Chapter 10

"_Mar_. Shall I strike at it with my partizan.
_Hor_. Do, if it will not stand.
_Mar_. 'Tis here!
_Hor_. 'Tis here!
_Mar_. 'Tis gone!"

Hamlet.

The time that this unexpected visiter stood uncloaked and exposed to
recognition, before the eyes of the curious group in the outer room, did
not much exceed a minute. Still it was long enough to allow men who rarely
overlooked the smallest peculiarity of dress or air, to note some of the
more distinguishing accompaniments of his attire. The heavy horseman's
pistols, once before exhibited, were in his girdle, and young Mark got a
glimpse of a silver-handled dagger which had pleased his eye before that
night. But the passage of his grandfather and the stranger from the room
prevented the boy from determining whether it was entirely of the same
fashion as that, which, rather as a memorial of by-gone scenes than for
any service that it might now be expected to perform, hung above the bed
of the former.

"The man hath not yet parted with his arms!" exclaimed the quick-sighted
youth, when he found that every other tongue continued silent. "I would he
may now leave them with my grand'ther, that I may chase the skulking
Wampanoag to his hiding--"

"Hot-headed boy! Thy tongue is too much given to levity," said Ruth, who
had not only resumed her seat, but the light employment that had been
interrupted by the blast at the gate with a calmness of mien that did not
fail in some degree to reassure her maidens. "Instead of cherishing the
lessons of peace that are taught thee, thy unruly thoughts are ever bent
on strife."

"Is there harm in wishing to be armed with a weapon suited to my years,
that I may do service in beating down the power of our enemies: and
perhaps aid something, too, in affording security to my mother?"

"Thy mother hath no fears," returned the matron gravely, while grateful
affection prompted a kind but furtive glance towards the high-spirited
though sometimes froward lad. "Reason hath already taught me the folly
of alarm, because one has knocked at our gate in the night-season. Lay
aside thy arms, men; you see that my husband no longer clings to the
musket. Be certain that his eye will give us warning, when there shall be
danger at hand."

The unconcern of her husband was even more strikingly true, than the
simple language of his wife would appear to convey. Content had not only
laid aside his weapon, but he had resumed his seat near the fire, with an
air as calm, as assured, and it might have seemed to one watchfully
observant, as understanding, as her own. Until now, the stout Dudley had
remained leaning on his piece, immovable and