house," said Spikeman, turning
away. "Here, Ephraim," he added, addressing one of the men; "come thou
with me. We will waste no more words with this fellow, but see whither
this door leads."

"Stop!" exclaimed Philip; "it is the passage to the chamber of the
Lady Geraldine."

"Forward! Ephraim," cried Spikeman; "we cannot be delayed in this way.
Heed not his clamor."

By the light of the tallow candles, which they had brought with them,
the two proceeded, in spite of the remonstrances of the soldier. The
door admitting into the larger apartment of the lady, and into which
we were introduced at our first acquaintance with her, was open, but
the inner door to her own private chamber was barred. A slight
rustling was heard within, as they listened, as of one putting on
clothing.

"We have tracked the fox to his den," whispered Spikeman. "Open
instantly," he added, aloud, "or we will burst in the door."

"Who are ye," inquired a woman's voice, "who, in the dead of night,
assail the rest of innocent folk?"

"Open at once," cried Spikeman, impatiently, "or we will tear down the
house."

"I will not open," said the voice. "That were to assist you in your
lawless proceedings. I may be murdered, but will lend no aid to my
murderers."

"Silly woman," said the Assistant, who felt unwilling to resort to
violence with a woman, believing that his prey was perfectly secure
within--"silly woman, we are no murderers. I require thee, by
authority of the Commonwealth, to unbar the door."

"Ye cannot be officers of the State," answered the woman, "else would
ye not proceed thus rudely. Ye are robbers and assassins."

"We must not stand here trifling," said Spikeman. "Throw thyself
against the door, Ephraim, and burst it in, since we are resisted."

His companion, accordingly, endeavored, by flinging the whole weight
of his person against the barrier, wherein he was assisted by his
superior, to break it down; but in vain, the stout planks defeating
all their efforts.

"Bring an axe, quickly!" cried Spikeman. "We will try the virtue of
steel blows."

Under the repeated strokes of the axe, wielded by brawny arms, the
strong door presently fell with a crash into the room, and stepping
over its fragments, the assailants stood in the presence of the
occupants. By a taper, which was burning on a small table, the
apartment was sufficiently lighted to make all objects visible, though
indistinctly.

The dimensions of the room could not exceed a square of twelve feet.
The sides, which rose to a height of perhaps eight feet, were hung all
around with a black cloth, and overhead the same covering was
extended. The furniture consisted of only a chair or two, and of the
table above mentioned. In the centre stood the tall form of sister
Celestina, clothed in garments as black as the drapery which
surrounded her, and holding by the hand, the little Indian girl
Neebin. Without stopping to notice them, Spikeman and Ephraim
immediately commenced searching, with drawn rapiers, behind the
hangings. The cloth, on being withdrawn, exposed to view nothing but
unhewn logs, and a recess of a few feet, containing a rude couch.
During the search, which was soon completed, the lady remained
standing, with the little girl by her side, viewing the proceedings in
silence, and with an air of offended dignity.

"What seek ye?" she demanded, when, with looks of disappointment, the
men desisted. "Tell me, that I may render you that assistance whereof
ye seem to stand in need."

"Madam," answered Spikeman, "where is Sir Christopher Gardiner? It is
him we seek."

"And is it in my sleeping apartment, audacious wretch, that you expect
to find him?" exclaimed the lady. "Your question is a greater insult
than your violence."

"Madam," replied the Assistant, "it behooves you to be careful of your
language. Ephraim," he added, turning to his companion, "do thou
inquire without, whether the Knight be taken. He may have leaped from
the window."

Upon Ephraim's departure, Spikeman again addressed the lady.

"Madam," he said, "I know that the work wherein I am engaged is
ungracious. Sad is the necessity which compels me to invade the
retirement of a lady whom I hold in all honor and respect, and who has
it in her power to make our whole Commonwealth her grateful debtors."

"Speak quickly, sir," said the lady, "that I may the sooner be rid of
your intrusive presence."

"You know me not, madam, nor my kind intentions, else would you not
indulge this scorn."

"If to break open the house of a defenceless woman at midnight, to
batter down the door of her chamber, to intrude therein, and to insult
her, besides, with base suspicions, be your kindness, what must be
your cruelty?"

"Necessity, madam--necessity must be our excuse. We will have Sir
Christopher Gardiner, dead or alive. Judge by the importance which we
attach to his capture, how great will be our gratitude, and the reward
of him who shall enable us to lay hands on the traitor."

"He is no traitor, base slanderer. Thou hadst never dared to utter
these injurious words in his presence."

"I would he were in presence," said Spikeman, sternly, "and you would
soon be convinced of the contrary. But more plainly, madam. Let me
entreat you, for your own sake, to disclose the hiding-place of this
man, and to deliver to me his papers, for only by so doing can you
escape severe and dreadful punishment."

A deeper pallor overspread the pale face of the lady, but recovering
herself she said--

"If I understand thee aright, thou dost seek to make me an accomplice
of thy crime."

"It is no crime, but an acceptable deed, to deliver a criminal to
justice, to suffer for his deserts. On such conditions, and on such
only, can I promise immunity for thyself."

"Justice! I trust not the justice of a State, where such as thou bear
rule. Ye know not the meaning of the word. Sacred heaven! what would
you have me do? Betray into your toils an innocent man, that I may
avoid, I know not what consequences! Infamous tempter, I spurn thee!
And know, that were I capable of such inexpressible shame, I could not
commit it. I know not where is Sir Christopher."

But, evidently, Spikeman placed no confidence in the denial. He strode
across the room, as though reflecting on some subject, and then
stepping up to the lady, bent over, and whispered some inaudible words
into her ear.

"It is false. Holy Virgin!" she exclaimed, forgetting herself in the
excitement of feeling, "must I bear this? Leave me! leave me! Rid me
of your hateful presence! The room is full of horrid shapes since you
came in."

"Ha! madam," cried Spikeman, "you have betrayed yourself. I have your
secret, and will find means to force you to speak the truth, ere I am
quit of you," and scowling malignantly, he left the apartment.

The excitement which had hitherto sustained the lady, seemed now to
desert her, and she sunk upon a seat. Sobs broke from her bosom, and
tears, which she vainly tried to restrain, streamed down her cheeks.

"O, holy Virgin," she murmured--"immaculate lady, whose heart was
pierced with so many sorrows, help me to bear my own. This is the
sorest trial of all. Without thy preventing grace, divine Mary, I
shall sink under it. Intercede with thy dear son for me."

