but which yielded easily to edged tools.  Nick had a small saw, a large chisel, and his knife.  With the chisel, he cautiously commenced opening a hole of communication with the interior, by removing a little of the mortar that filled the interstices between the logs.  This occupied but a moment.  When effected, Nick applied an eye to the hole and took a look within.  He muttered the word “good,” then withdrew his own eye, and, by a sign, invited Maud to apply one of hers.  This our heroine did, and saw Robert Willoughby, reading within a few feet of her, with a calmness of air, that at once announced his utter ignorance of the dire event that had so lately occurred, almost within reach of his arm.

“Squaw speak,” whispered Nick; “voice sweet as wren—­go to Major’s ear like song of bird.—­Squaw speak music to young warrior.”

Maud drew back, her heart beat violently, her breathing became difficult, and the blood rushed to her temples.  But an earnest motion from Nick reminded her this was no time for hesitation, and she applied her mouth to the hole.

“Robert—­dear Robert,” she said, in a loud whisper, “we are here—­have come to release you.”

Maud’s impatience could wait no longer; but her eye immediately succeeded her mouth.  That she was heard was evident from the circumstance that the book fell from the Major’s hand, in a way to show how completely he was taken by surprise.  “He knows even my whispers,” thought Maud, her heart beating still more violently, as she observed the young soldier gazing around him, with a bewildered air, like one who fancied he had heard the whisperings of some ministering angel.  By this time, Nick had removed a long piece of the mortar; and he too, was looking into the buttery.  By way of bringing matters to an understanding, the Indian thrust the chisel through the opening, and, moving it, he soon attracted Willoughby’s attention.  The latter instantly advanced, and applied his own eye to the wide crack, catching a view of the swarthy face of Nick.

Willoughby knew that the presence of this Indian, at such a place, and under such circumstances, indicated the necessity of caution.  He did not speak, therefore; but, first making a significant gesture towards the door of his narrow prison, thus intimating the close proximity of sentinels, he demanded the object of this visit, in a whisper.

“Come to set major free,” answered Nick.

“Can I trust you, Tuscarora?  Sometimes you seem a friend, sometimes an enemy.  I know that you appear to be on good terms with my captors.”

“Dat good—­Injin know how to look two way—­warrior must, if great warrior.”

“I wish I had some proof, Nick, that you are dealing with me in good faith.”

“Call dat proof, den!” growled the savage, seizing Maud’s little Land, and passing it through the opening, before the startled girl was fully aware of what he meant to do.