no more for your word than if you were no chief."

"My brother's, is a pappoos speech. Sassacus never broke his word; he
only tried whether the dog was as brave as he was bad. White man," he
added, turning to the Assistant, "thou art free. A great chief
disdains to give thee the death of a warrior. Go back to thy people,
and tell them what return the Sagamore of the Pequots makes for thy
breach of hospitality. His promise to his brother saves thy life this
time. But, beware! A Sagamore does not forget. Be a snail that keeps
its head within its shell. If the snail puts it out, Sassacus will
step upon it. Depart."

He gave directions to a couple of his sanops to conduct the Assistant
to the verge of the forest, and, turning away, walked to his lodge. He
was followed by Philip, who had now recovered from his amazement, and,
understanding the conduct of the chief, felt ashamed at his own want
of discernment and distrust.

"Is my brother satisfied?" inquired the Pequot.

"Sagamore," answered Philip, "I wronged thee. It shall be a lesson to
make me more cautious in judging of thy actions."

"It is well. My brother will hereafter remember that the thoughts of a
chief do not always shine in his face or sound in his words. My
brother will forgive me," he added, smiling, "for shutting his eyes a
little while very tight. It was that my brother might be the more
pleased when he opened them."

"A trusty friend, this Indian, after all, in his way, (thought Philip,
as he gazed on the face of the Pequot, which had settled into its
usual gravity), and loves a jest, too. Who would have thought it?
Methinks he has the better of it with Master Spikeman, though I
misdoubt if he considers the score as settled."

As for the Assistant, thus suddenly and unexpectedly reprieved from a
shocking death that seemed certain, he was stupified at the abrupt
change in his circumstances, and, as he hurried on, half doubted
whether it were not a dream. As he threaded the intricacies of the
wood, he had time to compare and weigh events, and was thus enabled to
come to some sort of conclusion. He recollected now many little things
in the conduct of Prudence, which would have opened the eyes of any
one not blinded by an absurd passion, and saw how, while seeming not
averse to his pursuit, she had, in fact, only tempted on from one
folly to another, until his whole being lay disclosed to her, without
herself making any corresponding return. He doubte