is slumbers.

"Who is there?" he demanded, impatiently.

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

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

"The sling of David," replied the voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Philip, guided by the sounds, bent down, and feeling for the shackles
which confined the legs of the captive, soon unfastened them, and the