“Who wants Sassacus?” asked the chief in his own language out of the darkness, for the stranger had come without a light.

“I do not understand your gibberish,” answered the other.  “Know you not Philip’s voice?”

“Thou hast come to place the feet of Sassacus on the forest leaves.  Quick!  O good white man! and free him,” cried the impatient chief.

Philip, guided by the sounds, bent down, and feeling for the shackles which confined the legs of the captive, soon unfastened them, and the liberated Sagamore stretched out with delight his cramped limbs.  “Sassacus,” he said, “shall see again the pleasant river of the Pequots, and he will deliver Neebin from the robbers.”  Then following Joy, the two entered, noiselessly, the cabin of the jailer.

During the absence of Joy, a scene of a different kind had been passing.  The Lady Geraldine, aroused by the sounds, had left her couch, and appeared among the intruders.  She manifested no fear at sight of the Indians, (for what had she to dread from those who had always shown her kindness?) and when owe of them glided to her side, she strove not to avoid him.

“Celestina!” said a well-known voice in her ear, “hasten to accompany me from this wretched den, and the tyranny of your oppressors.”

She started at the first sound, but quickly recovering herself, replied, in a tone as low: 

“Of what avail?  My usefulness here is ended.  I will give place to another, and Heaven will employ me somewhere else.”

“Be it so,” said the Knight; “yet fly, for the sake of thy liberty, perhaps of thy life.”

“I fear not for my life,” she added; “and as for my liberty, I cannot long be deprived of it.”

“Time flies!  What madness is this?  I have risked my life to rescue thee, and now dost thou reject my service?”

“I cannot fly with thee.  Better to die.”

“What strange language do I hear?  What mean you?  Explain quickly, for our time is short.”

“I have no explanation, except that I will not go.  The heretics may rage, but the virgin will protect me.”

“O, listen!” urged the Knight.  “You shall be delivered from this atrocious persecution.  I will take thee to the French settlements, where thou wilt be secure, and mistress of thine own movements.”

“And thereby seem to admit the truth of all wherewith we are charged.  That were in some sort a betrayal of our trust, and what neither thou nor I may do.”

“Call you the preservation of our liberty and lives a betrayal of trust?  Celestina, grief hath crazed thy brain.”

“Nay, Sir Christopher, I have thought over all these things, and the virgin inspires my determination.  I will do nought to confirm a suspicion already entertained, that we are Catholics, which would be turned into certainty, were we to take refuge among our French neighbors.  Thus should we make the task more difficult for the successors who must take our places, since we have been found unworthy.”