omorrow,
at break of day, he shall die. Go. I have said it.'

'And will the Sachem give him into my charge until the morning dawns?'
inquired Coubitant.

Tisquantum fixed his piercing eye on the savage, and read his
malevolent feelings; and he calmly answered, 'No: the victim shall
bleed because his father's blood flows in his veins. But he shall not
be tortured; for his was not the hand that deprived me of my son. The
boy shall remain in my own lodge, and sleep securely for this night
beneath the same roof that shelters my last remaining child--my lovely
Oriana.'

Had the Chief observed Henrich's changing countenance, he would have
perceived that all he said was understood by the intended sufferer. But
he marked him not, and the boy commanded himself, and kept silence,
determined to await Coubitant's departure before he made one effort to
move the Chief to pity. He had, however, no opportunity of trying the
effect of his earnest appeal; for Tisquantum ordered one of his
attendants to remove him at once to the inner division of the lodge,
and to secure him there for the night: and then, motioning Coubitant to
retire, and resuming his pipe, he proceeded to 'drink smoke,' as
composedly as if his evening repose had not been interrupted.

But, notwithstanding his outward composure, the Nausett chief was not
unmoved by the event that had just occurred. The sight of the son of
him whose hand had slain his young Tekoa brought back the image of his
brave young warrior, as he stood beside him at the fatal burial-ground,
full of youthful ardor, to combat the invaders of his land, and the
supposed enemies of his race. He recalled his daring look as he mounted
the palisade, and placed in his unerring bow the arrow that wounded the
English boy. And then he seemed to hear again the sharp report of the
white man's musket, and to behold once more the sudden fall of his son,
bleeding and expiring, to the ground.

Tisquantum thought on that hour of anguish, when his duties as a chief
and a warrior had forbidden all expression of his grief; and he thought
of his return to his lodge, where only Oriana remained to welcome him--
for the mother of his children, whom he had loved with unusual
affection, was dead--and tears gathered in the Sachem's eyes. Oriana
had deeply mourned her brother's death; for since she had lost her
mother, she had been permitted to enjoy much more of his society than
had previously been allowed her; and her