The little Indian girl, who, during the whole time while Spikeman
remained, had stood by the lady's side, showing no apprehension
whatever, but listening attentively to every word, and following each
motion with her keen eyes, now kneeled down by the lady, and looking
into her face, said--

"Do not cry, lady. Owanux have not found the book with the pretty
pictures, nor the man with the sweet face, with his eyes shut, and his
head falling on one side, upon his shoulder, who makes Neebin feel
like crying when she looks at him; and Sir Christopher is gone away,
so that they cannot catch him."

"Dear Neebin," said the lady, "thine are timely words of consolation.
Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings," she added, looking up, "dost
thou ordain strength. I will be grateful for these mercies, nor allow
a weakness to overcome me again."

The lady now, with more care, adjusted her garments, which, when
wakened by the noise made at the entrance of the band into the house,
she had hastily thrown on, and smoothed down the hair that, without a
curl, lay on her temples. She paid the same attention to Neebin, and
then, crossing her hands, sat down to await what should follow.

"Has any thing been heard or seen of him whom we seek?" demanded
Spikeman of a soldier, as he entered the room wherein he had left Joy.

"Nothing, so please you," answered the man; "and Philip here says that
our search will be bootless, for that he is not in the house."

"A fine soldier thou, and a shrewd," said Spikeman, contemptuously,
"to trust what a prisoner may say! Call me Lieutenant Venn."

The soldier went out, and presently returned with the lieutenant.

"Hast thou discovered nothing on thy watch on the outside?" inquired
Spikeman.

"We invested the building so closely," answered Venn, "that had a
mouse attempted to run away, we had seen and captured it; but no sound
has broken the silence, nor aught met our sight."

"Has the whole interior been thoroughly searched?"

"But short time does it require to unshell the kernel of a nut like
this," returned the officer, looking round; "and Cowlson reports to me
that everything in it, save in the woman's quarters, (which his
modesty did not permit him to search,) is as well known to him as the
contents of his own cabin."

"I fear that the principal object of our undertaking is defeated,"
said Spikeman, with a look, of disappointment.

"Yea," said the officer, "the prey hath escaped even as a bird from
the snare. What is to be done now, seeing that Sir Christopher is not
to be found?"

Spikeman did not hesitate, for he had been considering the course to
be adopted in the contingency, and he therefore promptly answered--

"We have not entirely failed. We have at least the woman, and
important information may be obtained from her. The hope of working
her deliverance, or of making terms with us on her account, may also
induce the Knight to put himself in our power."

"I like not," said Venn, "a foray, whose achievement is the making
prisoners of Miles Arundel, of honest Philip, and of a sorrowful-looking
woman. Meseems it redounds but little to the credit of a file of twenty
men."

"I understand not," continued Spikeman, as though the remark failed to
reach him, "by what means the man was apprised of our design. Or it
may be, that, by mere chance, he is absent; for some evil purpose,
doubtless. It will, however, avail him nothing, for sooner or later he
must fall into our net. I have lingered in the hope that he might
return and be caught by the men on the margin of the wood--a hope I
give not up yet, and, therefore, perhaps it were better to wait
awhile."

"I pray you, sir," said Lieutenant Venn, "to do me a pleasure in one
thing. Delay not our departure until it be so late that the sun is
risen when we enter Boston. I confess to some shame on account of this
night's work, and desire that what was begun in darkness may be ended
in like manner."

"What fanciful follies be these?" said Spikeman. "Art thou degraded by
any service which promotes the interests of the Commonwealth?"

"Nevertheless, be it a fanciful folly or grave wisdom, I will take the
liberty to iterate the request, and will hold myself indebted if it be
granted."

"Surely," said Spikeman, "it is a light thing, and because you wish
it, it shall be done. Call in the men from the margin of the clearing,
and we will begin preparations for return."

Let no surprise be felt at the character of the conversation betwixt
the superior and inferior officer, and at the influence exercised by
the latter over the former. The men under the command of the Assistant
for the occasion were not regular soldiers but ordinary citizens;
liable, it is true, to be called out at any moment to do military duty
whenever an exigency arose, but without being subject to any very
strict discipline. The most of them were voters, and hence a source of
power, and therefore to be courted by any one ambitious of political
distinction. Such an one was the Assistant, and he stood in about the
same relation to his men that a modern militia captain, who is
desirous of civil office, does to his company of soldiers, and who,
through fear of giving offence and so losing the object of his
aspirations, is obliged to relax the strictness of military rule.

On receiving the order, Lieutenant Venn started off to execute it,
and, as soon as he was gone, Spikeman took Ephraim Pike aside.

"Ephraim," he said, "the badger may lie hid in some cunning place of
concealment in the house, and after all laugh at our simplicity at our
departure without him."

"That can hardly be," said Pike. "The house has been thoroughly
searched, and I would pledge my life the Knight is not in it."

"Verily thou mayest be right, yet is there a possibility of mistake.
Ephraim, with our hands on the plough, we will not look back. We must
burn this nest of hornets, and should the Knight of the Melice be
burned with it, there will be no harm done."

"I suppose," said Ephraim, rather sulkily, "this is a service you want
to put on my shoulders, but an' you wish to burn the house, you can
burn it yourself."

"That can I not do," answered Spikeman. "The thing must be done
secretly, so that it may appear the consequence of some accident. Were
I to absent myself I should be missed, but thou canst do it without
suspicion."

"And suppose it done, what then?" asked Pike.

"Thou shalt have a gold piece for that which costs thee but little
trouble and no risk."

"How shall it be done?"

"I will presently take all the inmates of the cabin with us on our
return. After we have gone a few rods, do thou retrace thy steps and
fire the building, and hurry back immediately."

"But should I be missed?"

"There is little probability of that; but thou knowest me, Ephraim,
and can be certain that I will be able to account satisfactorily
therefor should it happen."

"Yea, I do know thee," said Ephraim to himself, "for as cunning a one
as Beelzebub himself; but thou hast never failed me, and I will trust
thee yet again. I will do the thing," he said aloud, "since thy mind
is set thereon; but it rubs mightily against the grain."

"Thou shalt not repent it," replied Spikeman. "We are in some sort
confederates, and our fates are so interwoven that thy fortunes depend
on mine."

With these prophetic words the Assistant left his coadjutor, and
returning to the apartment of the lady, requested her to prepare
herself and the Indian child to accompany him. She made no reply, and,
on his departure, sat some little time pondering what it became her to
do; after which, she rose and prepared some articles of clothing.

Spikeman soon re-appeared, and directing one of his soldiers to carry
the clothing, begged the lady to follow him. This she did without
objection, holding the girl by the hand, and appearing indifferent to
all that happened. She found Arundel and Joy, with a number of strange
persons, in the largest room of the building, preparing for departure.
The countenances of the two men expressed the indignation which they
felt, but they were obliged to content themselves with the offer of
such services, as their situation permitted. This the lady graciously
acknowledged in a few words, but seemed more inclined to indulge in
her own private thoughts than to encourage any conversation. They all
left the house together, and, when in the open air, were committed to
the special guard of half a dozen of the party, who composed the
centre; and, in this order, led by Spikeman, the cavalcade commenced
their march. They had proceeded at a slow pace, on account of the
females, and in silence, broken only by an occasional question and
answer, for perhaps half an hour, when one of the men observed that
either the moon had risen or the morning was breaking.

