“Enough of this, dame,” said the Assistant, with difficulty suppressing a smile at his help-mate’s simplicity.  “Bethink thee, that though thy loving words are a feast to the spirit, the body requires more substantial fare?”

“True, and you shall have it forthwith, although, you wicked man, I did sleep hardly a wink for thinking of thee.”  So saying, the dame hurried off to hasten the morning meal.

The Assistant watched the countenances of Eveline and her attendant that morning at breakfast, and, in spite of the efforts of the former to appear unconstrained, and the demureness of the latter, detected, he thought, sufficient to justify his suspicions.  He doubted not that the girl had betrayed his weakness to her young mistress, and that all along he had been a laughing-stock for both.  “I will teach them,” he said to himself, as he reflected with bitterness on his failure, “how to offend one who has the power and the will to crush them.  The banishment of her minion, who, a love-sick swain, has followed her across the sea, only to be sent back a disappointed fool, will answer for my young lady; and as for the girl, the slitting of Joy’s ears and nose, and an acquaintance of her own pretty feet with the stocks, will suffice.  It shall not be said that the sword of the magistrate was put into my hands in vain.”

While the Assistant was busying his brain with machinations like these, the opportune arrival of another ship from London, with letters to himself, containing accusations against Sir Christopher Gardiner, filled his heart with joy, and furnished additional means to facilitate his purpose.  Without delay, he took them to Winthrop, and demanded a private audience.  After reading the letters received by Spikeman, the Governor opened his desk, and handed to his councillor others addressed to himself, and which had arrived by the same opportunity.  Greedily did the Assistant devour their contents, and unbounded, though concealed, was his joy at finding them in one particular of the same purport as his own.  His face, however, was sad, and his voice mournful, as, returning the epistles, he said—­

“A grievous thing is it, that hypocrisy, so finished, should walk the earth.  It is a day of rebuke and of scandal to us, as magistrates, that we should be so deceived.”

“I am not altogether convinced,” said Winthrop, who, steady in his friendships, and prepossessed from the beginning in favor of the Knight, was loth to think evil of him, “that these charges are true.  My own letters mention them only as reports—­thine speak of them more positively.  Vouch you for the truth of your correspondent?”

“There is no man more truthful,” answered Spikeman, who, had it been necessary, would have been a guaranty for Beelzebub himself.  “I have known him long.  He has never deceived me, nor can I imagine motive therefor now.”

“So fair, and yet so false!” murmured Winthrop; “and yet we know that the evil one appears sometimes as an angel of light.  I will not trust in human appearance more.  What shall be done with him on his return?”