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“Such damnable heresy,” said Mr. Ward, addressing his neighbors, “must not be permitted to spread among the people. My friends, we must send this man to the magistrates.”

The Familist placed his hands to his month, and gave a whistle, similar to that which was heard in the morning, and which preceded the escape of Wonolanset. It was answered by a shout from the river; and a score of Indians came struggling up through the brush-wood.

“Vile heretic!” exclaimed Mr. Ward, snatching a musket from the hands of his neighbor, and levelling it full at the head of Martin; “you have betrayed us into this jeopardy.”

“Wagh! down um gun,” said a powerful Indian, as he laid his rough hand on the shoulder of the minister. “You catch Wonolanset, tie um, shoot um, scare squaw. Old sachem come now, me tie white man, shoot um, roast um;” and the old savage smiled grimly and fiercely in the indistinct moonlight, as he witnessed the alarm and terror of his prisoner.

“Hold, Passaconaway!” said Martin, in the Indian tongue. “Will the great chief forget his promise?”

The sachem dropped his hold on Mr. Ward’s arm. “My brother is good,” he said; “me no kill um, me make um walk woods like Wonolanset.” Martin spoke a few words in the chief’s ear. The countenance of the old warrior for an instant seemed to express dissatisfaction; but, yielding to the powerful influence which the Familist had acquired over him, he said, with some reluctance, “My brother is wise, me do so.”

“John Ward,” said the Familist, approaching the minister, “thou hast devised evil against one who hath never injured thee. But I seek not carnal revenge. I have even now restrained the anger of this heathen chief whom thou and thine have wronged deeply. Let us part in peace, for we may never more meet in this world.” And he extended his hand and shook that of the minister.

“For thee, Mary,” he said, “I had hoped to pluck thee from the evil which is to come, even as a brand from the burning. I had hoped to lead thee to the manna of true righteousness, but thou last chosen the flesh- pots of Egypt. I had hoped to cherish thee always, but thou hast forgotten me and my love, which brought me over the great waters for thy sake. I will go among the Gentiles, and if it be the Lord’s will, peradventure I may turn away their wrath from my people. When my wearisome pilgrimage is ended, none shall know the grave of Richard Martin; and none but the heathen shall mourn for him. Mary! I forgive thee; may the God of all mercies bless thee! I shall never see thee more.”

Hot and fast fell the tears of that stern man upon the hand of Mary. The eyes of the young woman glanced hurriedly over the faces of her neighbors, and fixed tearfully upon that of her lover. A thousand recollections of young affection, of vows and meetings in another land, came vividly before her. Her sister’s home, her brother’s instructions, her own strong faith, and her bitter hatred of her lover’s heresy were all forgotten.

“Richard, dear Richard, I am your Mary as much as ever I was. I’ll go with you to the ends of the earth. Your God shall be my God, and where you are buried there will I be also.”

Silent in the ecstasy of joyful surprise, the Familist pressed her to his bosom. Passaconaway, who had hitherto been an unmoved spectator of the scene, relaxed the Indian gravity of his features, and murmured, in an undertone, “Good, good.”

“Will my brother go?” he inquired, touching Martin’s shoulder; “my squaws have fine mat, big wigwam, soft samp, for his young woman.”

“Mary,” said Martin, “the sachem is impatient; and we must needs go with him.” Mary did not answer, but her head was reclined upon his bosom, and the Familist knew that she resigned herself wholly to his direction. He folded the shawl more carefully around her, and supported her down the precipitous and ragged bank of the river, followed closely by Passaconaway and his companions.

“Come back, Mary Edmands!” shouted Mr. Ward. “In God’s name come back.”

Half a dozen canoes shot out into the clear moonlight from the shadow of the shore. “It is too late!” said the minister, as he struggled down to the water’s edge. “Satan hath laid his hands upon her; but I will contend for her, even as did Michael of old for the body of Moses. Mary, sister Mary, for the love of Christ, answer me.”

No sound came back from the canoes, which glided like phantoms, noiselessly and swiftly, through the still waters of the river. “The enemy hath prevailed,” said Mr. Ward; “two women were grinding at my mill, the one is taken and the other is left. Let us go home, my friends, and wrestle in prayer against the Tempter.”

The heretic and his orthodox bride departed into the thick wilderness, under the guidance of Passaconaway, and in a few days reached the Eldorado of the heretic and the persecuted, the colony of Roger Williams. Passaconaway, ever after, remained friendly to the white men. As civilization advanced he retired before it, to Pennacook, now Concord, on the Merrimac, where the tribes of the Naumkeags, Piscataquas, Accomentas, and Agawams acknowledged his authority.