"There is no moon, Cowlson," said a soldier; "nor, according to my
reckoning, can it be much past midnight. The light ye see comes from
the North; and, an' it were winter, I should think it was the shooting
of the Northern lights."

"These be no Northern lights, nor Southern, nor moon, nor morning,"
said another. "An' it be not a fire, my name is not Job Bloyce."

"How can it be a fire?" said Ephraim Pike, who had contrived to join
the band without his absence being noticed, after accomplishing his
purpose. "There is nothing in that direction but the house we just
left, and sure it cannot be that."

"I know not," said Spikeman. "It may be the work of the desperate man
whom we failed to take, and who has done the deed, in order to throw
disgrace in some sort on us."

"That is a strange supposition," said Lieutenant Venn. "A man would
hardly be likely to destroy his own property."

"Not without some malicious design, I grant ye; but that were motive
sufficient with Sir Christopher. Besides, what is it he would burn up
but a heap of old logs, whose whole value could scarcely exceed ten
pounds?"

By this time the fire had gained such an ascendancy over the building,
as to throw a light which could no longer be mistaken, and all were
satisfied that it must proceed from the habitation of the Knight. The
majority of the men adopted, without reflection, the idea thrown out
by the wily Assistant, but there were others who were unable to
satisfy themselves as easily.

CHAPTER XXVII.

  When the King of Tars saw that sight,
  Wood he was for wrath aplight:
        In hand he hent a spear,
  And to the Soudan he rode full right;
  With a dunt of much might,
        Adown he gan him bear.

  OLD ENGLISH METRICAL ROMANCE.

Only the accidental absence of the Knight saved him from the indignity
to which his household was subjected. Well were the measures of his
enemies taken, and the time chosen, for it was reasonable to suppose,
that after so long a journey, he would certainly be found at his
domicile the first night. His erratic habits were well known, and it
was this knowledge which induced the choice of the time for the
arrest, and indeed had assisted to deepen suspicions, in a suspicious
community, against him. It would not have suited the purposes of
Spikeman to wait, and thus afford the Knight an opportunity to present
himself in town. He chose to bring in Sir Christopher as a criminal,
knowing that having committed his associates thus far, to an act of
violence, they would not be likely to rest until they had expelled Sir
Christopher from the colony.

At the time Spikeman was rifling his house, and injuriously treating
its inmates, the Knight, unsuspicious of harm, was lying in the wigwam
of Sassacus, which was distant but a mile or two from his own
residence. Lying on his side, with his head supported on one hand by
the elbow resting on the ground, he was addressing the Sagamore, who,
seated in Indian fashion, with the soothing pipe at his lips, was
listening to his discourse. A flickering fire sent up now and then a
bright flame, by means of which the two became ever and anon more
distinctly discernible to each other, while in the intervals, there
was only light enough to distinguish the outlines of their persons.
Even through the studied apathy of the Pequot, it was obvious that the
subject possessed considerable interest for him, for occasionally he
would remove his pipe from his mouth, and gaze fixedly on the ground,
as if lost in profound thought.

"Wonderful, O chief," he said, after the Knight had ceased speaking,
"are the things which thou hast told, and I believe, because the white
men are very strange, and I have never caught thee in a lie. Truly, as
thou sayest, are the red men children, and the white men exceed them
in wisdom, even as the beaver the wolf. The wise beaver is warm in his
lodge, when the wolf howls for hunger and cold in the forest. The
white man is the beaver, and the red man the wolf. The Great Spirit
made them so, for so it pleased him, and so they must remain."

"Nay," said the Knight. "There was a time when the white race was like
thine own, without that knowledge which makes them so powerful."

"And can the chief say why the Great Spirit gave Owanux the wisdom
which he denied to us?"

"That is a question I cannot answer, any more than why thy skin is red
and mine white; but the Christian religion was the means whereby the
change was effected."

"There is but one Great Spirit, who made all things," said Sassacus,
solemnly, "and we worship him as well as the white men. Lightnings are
the glances of his eyes; thunder is his voice; the sun is the fire
before his lodge, which he extinguishes when he sleeps, and the moon
and stars are the sparks which fly up into the air when it goes out."

"Thou hast indeed, in some sort, a religion, for He hath not left even
the most barbarous nations without some knowledge of himself, howbeit
it is not unto wisdom. But it is only with his true religion that he
has connected that acquaintance with himself, which makes men to
advance in all that is worthy to be known here, and happy hereafter."

"Our wise men say," replied Sassacus, "that for the spirits of brave
and just warriors there are happy hunting grounds, far away towards
the setting sun, which the Indian travels to, over the white path in
the middle of the sky, where deer, and elk, and bears never fail, and
where the hunter is never tired, nor very hungry."

"Alas!" said the Knight; "these are but figments of the
imagination--fond dreams as unsubstantial as morning mist, and
deceitful as the wandering fire, which lures the ignorant traveller
into the morass."

"O, wise chief," said Sassacus, "our tribes have also their
traditions, and I know not why they may not be as true as thine. We do
not think, as your powahs teach, that our traditions come from
Hobbamocki, while yours all proceed from the Master of life."

"Hobbamocki is thy name for the Evil Spirit?"

"My brother has said it. Would he like to know how he was created?"

"I listen," said the Knight.

"A long, long time ago," said Sassacus, "the Master of Life, Kiehtan,
went to a large flat island, in order to complete his work of
creation. He there created a multitude of animals, some of which were
so large that he was unable to control them. It is said that remains
of gigantic beasts are still to be found upon the island, which were
never finished. It was out of clay that Kiehtan formed the beasts,
while the inferior manitos looked on and rejoiced in his labor. He
made in the side of each animal an opening, whereinto he crept, and so
warmed it into life. It the animals pleased him he permitted them to
swim to the great pasture land, and to fill the woods; if they pleased
him not, he first withdrew the life, and then turned them into clay
again. Once he made so large a beast that he was afraid to give him
life. There were also other smaller, to whom he gave not life, because
he considered them not useful. Once he made a creature, in the form of
a man, which he also rejected, but he forgot to take the life away
from him, and this is the evil spirit, Hobbamocki."

"And thou believest this fable, as wild as ever sprung from the
unbridled license of an Oriental story-teller?"

