Virginia had lived long enough among the Indians to learn to restrain any display of feeling. And yet the thought of her mother in that sad, lonely hour was too much. She did not cry out, or even sob, as another English girl would have done. She only sank down at the foot of the great pine, covering her face. A little moan of “mother,” seemed to shake her whole frame. Then she lay there so motionless that the little birds flew about her and never noticed her. Hundreds of miles across the water her thoughts travelled to her father. What could he be like, and where must he be? Would he ever come for his poor child? Oh, how she longed for him, that father whom she had never seen! Must she die alone here? And if she should die, would she go to her mother? She hardly knew the great God to whom her mother had gone. Would he know her? Or was it really as Mistress Wilkins had said, that he would not listen to the prayers of his children in a heathen land? Did it not really belong to him? Then she fancied she was sitting on her mother’s lap, and listening to the wonderful story of the creation, and her mother saying, “After sin had come, God’s sorrow was so great that he promised to send a Redeemer, which would be his own dear Son, and he would come to save us all.” If he was, then, such a loving Father, he could not forget one of his children, and if he made the whole world, it must all belong to him. All these people must belong to him too, and they did not even know him. Perhaps she had been sent to teach them. Why hadn’t her mother been spared a little longer to teach her? Oh, for some one to tell her over again what she had heard from her mother when she was too young to remember or understand it!
An earnest prayer for guidance rose to her lips. There were no special words, only the cry of the child to the Father whom she felt was listening. She had clasped her hands, and was looking up so earnestly that she did not see the bushes drawn aside and a young Indian maid, a mere child of nine or ten, step out and then draw back and look at her curiously. Hearing a sound among the leaves, Virginia turned, and saw the child also looking up to see what was there to gaze at so earnestly.
She was a strangely beautiful little figure as she stood there, one foot raised as if to step forward, but resting still on the root of a great tree that rose some distance out of the ground. She wore a robe or mantle of fur, for it was only May, and the Indians are never in a hurry to change their few articles of clothing; besides, it had been the gift of her brother, whom she had loved dearly. The mantle was loosely girded, and fell low on her shoulders, over which masses of dark hair fell in dusky profusion. Her dark eyes were full of wonder at seeing Virginia, and at her strange position. Both looked at each other for a moment, wondering who the other could be. Then the Indian child sprang forward like a young deer, and threw herself on the ground by Virginia, and looked tenderly in her face, her great eyes full of pity, as she held out a garland of red flowers which she had been holding.
Virginia took it with a smile; but the child snatched it back, and bound it about Virginia’s head. Then she drew back, pointed to the wavy golden hair and blue eyes with a strange look of awe, and clasped her hands, and bowed very low. Virginia caught one of the brown hands. She said laughingly, “I am not a goddess or a spirit, I am only a girl. Who are you?”
The child did not now draw her hand away. She said in a pretty way, putting her head on one side, “It is Cleopatra, the daughter of Werowance Powhatan, the sister of Nantiquas, the bravest, strongest Indian who ever shot an arrow.” As she spoke, a bird-call sounded through the forest. She answered it almost exactly. There was a crackling and breaking among the bushes, and a young warrior stood before them.
“Does not the fairest little maid go to the Great Father, when all are gathered to see the mighty wonder which is like a linnet with a finch’s bill, the captive from Croatoan, with eyes from the sky and”— But seeing Virginia, he stopped.
The sunlight peeping through the trees fell on Virginia’s hair till it shone like gold. They stood looking at each other for several moments. Then the Indian maid took Virginia’s hand and pressed it to her breast. Nantiquas at once did likewise, and then said, “The one with eyes from the sky belongs to the Spirit. Means it evil or good to the camp of the mighty Powhatan? He is a brave Werowance.” And he took his sister’s hand as she stood beside him.
“I do not belong to any spirit,” Virginia said, smiling; “I came with the white people whom Iosco, the son of Manteo, is seeking shelter for, and my forest name is Owaissa.”
“Owaissa looks more like her namesake than like the white tribe whom the great Werowance is now to hear of,” replied Nantiquas.
“Is the sun at the top of the tall pine? Oh, I must go to Iosco; where is he, can you tell me?” Virginia asked, almost passing them in her eagerness.