Touch God’s right hand in that darkness,
And are lifted up and strengthened.”
Longfellow.
Where was Iosco? He had followed Owaissa in the afternoon, to tell her the news of the English ships. He went through the forest trail that led to the little stream just in time to see her, Owaissa, holding Nantiquas’s hand, and looking eagerly into his face. All the passion of his Indian nature was roused into a hatred and jealousy of Nantiquas. He turned quickly away, before he had been noticed, and walked far into the woods. Was it for this that he had given up his people, his home, his inheritance? For a people who cared nothing for him. Strangely enough he found his love for the pale-faces was really founded on his love for one member of the race. He had never dared to hope that Owaissa would love him; she was a being too beautiful, too pure, for man to woo. Though he would never have thought of asking her to be his wife, he could not see any one else win her love. He felt that he had the first right to her. Had not he been like a brother to her, always? And he knew well that Owaissa had treated him always as a brother. He could kill Nantiquas, and then he would see. But Powhatan would no longer give them shelter. What did that matter? He would have vengeance. Iosco had thrown himself on the ground, and as he lay there, the great stillness and peace of the forest crept into his heart, and he seemed to hear Mrs. Dare’s voice saying, “The dear Jesus would rather suffer all than save himself from one pain, that he might teach us the great lesson of forgiveness.” “The dear Jesus,” the very words brought with them a certain peace and rest. Forgive! Could he forgive Nantiquas for taking from him what he cared most for? And yet that holy Jesus forgave. A crash of thunder seemed to shake the whole forest, and the darkness crept around him, like the darkness which clouded his soul that was groping for light. Could he still live for love? For life could not be without love. Could he live for the love of that great chief, that holy Jesus? Did he want his love? How could he give his service, his life if need be? Oh, for some one to teach him as Mrs. Dare had done when he was a little child!
The storm beat fiercely against him as he rose and forced his way through the tangle of the forest. But a peace he could not describe had crept into his heart. He must be near Owaissa. To-morrow that white father might come and carry her away. He loved her, and would be near her while he might. He was tramping on, crushing everything before him like the strong man Kwasina, when a voice called to him softly. He listened. It said, “Nantiquas, is it you?”
He knew the voice. It was Cleopatra’s, and it sounded full of trouble. “Is Cleopatra in sorrow?” he asked, going in the direction of the sound.
“O Nantiquas,” she said, not recognizing the voice, “O Nantiquas, Owaissa is in great trouble. She is to die when the day comes, with all the pale-faces; for Barnes, the red white man, did take the life of Nanogh, and our father says all the whites shall die.”
She knew it was not Nantiquas’s hand that clasped hers, and she drew back half afraid, till she heard Iosco’s familiar voice.
“Owaissa is in trouble, to die! The great Werowance Powhatan would never take her life, even now as the white man is coming.”
Then Cleopatra told Iosco the whole story; how, while Ramapo was telling what he had seen of the white men, the medicine-men’s chant came to them; of the dreadful sentence, and how she had only now left Owaissa to watch for Nantiquas, who had gone away in his canoe in the afternoon, and had not come back. “If he would only come back,” she said, “I am sure he could do something.”