"Sassacus believes as the wise men of his nation believed, when he was
a little pappoose, and as their fathers believed, when they were
papooses, and as his people have always believed, for more summers
than there are stars in the sky. But do not the white men believe in
Hobbamocki?"

"They do, though they give him a different name," answered the Knight.
"He was a Great Spirit, who was expelled from heaven, or the happy
hunting grounds, because of his wickedness."

"Was he not very happy there, and had all that he wanted?" inquired
the Pequot.

"He was happy and preeminent above all other manitos in glory and
power."

"How then became he wicked?"

"That is a question which our wise men have never been able to answer.
But he envied the greatness of the Master of Life, and desired to
occupy his place."

"Can your Hobbamocki be in two places at once?"

"No. Being a created spirit, he is limited."

"It cannot be, then, that he was such a fool," said the chief,
decisively. "Behold! the Master of Life is every where! He is like the
air and the light. Manitos are very little things beside him, and all
together cannot fill his place. Your powahs have deceived you, and
told a foolish story of their own invention. No. Hobbamocki was vexed
because the Great Spirit did not like him, and for that reason tries
to revenge himself, by troubling those whom the Great Spirit loves."

"At least," said the Knight, "our two traditions agree in this--that
there is an evil spirit, who injures and leads men into wickedness,
and therein do thy legends confirm the truth of the Catholic
religion."

"Do the people at Shawmut, under Sagamore Winthrop, believe in all
things, as my brother?"

"Nay. They are heretics, and given over to believe a lie--from whom
this land shall be taken, and bestowed as an heritage on others, who
shall be the Indians' friends, and they shall all live together."

"Listen! My brother has spoken of this before, and Sassacus has
thought much about it. It seems to me that when the Great Spirit spoke
to the white men, they could not understand his words, but his voice
was to them like the sighing of the wind among the trees, or the
dashing of the green water on the shore, for they cannot agree about
their religion. But the ears of the Indians were sharper, and they all
understood alike, and therefore they do not differ about what the
Master of Life said, and they also know better concerning Hobbamocki.
Has not my brother told me that the white men fight and kill one
another about their religion?"

"Alas! it is too true," replied Sir Christopher.

"Indians never do so. Let us do a great thing," added Sassacus, his
face suddenly kindling, as with the inspiration of a magnificent
thought--"we will teach the English our religion, which we never fight
about, because we know it to be true, and the English shall teach us
how to build ships, and make guns and powder; and, together, we will
drive the Taranteens into the salt lake."

"It is in vain," said the Knight to himself, on hearing this
extraordinary proposition. "He doth, ever in his childlike simplicity,
say something to confound me. His untutored mind is yet incapable of
receiving the mysteries of our holy religion, but, in lieu thereof,
perpetually runs after the practical and immediate advantages of
powder and guns. Direct the conversation as I may, this target doth it
hit at last."

At this moment an Indian stepped into the lodge, and, uttering the
word "fire!" accompanied by a gesture of the arm, retired.

The Knight and Sassacus sprung up, and, looking in the direction
indicated, beheld the heavens all aglow with the conflagration.

"It is my lodge!" exclaimed Sir Christopher. "I will hasten thither
instantly."

"Come with us, Towanquattick," said the Chief, calling to the Indian,
and the three at once directed their course toward the dwelling of the
Knight.

With all their haste, they did not reach it until the fire had made
such progress that it was impossible to suppress it, or even save
anything from the building. The flames were pouring out in billows
from the doors and windows, and a moment after their arrival the roof
fell in. They approached as near as the heat would permit, but were
unable to distinguish anything in the interior, nor was a sound to be
heard, save that of the rushing flames and falling timbers. No one was
present, except the three--the natives who lived near having retired
deeper into the wood on the first alarm. Leaning on his gun, the
Knight gazed sadly on the burning ruin, reflecting on what had
probably become of its former occupants. If he had any doubts, they
were soon dissipated by Sassacus, whose attention, with that of the
other Indian, had been attracted by marks upon the ground which had
escaped the notice of Sir Christopher. These plainly revealed to them
by the light of the fire, the two, like well-bred hounds, had been
examining in every direction, until, gathering together the various
tracks into one trail, they had followed it into the wood. Returning
to the Knight, and pointing out the traces, the chief said:

"Many Owanux have been here, and all are gone to Shawmut."

"I surmised as much," said Sir Christopher, partly to himself. "We
will follow, Sagamore, and assure ourselves with our own eyes."

No time was lost in lamentation but the three instantly started after
the band.

Sir Christopher could see the trail until it reached the wood; but
here, notwithstanding his experience in woodcraft, he frequently lost
all trace of it, though to the Indians it seemed as plain as a beaten
highway. Never hesitating, even in the obscurest recesses of the
forest where penetrated no ray of a star, with rapid steps they
pursued their way.

Meanwhile, the party of soldiers, conscious of their strength, and
encumbered with their prisoners, though pushing on at first at a good
pace, had of late been proceeding more leisurely. Even Lieutenant
Venn, satisfied that they would be able without haste to reach their
destination before daylight, ceased to hurry. As they approached
nearer the village, their vigilance diminished--the men talked loud
and jested with one another, and it was obvious that no apprehensions
of danger were entertained.

This state of things had not been unnoticed by Philip, who had been
meditating over the question, whether it were not better to make an
attempt to escape. "There is no great hazard in it," he said to
himself; "but were I to get away I should be about as badly off as
now, unless I could meet Sir Christopher or the Sagamore; and perhaps
they have been captured by some other party, for our folk do not
things by halves. They have taken away my snap-chance, too, and I
cannot shoot with arrows like a savage, so that, as one may say, I am
a sort of cat without claws. I know not what they can have against me
now, or why I should be afraid of them; and yet, when I think of their
purgatory of a prison, it makes me crawl all over. A week's lodging
there would about make an end of me. I think I have never been quite
the man I was before, since they stuck me there."

Thus revolving in his mind the advantages and disadvantages of his
position, the remembrance of his sufferings during his imprisonment,
at last turned the scales in favor of liberty, and Philip began to
think of means to accomplish his purpose. He tried, by lagging behind
and falling down once or twice, to get into the rear; but this
manoeuvre the vigilant eyes of Lieutenant Venn detected, who ordered
him nearer to the front, and directed that he should be watched
closer. Foiled in this manner, that freedom which but a moment before,
and when apparently in his power, seemed almost a matter of
indifference, assumed a constantly increasing importance, and the mind
of Philip worked more actively than ever. In a short time they would
be out of the forest, when any attempt at evasion would be folly, for,
should he succeed in shaking off his guard, he would run great risk of
being shot down in the open space. It was therefore necessary to think
quickly.

