"Here is no one to drive the horse, my child, but our young German
acquaintance. The distance is very short, and if he will thus oblige me,
he can come down to the village with the wagon, as soon as he has seen
you safe at our own door."

Mary Warren was accustomed to defer to her father's opinions, and she so
far submitted, now, as to permit me to assist her into the wagon, and to
place myself at her side, whip in hand, proud of and pleased with the
precious charge thus committed to my care. These arrangements made, the
Injins commenced their march, about half of them preceding, and the
remainder following the wagon that contained their prisoner. Four,
however, walked on each side of the vehicle, thus preventing the
possibility of escape. No noise was made, and little was said; the
orders being given by signs and signals, rather than by words.

Our wagon continued stationary until the party had got at least a
hundred yards from us, no one giving any heed to our movements. I had
waited thus long for the double purpose of noting the manner of the
proceedings among the Injins, and to obtain room to turn at a spot in
the road a short distance in advance of us, and which was wider than
common. To this spot I now walked the horse, and was in the act of
turning the animal's head in the required direction, when I saw Mary
Warren's little gloved hand laid hurriedly on the reins. She endeavoured
to keep the head of the horse in the road.

"No, no," said the charming girl, speaking earnestly, as if she would
not be denied, "we will follow my father to the village. I may not, must
not, _cannot_ quit him!"

The time and place were every way propitious, and I determined to let
Mary Warren know who I was. By doing it I might give her confidence in
me at a moment when she was in distress, and encourage her with the hope
that I might also befriend her father. At any rate, I was determined to
pass for an itinerant Dutch music-grinder with _her_ no longer.

"Miss Mary, Miss Warren," I commenced, cautiously, and with quite as
much hesitation and diffidence of feeling as of manner, "I am not what I
seem--that is, I am no music-grinder."

The start, the look, and the alarm of my companion, were all eloquent
and natural. Her hand was still on the reins, and she now drew on them
so hard as actually to stop the horse. I thought she intended to jump
out of the vehicle, as a place no longer fit for her.

"Be not alarmed, Miss Warren," I