"My father," she cried, "dost thou remember the old days in Wingandacoa when thou earnest first to Werowocomoco and wert my prisoner?"
"I remember well. Lady Rebecca," he said, leaning down to kiss her hand, "and I am ever thy most grateful debtor."
"Call me not by that strange name. Matoaka am I for thee as always. Dost thou remember when I came at night through the forest to warn thee?"
"I remember, Matoaka; how could I forget it?"
"Dost thou remember the day when, lying wounded before thy door, thou didst make me promise to be ever a friend to Jamestown and the English?"
"I have thought of it many a day."
"I have kept my promise, Father, have I not?"
"Nobly, Matoaka; but it is not meet that thou shouldst call me father."
Then Pocahontas tossed her head emphatically, and this gesture brought back to Smith the bright young Indian maiden who, for a moment, had seemed to him disguised by the stately clothes of an English matron.
"Thou didst promise Powhatan," she cried, "what was thine should be his, and he the like to thee; thou calledst him father, being in his land a stranger, and by the same reason so must I do thee."