“We will have no argument thereupon, Master Dudley,” said Winthrop.  “Your desire is granted, and that, methinks, should satisfy you.”

The door now opened, and Sassacus entered between two soldiers, clanking the fetters on his wrists as he moved.  Alas! confinement, though short, had not been without baleful effect on the Sagamore.  Not that he appeared cast down or humiliated; not that his gait was uncertain, or his bearing less proud; but a shadow, the shadow of a prison house, encompassed him.  The iron was evidently beginning to enter his soul.  The free denizen of the boundless forest could no more live without liberty, than flame without air.  He was like an eagle struck down from his home in the clouds,

  “Sailing with supreme dominion,
  Through the azure deep of air,”

to be chained upon a stump, and approached and gazed at by every wayfarer.  The imperial bird darts round the lightning of his eyes, but he knows them to be innocuous, and his head droops at the consciousness.

“Remain where ye are,” said an Assistant to the soldiers.  “The Governor is engaged at this moment.”

“Can Neebin,” said Winthrop, resuming his interrogatories, “tell me where is Sir Christopher Gardiner?”

“Flower of the forest and of the wild rushing stream,” exclaimed Sassacus, in his own language, “be to him as the rock to which the wind whispers an idle tale.”

“What says he?” inquired the Assistants of one another, not one of whom understood more than here and there a word.

“Let the chief keep silent,” said Winthrop, addressing Sassacus.  “He will soon have an opportunity to say what he will;” and he repeated the question.

But the little Indian showed herself no longer docile as before, but to every question returned a stubborn silence.

“We have made a mistake in bringing in the chief,” said an Assistant.  “She will not open her lips again.  He hath said something to frustrate our inquires.”

“Thou hast rightly divined,” said Winthrop, after another vain attempt to induce the child to speak.  “And now what shall be done? for I hold it unmeet that she should be sent back to the source whence, instead of the Gospel truth she should have been taught, she hath sucked only error.”

“That were indeed a deadly unkindness to the poor fawn,” said Sir Richard, “seeing it would be imperiling her eternal salvation.”

“Better,” said Endicott, “that she should continue in a darkness penetrated only by the dim light of nature than be made a victim of Roman superstition.”

“If any one of ye, gentlemen, will take her in charge,” said Winthrop, “gladly will I resign the child into your hands; but if not, then will I receive her into mine own household, where, by God’s grace, the tares which the enemy hath sown may be eradicated.”

No one manifesting a desire to accept the offer of Winthrop, he ordered the child to be removed to his own house.