"If I only had Prudence with me," thought Philip, "I be bound she
would have invented a dozen ways to get off by this time. Sweet wench!
there is some difference between sitting on a log with her and
stealing a smack once in a while, though a slap be pretty sure to
follow, and dragging my legs in the dark among the briers. But she is
not here, and so I will e'en take up with Master Arundel, and suck his
wits a bit."

"What think you," he whispered to his companion in captivity, "of
making a rush, and showing our heels to the Philistines?"

"It were madness," answered the young man, in the same manner. "Thou
wert sure to be retaken, perhaps shot."

"I have no fancy for either; but cannot your wit devise some mode to
save me from yon lock-up? My bones ache when I think of it."

"I have no desire to get away," answered Arundel; "nor understand I
how it can advantage thee, seeing that, sooner or later, thou art
tolerably certain of being made prisoner again."

"Nevertheless, there is a chance of better things; and I say once more
I like not the thoughts of the close quarters they intend for us. An'
you will not run for it yourself, at least help a poor fellow, whose
ideas are like a skein of tangled silk, to avoid the bilboes."

"Assuredly, if you wish, what I can I will do to facilitate thy
escape. Only tell me how."

"You have me there in a Cornish hug," said Philip. "An' I knew, I had
not asked."

"You would not have us fight for our liberty?"

"I am not so crazy as that. Ten to one is odds that any one, except
Sampson, might avoid without disgrace, and even he would not stand
much chance, for all his bushy head, when bullets were flying."

"We must out-manoeuvre them by some stratagem."

"If Sassacus were here," said Philip, "he could show us the way. There
is not a tree or a rock but would have something to say to him about a
contrivance."

"What would you think, Philip," asked Arundel, (the direction of
Sassacus to sound the notes of the robin, whenever he desired to see
him, occurring to his mind,) "were I to conjure up the Chief?"

"I would think thee more cunning than any powah of them all, and,
moreover, advise thee to keep out of the way of the elders and
magistrates."

"Keep quiet a moment, and I will try my powahing."

So saying, the young man whistled the peculiar notes of the bird,
which, in the dewy silence of night, rung wide through the Woods.

"Halt!" cried Spikeman, who instantly suspected some treachery. "Close
up around the prisoners. Who dared make those sounds?"

No answer was returned; and, after a vain attempt to discover their
author, the party resumed its march.

"If your powahing has done no other good, Master Arundel," said
Philip, "it at least frightened the General."

"I am a beginner," answered the young man, jestingly, "and it would
not be surprising should I fail at first. If it raise not the sagamore
or one of his men before we reach the open space, I will try the spell
again."

But the notes had struck the quick ears of the Pequot chief, and at
their sound he bounded forward at a pace which his companions vainly
endeavored to equal, and which shortly left them out of sight; but
they could hear the rustling he made tearing through the bushes, and,
guided by it, followed. The noise occasioned by the movements of so
large a party, and the conversation among them, prevented the approach
of the sagamore being heard, especially as when he drew nearer he
proceeded with more caution. Gliding from tree to tree, he was able to
advance quite close without being discovered. What was the rage of the
chief, when, at the head of the band, he beheld his enemy, the
Assistant Spikeman, leading as prisoners his friends and the little
Indian girl. Not waiting for the Knight and the Paniese to come up,
fitting an arrow, he drew the deer's sinew till the head of the
missile touched the hand that held the bow, and sent it whizzing
through the air. The cavalcade had passed on, so that the front ranks
were in advance of Sassacus, when he discharged the shaft, and the
back of the Assistant was turned to him. It entered just below the
right shoulder, and was sent with such vigor, that, passing between
the ribs, it stopped not until arrested on the other side by the steel
corselet which Spikeman wore on his breast. Shouting then his
war-whoop, and drawing his tomahawk from his girdle, the Pequot leaped
among the band. Like lightning it sunk into the head of one man, who
fell to the ground. The chief raised it again, but before it could
descend, a blow prostrated him, and, in an instant, he was overpowered
and disarmed. So rapidly followed these occurrences, that before the
Knight and Towanquattick came up, the chief was a prisoner, and every
man on his guard was prepared and watching for an enemy. To attack
would have been certain death or captivity; they, therefore, bitterly
lamenting the passionate impetuosity of the sagamore, kept themselves
concealed in order to take advantage of circumstances.

Having disposed his Company so as to face in every direction, to repel
attack, Lieutenant Venn approached to examine the fallen men. A corpse
was all that remained of Ephraim Pike, who must have instantly expired
on receiving the blow. His head was cleft to the neck, and portions of
the brain were lying on the leaves. He had probably been selected by
the sagamore (from his neighborhood to the Assistant, by whose side he
marched) as second in command, and thus expiated with his life his
evil devotion to his master. Spikeman lay upon his face, groaning,
while the blood slowly oozed from his wound. The lieutenant, with one
of the men, raised him up, while Lady Geraldine strove to stanch the
bleeding. An attempt was made to withdraw the arrow, but the pain it
occasioned and the amount of blood which followed were so great, that
it was abandoned. All that could be done was to carry the wounded man
as gently as possible home. Venn, now at the head of half a dozen men,
scoured the woods in the immediate vicinity all around; and, finding
no enemy, returned, and ordered a couple of trestles to be made, on
one of which was to be placed the body of Pike, and on the other the
groaning Spikeman. Upon mustering the company, it was found that all
were present, with the exception of Philip Joy, who had escaped in the
confusion. Four men being assigned to each of the trestles, to be
relieved as occasion should require, the remainder having charge of
the prisoners, and composing the van and rear, Lieutenant Venn
re-commenced his march--Arundel walking by the side of the Pequot
chief, to whom he expressed regret at his capture.

"It is a summer cloud," said the sagamore.

As for Philip, on effecting his escape, he felt some embarrassment
what to do with himself. There he was, alone and without arms, in the
forest, wandering helplessly about, and, if unable to find Sir
Christopher, in a worse condition than before. He had half a mind to
pursue the band and surrender himself, when, remembering the powahing,
as he called it, of Arundel, he determined to try it himself.
Imitating, therefore, to the best of his ability, the sounds made by
the young man, he sat down and waited for the effect. Presently the
figure of Towanquattick, followed by that of the Knight, stole out of
a thicket and stood before him.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

  But, gasping, heaved the breath that Lara drew,
  And dull the film along his dim eye grew.

  BYRON.

