“I will tell you all, Captain Percy; I will tell you everything.... She never believed you dead, and she begged upon her knees that we would allow her to go in search of you with Master Rolfe. That could not be; my husband, in duty to the Company, could not let her have her will. Master Rolfe went, and she sat in the window, yonder, day after day, watching for his return. When other parties went out, she besought the men, as they had wives whom they loved, to search as though those loved ones were in captivity and danger; when they grew weary and fainthearted, to think of her face waiting in the window.... Day after day she sat there watching for them to come back; when they were come, then she watched the river for Master Rolfe’s boats. Then came word down the river that he had found no trace of you whom he sought; that he was on his way back to Jamestown; that he too believed you dead.... We put a watch upon her after that, for we feared we knew not what—there was such a light and purpose in her eyes. But two nights ago, in the middle of the night, the woman who stayed in her chamber fell asleep. When she awoke before the dawn, it was to find her gone.”
“To find her gone?” I said dully. “To find her dead?”
She locked her hands together, and the tears came faster. “Oh, Captain Percy, it had been better so!—it had been better so! Then would she have lain to greet you, calm and white, unmarred and beautiful, with the spring flowers upon her.... She believed not that you were dead; she was distraught with grief and watching; she thought that love might find what friendship missed; she went to the forest to seek you. They that were sent to find and bring her back have never returned——”
“Into the forest!” I cried. “Jocelyn, Jocelyn, Jocelyn, come back!”
Some one pushed me into a chair, and I felt the warmth of wine within my lips. In the moment that the world steadied I rose and went toward the door, to find my way barred by Rolfe.
“Not you, too, Ralph!” he cried. “I will not let you go. Look for yourself!”
He drew me to the window, Master Sandys gravely making place for us. From the window was visible the neck of land and the forest beyond, and from the forest, up and down the river as far as the eye could reach, rose here and there thin columns of smoke. Suddenly, as we stared, three or four white smoke puffs, like giant flowers, started out of the shadowy woods across the neck. Following the crack of the muskets—fired out of pure bravado by their Indian owners—came the yelling of the savages. The sound was prolonged and deep, as though issuing from many throats.
I looked and listened, and knew that I could not go—not now.
“She was not alone, Ralph,” said Rolfe, with his arm about me. “On the morning that she was missed, they found not Jeremy Sparrow either. They tracked them both to the forest by the footprints upon the sand, though once in the wood the trail was lost. The minister must have been watching, must have seen her leave the house, and must have followed her. How she, and he after her, passed through the gates, none know. So careless and confident had we grown—God forgive us!—that they may have been left open all that night. But he was with her, Ralph; she had not to face it alone——” His voice broke.
For myself, I was glad that the minister had been there, though I knew that for him also I should grieve after a while.