He repeated it after her, “White.”
“That is it!” she cried, catching his hand in her delight. “That was my grandfather’s name. He was a great man, a chief I think. Now, my father’s name was Dare, and something else that was long and hard to say. But Dare will do; can you say it?”
“Dare,” repeated Nantiquas, still holding the little hand that had been put in his.
“Now, Nantiquas,” she continued, “my real name, the one they would know me by, is not Owaissa. Iosco gave me that name when I was a little girl, because my eyes made him think of the Owaissa. It is my forest name, mamma used to say. But my name with my own people is Virginia; after the land I was born in, mamma used to say; but I don’t understand how that can be, for I was born on the island of Roanoke. I was too young to think about it, or ask mamma how it was, before she went away. It is a hard word—Virginia, but do you think you can say it, Nantiquas?”
Indians have a superstition that any one knowing the secret of the private name of a maid can work charms and witchery about her. So to Nantiquas it was a solemn, if not a sacred thing to repeat the word Virginia. But he did it quite correctly, and she clasped her hands with joy. “Say it all over once more, please,” she urged. And he repeated clearly, “White, Dare, Virginia; does Nantiquas say it as Owaissa does?”
“Oh, yes,” she said enthusiastically. “When will you go, Nantiquas?”
“Nantiquas will go even as the canoe waits by the water. Does Owaissa wish it?”
“Oh, will you? And come back quickly with my father, won’t you? I won’t tell Iosco anything about it, and we’ll surprise him when you come.”
Nantiquas pushed the canoe out from among the willows, and stepped in. As Virginia stood watching him, more like a beautiful spirit than ever, he thought, he saw her take up a sharp shell that she had used to cut the flowers that were too stout to break, and drawing her curls over her face, she cut one off with the shell and handed it to him, saying, “If you should forget the words, Nantiquas, or my father could not understand, or they would not believe you, you can show them this. They will know it did not come from an Indian maid, and they will be willing to come back with you, I know.”
He took the silky yellow curl almost reverently. Catching her hand that had held the curl, he pressed it to his heart, then paddled down the stream into the Youghianund flu, and was soon out of sight. Nantiquas was not the only one who had seen the ships.