Owaissa stood by Nantiquas while he spoke. She laid her hand on his arm as she said, “Then they have forgotten me, my own people. But you, Nantiquas, you have been so kind, so very good to me. I shall always love you as I would have loved my brother. I will pray for you always.”
“Is it the prayer that makes Owaissa so brave?” he asked very gently.
“Yes, Nantiquas,” she replied. “It is the Great Spirit who makes us able to meet death. Some day you will know all about him. I am sure you will.”
Nantiquas took Virginia’s little hand and pressed it one moment. Then they stepped forward cautiously toward the river and the light. So softly did they move, they would surely not have been heard or discovered but for Virginia, who, as she came nearer the fire, gave a great cry, and sprang forward. Two figures were lying by the fire on the ground, and one was a white man.
It was an English voice that replied to Virginia’s cry, “Who comes this way?”
Virginia had sprung from her two companions, and was standing in the firelight before they could stop her. She spoke in her own tongue. They could not tell what she said, but they saw the two figures, who seemed to be alone by the camp fire, draw close to her.
“Ranteo!” exclaimed Iosco. “It is old Ranteo!” and he went forward.
When the old Indian saw Iosco, he caught his hand, crying, “The people of Manteo do groan for Iosco. They offer sacrifices every day for his return. But he comes not. Old Ranteo comes far to find him and fetch him back. The brave Christian Werowance, Iosco!”
It was Owaissa who answered, turning from the stranger with whom she had been earnestly talking, “Do they really want Iosco back at Croatoan? I knew they would, some day. I am so glad, dear Iosco.”
Nantiquas and the stranger to whom Virginia had been speaking looked at each other in surprise for a moment, then they began talking by signs. Nantiquas turned to the others, and laughed as he said, “The poor pale-face could not get to his camp. He was but an arrow’s fling from it.”