"Nay," returned Bars. "You put no foot into my house, at this time of night, without the countersign."
"The sling of David," replied the voice.
"All right," said Bars, beginning to unbar the door, "But what do you"—
He was unable to finish the sentence, for, as soon as the door turned on its hinges, a rush was made by those on the outside, and poor Bars, half clothed, rudely upset on the floor. "Murder," he undertook to cry, but his throat was choked whenever he attempted to make a sound, and he was soon disposed of in like manner as the sentinel, and thrust into a corner, after having discovered that his assailants were Indians. All this, with however little noise accomplished, could not be done without disturbing Dame Bars, who, from the closet where she slept, inquired what was the matter. One of the party thereupon gliding over the floor with moccasoned feet, presented himself with finger on lip before her. Terror benumbed the tongue of the poor woman at the sight, and the cry she strove to utter died in her throat. By smiles and gestures the Indian endeavored to satisfy her that no injury was designed, and then, as if to confirm his peaceable intentions, retired, drawing the door after him; and frightened, though in some slight degree re-assured, the dame employed the respite in clothing herself in her day-apparel.
Meanwhile, one of the Indians, who had found two or three large keys tied together, had taken them from the peg where they hung and proceeded to the prison. His actions evinced a strange familiarity with the place. He advanced straight to the prison door, and, fitting the key, presently stood in the narrow passage which ran round the two cells into which the central part was divided. Only one of these was locked. Opening it, he called, in a low tone—"Sassacus."
"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.