"Braves," said Philip, and his voice sounded full and clear as a trumpet, "look upon this lady, and remember that so long as a man of our tribe lives she is his charge. The white man may yet become her foe as he is ours. She may be driven into the woods, as other women have been, but I charge you, wherever she is found, in forest or settlement, obey her and guard her as if she were a prophet of our people." The groan of approval that followed this speech swelled almost into a shout, and went rolling off into the forest like the smothered howl of wild beasts. Terrified and distressed, Barbara pleaded with the young chief to send her away. Her face was white, her lips trembled as she spoke. She was completely overcome by the shock of this unexpected scene. "Braves," cried Philip, standing up in his stirrups, "on this spot, where he was born, Metacomet has kindled his first great council-fire: light your pipes and smoke while he rides with this lady on her way through the woods, and let no man forget that from this hour she is a daughter of our tribe." Again that hoarse, growl-like shout answered as he wished, and while it swelled along her path Barbara rode from the encampment, followed by Wahpee and accompanied by Philip. During all the waning night he kept by her side, and she made no protest. The wild grandeur of the scene she had left still impressed her with awe to which she could give no words, and a ride of so many hours had almost exhausted her strength when she came to the encampment. An hour before dawn Philip left her and rode back to the beacon fire at her own urgent request. The first flush of morning was scattering rose leaves in the east and turning the far-off waves to liquid opals when Barbara came in sight of Samuel Parris's dwelling. She would have dismounted within the shelter of the trees, but was so overcome with fatigue that it seemed impossible for her to walk across the open space that lay in front of the meeting-house. But old Wahpee drew up his horse, and motioned obstinately that he intended to go no farther. "But what shall I do with the horse?" questioned the lady, wearily. "Turn him loose: he will know Wahpee's call," answered the Indian. Barbara rode on, so worn and weary that she could hardly keep her saddle.