“Powhatan is old, his days are few. Let there be peace between the real man and the pale-face. Opechancanough shall come with Nantaquas, bearing wedding garments for Pocahontas and presents for the new son, Rolfe.” Raising his palsied hands, only to let them fall helplessly into his lap again, he murmured in a far-away voice, “Powhatan is weary—the warriors are calling to him from the happy hunting-grounds. Let the pale faces depart.”
On the appointed day Anne Laydon, resplendent in matronly dignity, dressed the bride in the Indian costume which she was to wear for the last time.
A mantle of pigeon feathers, gleaming in iridescent colors against a shimmering gray background, covered a fawn-colored skirt embroidered in ruby-colored beads. Her flowing black hair was held in place by the rope of pearls she wore when first she met Captain Smith.
The interior of the church had been decorated with great branches of laurel and trailing honeysuckle. Fragrant water lilies were banked upon the altar.
Up the aisle stalked Opechancanough and Nantaquas, son of Pocahontas, both decorated in all the glory of the Indian brave. Faces and arms were tattooed in birds and reptiles to do honor to the marriage of the Pearl of the Powhatans.
As Rolfe placed the plain gold band upon her finger he felt her hand tremble and pressed it to give her courage. Did she feel the imaginary circlet which long ago Smith had traced upon her finger?
“I pronounce you man and wife. Whomsoever God has joined together, let no man put asunder,” said the priest. As he ceased a quivering shaft of sunlight poured through the altar window, wrapping the kneeling couple in a shimmering veil of gold.
CHAPTER XXIV
For two years Pocahontas had kept sweet the ingle-nook at Varina for her husband. Then she was crowned with the diadem of motherhood. A baby boy came to weld into an indissoluble bond their loving hearts.