Leaning forward and fixing his burning gaze upon her, Rolfe said:
“Lily does not look at John as she used to do. Her eyes hide away under the fringed lashes. Is she angry with him?”
“Pocahontas could not be angry with her friend,” she murmured, busying herself with the lilies lying in her lap.
“Will Lily care when John leaves Jamestown, and goes to England, never to return?”
“John leave Pocahontas alone?” gasped the fear-stricken girl, clutching at her breast and scattering the lilies in every direction.
His answer was written in her working features and heaving bosom.
“Nay, Lily, John did not mean it; he was only trying to see if you cared as he did,” he exclaimed, springing to her side and crushing the lily petals under foot in his haste to reach her.
Drawing her to his breast, he pressed his cheek against her hair. “John loves you better than life. Will you come to his cabin and be his dearly loved wife?”
For a few moments she lay on his breast as if stunned, without power to move or speak. In one brief instant he has stabbed her with pain and offered her his love.
“Lily has not answered John.”