"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 preeminently distinguished for beauty?"

"Although of a gracious presence, I cannot say that she greatly excelled in that respect," answered Dudley.

"Then," replied Master Bradstreet, "I see not how the view of her face could disturb the devotions of the congregation."

"Ye smile, my masters," said Dudley, looking round, "as though ye had me at advantage; but ye consider not the importance of the example of a lady so high in station, and so exemplary in her Christian calling. Not so much on account of herself, but for other's sakes, was it done by the godly and honorable lady."

"I see no foundation therefor in Scripture," said an Assistant. "Surely married women have no pretext to wear veils as virgins, neither would married nor unmarried choose to do so from the example of Tamar the wanton, nor need they do it for such purpose as Ruth did, in her widowhood."