Reluctantly putting aside Captain Smith’s enfolding arms, she rose to her feet.
“Pocahontas must go. Already the moon is seeking her bed.”
“You must not go by yourself, my child,” remonstrated Smith. “If Powhatan’s men meet you, they will take you to him and he will kill you.”
“Pocahontas is content. Has she not saved her father and the pale faces? Also she must go alone.”
One moment she smiled upon them, and the next she had gone.
CHAPTER XI
Relentless fate came yet again and blindfolded the colonists with a veil of golden gauze.
On a frosty morning, as one of the men walked by a little stream, he saw a shining substance glistening in the sand. Snatching up a handful, he ran as fast as possible to where George Martin was standing.
“Look, Master Martin; see if this be not gold?”