On the arrival of the party at the settlement, Lieutenant Venn divided
it into two detachments; at the head of one of which he carried the
Assistant to his own house, while the other, under the command of an
inferior officer, was charged with the security of the prisoners. Only
the sagamore was strictly confined, being ironed and placed in the
same dungeon which Joy had occupied. Sassacus made no resistance, but
submitted with a stoical impassivity as to an irresistible fate. The
lady and Indian girl, as those from whom flight was less to be feared,
and with whom it would be more difficult to effect, and also out of
deference to the weakness of their sex, were committed to the care of
Dame Bars, by whom they were to be closely watched. As for Arundel, he
was permitted to depart, the lieutenant informing him that he had been
arrested only to prevent the carrying of information to the Knight. It
is doubtful, however, whether, if Spikeman had still been in command,
he would have escaped on as easy terms.

The little community was thrown into some commotion by these events.
The dangerous wound of so prominent a person as the Assistant, and the
capture of the renowned Indian sachem--not to speak of the lady--could
not fail to occasion a lively interest. As soon as the results of the
night expedition were known, (and the news flew with wonted celerity,)
every body was in the streets, giving and receiving information, or
what purported to be such, and making and listening to comments
thereupon. We cannot, however, remain to hear the conversation of the
grave citizens at the corners, but must follow those whose particular
fortunes we have undertaken to portray.

The unfortunate Spikeman, unable to suppress his groans at the pain
occasioned by the motions of his bearers--his clothing saturated with
blood, which kept oozing from the orifices of the wound--was borne to
his dwelling, and delivered to the weeping household. It would be
absurd to suppose that any great grief was felt by Dame Spikeman, and
hers was partly the feeling arising from early associations and long
familiarity; but it is impossible for the most stoical to contemplate,
without emotion, one in the condition of the suffering man, and the
tears of Eveline and of Prudence were mingled with those of the dame.

It happened that Dr. Samuel Fuller, of the Plymouth colony, who had
come over with the first Pilgrims was in Boston at the time. He was
immediately brought to the wounded man, and was soon followed by
Governor Winthrop, Mr. Eliot, and other friends. The corselet had been
removed, and a portion of the clothing cut away, and Spikeman lay on
his side, spasmodically breathing. Yet had resolution not entirely
deserted him. His strong character still spoke in his face, and he
looked like one who, though conquered, was not subdued.

Doctor Puller approached the couch and gently touched the arrow, but
it produced such a spasm that he did not repeat the experiment. The
eyes of Spikeman were fastened on the countenance of the surgeon, and
read therein his doom.

"There is no hope?" he gasped.

"I humbly trust," said the doctor, who was "not only useful in his
faculty, but otherwise, as he was a godly man, and served Christ in
the office of a deacon in the Church for many years, and forward to do
good in his place" according to an old chronicle--"I humbly trust that
a crown of glory awaits thee in the other world whither thou art
hastening."

A groan, which shook the couch whereon he was lying, and gent the
blood gushing from the wound, burst from Spikeman, as he heard the
answer.

"Yea," said good and tender-hearted Mr. Eliot, let our brother anchor
his mind on the promises which are very comfortable--For ye have not
received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but ye have received the
spirit of adoption whereby we cry, Abba, Father.' For I reckon that
the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with
the glory which shall be revealed in us. 'Blessed are the dead who
die in the Lord, and their works do follow them.'"

"Works?" interrupted Spikeman. "Who speaks of works? They are filthy
rags."

"They are indeed but filthy rags," said Mr. Eliot, "to them who rely
upon them for salvation; yet are they not unpleasing as being the
fruits of saving faith."

"I will not hear of works," said Spikeman. "Moreover, whom he did
predestinate--them"--a sudden pang prevented the conclusion of the
sentence, but it was finished by Mr. Eliot.

"He also called; and whom he called, them he also justified; and whom
he justified, them he also glorified."

A silence followed, which was interrupted only by the sobs of Dame
Spikeman, until the wounded man inquired:

"How long shall I live?"

"It may be two hours; it may be only one," answered the physician.

"A short time." murmured the Assistant, "My soul doth travail with
anguish," he said, fixing his burning eyes on Mr. Eliot.

"O, my brother!" exclaimed the divine, "the precious blood of Christ
cleanseth from all sins, though they be as crimson. Faint not now,
when thou art about to cross the river of Jordan, but think upon thy
Redeemer."

"I strive," said Spikeman, "but there are thoughts which--which rise
up, as a mist, between me and him."

"O, cleanse thy bosom of this perilous stuff," said Winthrop. "If
there be a sin which persecutes thee, confess it and repent."

"Is that the voice of the Governor?" asked Spikeman, who seemed to
have forgotten his entrance. "Repentance! Repentance! it is too late."

Those around the couch looked at one another with dismay.

"Our dear brother," said Mr. Eliot, "of what specially wouldst thou
repent? Believe me--it is never too late to trust God's mercies. Think
of the penitent thief upon the Cross."

"Do you dare to call me a thief?" said Spikeman, hoarsely. "Ah!" he
added, "how I talk! These are strange feelings. What I have to do must
be done quickly. Call Eveline Dunning."

"Who is in the room?" he inquired, after the young lady had entered.

The names of those present were enumerated. "Let them remain," he
said. "They are of the congregation, but I would not that the world
should know my shame. Look not thus at me," he exclaimed, as soon as
he saw Eveline. "Thy face is like thy father's, the friend whom I
wronged. Be nigh to hear, but let me not see thee. Eveline, the
property which should be thine, I have misapplied, and it has melted
from my grasp. It was that my misdeed might not be discovered that I
denied thee to Miles Arundel, though thy father wished the nuptials.
Yet, Eveline, marry him not; he is of the corrupt Church of England."

These words he uttered with many interruptions of pain, resuming when
the paroxysm passed away.

"Would you see Miles?" inquired the weeping girl.

"To what end? I care not for him. He is not of the congregation. Go
now. I have done."

"My spirit is lightened," he said, as she left the room. "Edmund
Dunning," he added, as his mind temporarily wandered, "why do you
fasten your accusing eyes on me? I have made all the reparation that I
can. What more?"

"Alas!" said Mr. Eliot, aside, to Governor Winthrop, "who would have
thought this of one so zealous for our Israel?"

Low as was the tone, the words struck the ear of Spikeman.

"Whatever be my sins," he said, "even though dark as those of David, I
have been zealous unto slaying for the people of God. Is the enemy
taken?" he inquired.

"Whom mean you?" asked Winthrop.

"Whom should I mean, but the man ye call the Knight of the Golden
Melice?"

"He is not yet taken," answered the Governor.

"Let him be hunted, as a partridge on the mountains; let him be run
down and seized; kill him, if he resists."

"This is no fitting frame of mind for a parting spirit," said Mr.
Eliot. "Let me beseech you to turn your thoughts on the Saviour."

But delirium had now taken possession of the mind of the dying man,
and made him insensible alike of all that was said and of pain.

"Away with him!" he cried, "who lays snares for the feet of my people.
Hew him down, though he hugged the arms of the altar."

