this man to the magistrates."

The Familist placed his hands to his month, and gave a whistle, similar
to that which was heard in the morning, and which preceded the escape of
Wonolanset. It was answered by a shout from the river; and a score of
Indians came struggling up through the brush-wood.

"Vile heretic!" exclaimed Mr. Ward, snatching a musket from the hands of
his neighbor, and levelling it full at the head of Martin; "you have
betrayed us into this jeopardy."

"Wagh! down um gun," said a powerful Indian, as he laid his rough hand
on the shoulder of the minister. "You catch Wonolanset, tie um, shoot
um, scare squaw. Old sachem come now, me tie white man, shoot um, roast
um;" and the old savage smiled grimly and fiercely in the indistinct
moonlight, as he witnessed the alarm and terror of his prisoner.

"Hold, Passaconaway!" said Martin, in the Indian tongue. "Will the
great chief forget his promise?"

The sachem dropped his hold on Mr. Ward's arm. "My brother is good," he
said; "me no kill um, me make um walk woods like Wonolanset." Martin
spoke a few words in the chief's ear. The countenance of the old
warrior for an instant seemed to express dissatisfaction; but, yielding
to the powerful influence which the Familist had acquired over him, he
said, with some reluctance, "My brother is wise, me do so."

"John Ward," said the Familist, approaching the minister, "thou hast
devised evil against one who hath never injured thee. But I seek not
carnal revenge. I have even now restrained the anger of this heathen
chief whom thou and thine have wronged deeply. Let us part in peace,
for we may never more meet in this world." And he extended his hand and
shook that of the minister.

"For thee, Mary," he said, "I had hoped to pluck thee from the evil
which is to come, even as a brand from the burning. I had hoped to lead
thee to the manna of true righteousness, but thou last chosen the flesh-
pots of Egypt. I had hoped to cherish thee always, but thou hast
forgotten me and my love, which brought me over the great waters for thy
sake. I will go among the Gentiles, and if it be the Lord's will,
peradventure I may turn away their wrath from my people. When my
wearisome pilgrimage is ended, none shall know the grave of Richard
Martin; and none but the heathen shall mourn for him. Mary! I forgive
thee; may the God of all mercies bless thee! I shall never see thee
more."

Hot and fast fell the tears of t