stirred his superstitious fancy, but without a word he reentered
the wigwam; and Kamuso concealing the knife went back to the randevous,
where already the first watch slept, and Standish, in command of the
second, stood beside the fire leaning on his snaphance, and, deep in
meditation fixed his eyes upon the approaching savage so sternly that he
believing that all was discovered was on the point of springing at his
prey, and risking all upon one sudden blow, when the captain, awaking
from his reverie, sighed profoundly, and perceiving for the first time
Kamuso's approach quietly said,--

"So it is thee, Pamet! Go back and sleep warm in the wigwams of the
Mattakees. We need no help here."

"Kamuso is no Mattakee; Kamuso is the friend of the white men. While The
Sword wakes, Kamuso will gaze upon him and learn how to become the
terror of his foes."

"'T is easier to be the terror of one's foes than the delight of one's
friends," muttered Standish gloomily, and then pulling himself together
he stirred the embers with his heel, and throwing on more wood said
carelessly,--

"E'en as thou wilt. Kamuso, go or stay, watch or sleep, 't is all one to
me."

And marching up and down the strip of level beach the soldier hummed an
old ballad song of Man, which Rose had loved to sing, and clean forgot
the savage who, crouching in the shadow, fingered the knife hilt hidden
in his waist cloth, and never removed the gaze of his snaky eyes from
the figure of his destined prey.

The night went on, and Standish waked the second watch and dismissed the
first, but still himself took no rest, nor felt the need of it, as he
paced up and down, his outward senses alert to the smallest sign, and
his memory roaming at will over scenes for many years forgot; over
boyhood's eager days, his mother's tenderness, his father's death upon a
French battle-field, his own early days as a soldier, his home-coming
to find Barbara acting a daughter's part to the dying mother--Rose--ah
Rose! He stood a moment at the point of his promenade furthest from the
randevous, his back to the fire, his gaze fixed upon the sea whose lapping
waves seemed whispering with sobbing sighs, Rose!--Rose!--Rose!--

A faint sound upon the shingle caught the outward ear of the soldier,
and wheeling instinctively he faced the Pamet, who with his hand upon
the hilt of the dagger had crept up to within six feet of his victim,
and already had selected the spot between those squa