"Shall we not, beloved brother, unite our supplications to the throne
of grace, for the last time on earth?" asked Mr. Eliot, bending over
him.

"Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect? It is God who
justifies," said Spikeman, turning on the minister his glazing eyes.

"It is in vain," said Winthrop. "He heeds not nor understands what you
say."

"Papistical mummeries! Your croziers, your mitres, your mumbled
prayers from the mass-book! I hate them! Forty years long they
wandered in the wilderness, but they prevailed at last. Stay ye the
hands of our Moses! Be strong! Quit ye like men."

"His mind, even in its wanderings, doth remember Israel," said Dr.
Fuller.

"He hath, indeed," said Winthrop, "ever avouched himself a devoted
servant of our cause. Unhappy is it--"

He looked at the weeping wife, and left the sentence unfinished.

"Let him who is without sin cast the first stone," said good Mr.
Eliot.

"Where sin abounded, grace did much more abound!" exclaimed the dying
man.

"Dear husband," said Dame Spikeman, sobbing, and taking his hand,
"know you me?"

"What woman speaks?" said Spikeman. "It is the voice of
Prudence--sweet Pru--"

His wife let the hand fall, and covering her face with her
handkerchief, burst into a flood of tears. A severer spasm than any
before shook the Assistant's frame; a more copious gush of blood
poured from the wound; and in the effort to speak the name of the
girl, the spirit passed to its account.

"Strange," said pure-minded Mr. Eliot, "that he should utter the name
of the serving-maid."

A look of intelligence passed between the Governor and the physician,
but neither spoke.

"He is silent," said the divine; "he is stiller, and feels less pain."

"He will never feel pain again in this world," said the doctor,
approaching the bed, at a little distance from which he had been
sitting, and gazing on the corpse.

Dame Spikeman screamed, and was borne, fainting, from the apartment in
the arms of Eveline and Prudence, who hastened in at the sound.

"Behold," said Mr. Eliot, who, after the manner of clergymen, was
anxious to "improve the solemn occasion," "another warning addressed
to us all, to be ready, for we know not neither the day nor the hour.
How suddenly hath our friend been forever removed from the scene of
his labors and his hopes. 'As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth
away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more; he
shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him
any more.' But, though the spirit be gone, its memory remains behind.
Out of the good and the evil it hath done, shall be erected its
monument on earth. O, let us hope that the former, sprinkled and
cleansed by the blood that maketh all things pure, may be accepted,
and the latter forgiven, for His sake who shed it. For He who made us
knoweth whereof we are made; He remembereth that we are dust; He seeth
not as man seeth. Only He knows all the secrets of the weak, trembling
heart, its temptations, its trials, its struggles, its sorrows, its
triumphs, its despairs. Our friend was a captain in Israel. He hath
fallen with his armor on, and girded for the battle. He loved the
suffering Church. Be that a remembrance to rise like a sweet-smelling
incense before the congregation; and if Thou, whose pure eyes cannot
behold iniquity, wilt not be extreme to mark what is done amiss,
neither may we, the work of thy hands, dare to assume Thy prerogative;
but as the sons of sinning Noah, with averted eyes, covered the
nakedness of their father with their garments, so will we hide in
forgetfulness each short-coming and each transgression."

As the good man, with a swelling heart and sad eyes, in which
glittered the sacred drops of human feeling, uttered these words, he
looked like a pitying angel from whose lips reproach could not fall,
and whose blessed office was only to instruct and to forgive.

The death of one as important as the Assistant Spikeman could not but
be sensibly felt in so small a community. He had been a man whose
daring nature would not allow him to be at rest, and who was never
contented, except in the exercise of all his faculties. Hence he had
been not only active and scheming in private life, but also busy and
bold in public, driven forward, as it were, by a sort of inborn
necessity. Though not deeply regretted, he yet was missed. Those whom
his adventurous spirit employed in the fisheries, and the
just-commencing fur trade, missed him; his brethren of the
congregation, wherein his voice, to the edification of his hearers,
had often been lifted up in the "gift of prophecying," missed him; and
his coadjutors in the government, to whom in more than one instance
his keen natural sagacity had been a guide, and his zeal a stimulus
and support, missed him; but it was only for a short time. How often
has it been remarked, that few things are as capable of making us feel
our insignificance, as the shortness of time in which we are
forgotten. Active, prominent, influential as he had been, Spikeman was
soon remembered only as yesterday is remembered. There were no loves
twining around his memory, reaching beyond the grave, and bringing him
back to earth; no tender recollections of benefits conferred, which
the heart cherishes as an inestimable treasure. There was naught for
the mind to dwell upon, save his public duties, which he, had indeed
discharged respectably, but no more. Another Assistant could fill his
place as well; another exercise the gift of prophecying to the use of
edifying; and other merchants succeed to, his trade. Verily is the
life of man as the track of an arrow in the air; as smoke lost in the
clouds; as a flake of snow that falls upon the water; as a childish
grief, or aught else that is most transient.

But the death of the wicked is a benefit to earth. A gloomy shadow
hath passed away; the blight of its presence will fall no more on the
innocent. The purpose for which he was sent into this world, that from
its joys and its sorrows he might become a nobler being, seems to have
been defeated. But I know not. Pass, then, dark spirit; my eyes seek
not to follow thy track.

The relation which existed between Arundel and Eveline was, of course,
affected by the disclosure of Spikeman on his death-bed--no opposition
being henceforth made to the free intercourse of the two young people.
There were, indeed, some who lamented that the daughter of precious
Edmund Dunning should become the wife of one who had not cast in his
lot with the saints; but then, again, Arundel was no enemy to their
cause, no railing Rabsheka, but a well-behaved and modest youth, who
paid, at least, an outward respect to the customs of the congregation,
and might yet, from the influence of godly Edmund Dunning's child, be
converted into a vessel of grace. Moreover, the story was pretty well
known, and the romantic love which had attracted him from New-England,
and the wrong the two had suffered from Spikeman, worked in their
favor in the hearts of the Puritans. The marked attention which the
generous Winthrop manifested now toward them, seeming as if anxious by
present kindness to atone for former injustice, contributed also not a
little to the feeling; and, honored and beloved, the young couple,
with the sanguine anticipations of youth, looked forward to a
cloudless future. Yet was their happiness, especially that of Arundel,
damped by reflections upon the condition of the Pequot chief and the
lady in the prison, and of the Knight wandering homeless in the
forest, with no place of shelter for his defenseless head save the
wigwams of the friendly savages. Knowing the severity of the
government, the foreboding mind of the young man was harrassed with
apprehensions for the fate which might befall them. Access to the Lady
Geraldine was permitted to him and Eveline, and thus were they able to
bestow upon the unhappy lady at least their sympathy, for of nothing
else would she accept; but no one was allowed to see the Sagamore. In
vain Arundel pleaded and intreated; in vain he recounted his personal
obligations to the Chief; he was firmly repulsed, and told that though
the feeling was honorable, it constituted no claim for the violation
of a rule which their circumstances imposed.

