Coubitant sank on the ground; and, as he turned to look on his unexpected assailant, his blood-shot eyes met those of Henrich, and glared fiercely, first at him, and then at his intended victim, whose life had been so strangely preserved.  They stood side by side, unconscious of the tie that bound them so closely together.  Coubitant knew it well; and he felt in this awful moment that Mahneto had, in righteous retribution, sent the son to preserve the father’s life from the hand of him who had hated both alike.  He hated them still:  and, even with his dying breath, he would not reveal the secret that would have united those seemingly hostile warriors in the embrace of deep affection.

Rodolph had not seen the friend whose timely aid had partially averted the deadly blow that had been aimed at him by the savage.  But, on turning round, he was astonished to perceive that his foe and his avenger were apparently of the same party.  The latter—­whose countenance expressed the deepest indignation, and who was raising his bloody hatchet from the prostrate form of the wounded Indian—­was evidently not one of the allies of the English; and his dress and ornaments, and air of dignified command, indicated him to be a Chief among his own people.  Why, then, had he come to the aid of an enemy?

Rodolph gazed inquiringly at the fine countenance of the young Sachem, which was now bent upon the dying Indian at his feet.

‘Coubitant!’ he exclaimed in the Nausett tongue, ’is it, indeed, you whom I have thus slain unknowingly?  You have been a bitter and an untiring enemy to me; but it was not for this that I smote thee to the earth.  I knew you not.  But I saw you aim a cowardly blow at the white chief; and I saved him.  I forgive you now for all your hatred, and all your evil designs, which Mahneto has thus recompensed upon your own head.’

‘I ask not your forgiveness,’ replied the savage in a deep, struggling voice—­for the hand of death was on him, and the dark fire of his eye was waning out.  ’In death, I hate and defy you!  And in death I enjoy a revenge that you know not of.’

He strove to raise his hand in menace, but it fell to the ground; and, with a groan of suppressed agony, he expired.

The fight was raging with unabated violence, and the conflagration had already spread to the farthest end of the fortress.  Henrich looked around for his comrades, who were bravely contending with their powerful foes at some distance, and he hastily prepared to join them.  But, as he turned away, he courteously waved his hand to Rodolph, and said in the English language, but with an Indian accent,

‘Farewell, brave Englishman!’

Rodolph started.  That voice had thrilled through his heart when it had spoken a strange language:  but now it struck upon him with a sense of familiarity that be could not account for, as the Indian Chief was evidently an utter stranger to him.  He returned his parting salutation and ‘farewell’; but still he watched his retreating form, and thought he distinctly heard him utter the name ‘Rodolph!’ as a large dog, which had stood near him during their brief encounter, bounded after him over foe heaps of slain and dying.