Disappointed and somewhat incensed at the unnecessary harshness, as he
conceived, wherewith the Chief was treated, and at the suspicion
implied toward himself, he, one day on his return from an unsuccessful
attempt to obtain an order for admission to the prison, from Winthrop,
poured out his vexation and wounded pride to his mistress.

"Is it not," he said, "most extraordinary, this refusal to allow me to
say to a man who saved my life, that I have not forgotten him? Is it
because their treatment of the unfortunate Sagamore is so bad that
they are unwilling it should be known? or do they think that in open
day I would attempt to rescue him?"

"It is more likely," said Eveline, "to conceal the weakness of the
prison."

"By heaven, Eveline, thy woman's wit hath discovered the cause. I have
been thinking over his wrongous confinement, and my debt, till I can
endure my inaction no longer, and I swear by St. George of England,
that I will soon seek an opportunity to deliver the noble savage from
the undeserved death, which sure am I, is his intended doom."

"I blame thee not, Miles," said Eveline. "One were craven to forget a
benefit. Only show me how I can aid thee, and my assistance shall not
be wanting."

"Nay," said her lover. "This is no matter wherein soft, small hands
like thine must interfere."

"It is not so big as thine," she said, measuring the little hand on
the palm of Arundel, "but such as it is, it shall ever be at the
service of honor and justice. Were I a man I would strike a blow for
the sake of the generous chief, even although sure of being prostrated
to the earth by a hundred the next instant."

The color of Eveline was heightened, and her voice trembled a little,
as she made the declaration.

"Thy language, dearest, is a spur to a determination already formed.
Were Sassacus to lose his life, and I to leave this land, conscious of
having omitted anything to save it, (at present so greatly
imperilled,) the thought would cast a gloom over the remainder of my
days, which, even thy love could not chase away."

"Yet run into no unnecessary danger--do not be rash. What have I done
by my imprudent words?" said the young lady, tears swelling into her
eyes, as the possible consequences of what she had said, occurred to
her mind. "O Miles, heed me not. What do I know of such things!"

"To prudence and courage," said Arundel, "there is little danger in
any enterprise; but sooner shall life desert me, than I the Pequot
chief."

They parted, he to ponder means to accomplish his purpose, and she
alternately to reproach and to forgive herself, for encouraging her
lover in an undertaking full of peril, yet demanded by gratitude and
honor.

CHAPTER XXIX.

  No wound, which warlike hand of enemy
    Inflicts with dint of sword, so sore doth light,
  As doth the poisonous sting which infamy
    Infixeth in the name of noble wight;
  For by no art, nor any leeches might,
    It ever can recovered be again.

  SPENSER'S FAERY QUEEN.

The reader is introduced, once more, into the company of the assembled
magnates of the Massachusetts Bay, in New-England, and into the same
room where we beheld them before. Governor Winthrop, upon the elevated
dais, in his elbow chair, presides, while, ranged around the central
table, is a full attendance of the Assistants. Not as before, however,
are spectators admitted. Saving the honorable Council, no person is
present, for the business before them has reference to concerns of
State, as well as to a judicial examination, and it is considered
expedient to conduct it in secrecy. The members, at the moment we
enter, are engaged in an earnest discussion, and it is the rough voice
of Deputy Governor Dudley which first salutes the ear.

"It were of little avail," he said, as if objecting to something which
had been proposed. "Let us not, like the ancient Pharisees, lay upon
the shoulders of the people burdens too heavy to be borne."

"Thy comparison," said Endicott, in reply, "is somewhat unpleasing,
and the shoe fits us not; but in vain hath been our pilgrimage hither,
if we continue to imitate the unhappy model we left behind."

"Call you," said Dudley, "the accidental shaping of a ruff, or the
manner of disposing of the folds of my galligaskins, an imitation of a
prelatical model?"

"And call you," retorted Endicott, "the requiring of people vowed to
the Lord, to dress themselves in a plain and unpretentious manner, a
burden too heavy to be borne?"

"Gentlemen," said Winthrop, "ye be both in the right, _Procul dubio_,
it becomes us, of all men, to apparel ourselves in a sober manner, as
thus protesting against the foolish vanities of the world, and yet is
it in some sort a burden, to be required to change the fashion of our
garments."

"I perceive, already, with much sadness of heart," said Endicott, "a
declension in that strictness of regimen which marked the earlier
time. Have ye not heard of the godly man who, long time, had been
prisoner at Norwich for the cause, and was by Judge Cook set at
liberty? Now, this man, desiring to go into the Low Countries by ship
from Yarmouth, did turn into the house of an ancient woman in the
city, who had been very kind and helpful to him in his sufferings, in
order to return thanks, and she knowing his voice, made him welcome.
But when he was ready to depart, she came up to him and felt of his
band, (for her eyes were dim with age,) and perceiving it was somewhat
stiffened with starch, she was much displeased, and reproved him very
sharply, fearing God would not prosper his journey. Yet was the man a
plain countryman, clad in grey russet, without either welt or guard,
(as the proverb is,) and the band he wore scarce worth three pence,
made of their own homespinning. What would such professors, if they
were now living, say to the excess of our times?"

"Thy tale," said Dudley, a little sarcastically, "reproaches thine own
band."

"I did instance this case," replied Endicott, slightly abashed, "not
as acknowledging myself literally bound to accept it as a guide for
mine own conduct, but for the wholesome admonition therein contained."

"That is to say," returned Dudley, "inasmuch as it jumps not with thy
humor, thou wilt none of it; but being fitted, as thou conceivest, to
reproach us withal, thou dost accept it." But having sufficiently
annoyed the other, he added, by way of makepeace, "there is one custom
which my soul abhors, and against the which I desire with thee, Master
Endicott, to bear my testimony, and that is the coming of women
unveiled into the congregation. I remember that the venerable Countess
of Lincoln had a falling veil to conceal her features, when she came
into the house of the Lord, to worship with his people."

In spite of himself, a smile passed over the face of Winthrop, as it
did also over those of several Assistants.

"What excites your risibles, gentlemen," asked Dudley, severely. "I
trust that I am not the subject of your mirth."

"For me, sir," said Master Simon Bradstreet, on whom the eyes of the
deputy happened to rest at the conclusion of the sentence, "if thou
desirest an answer, I will crave permission first to inquire, if this
discreet lady, who, from thy epithet, I infer to be somewhat advanced
in life, was preëminently distinguished for beauty?"