The man translated. "Manteo would know where thou didst learn a language that resembles his own?"
"Tell him that I learned it long ago in another region—perhaps in the sun," I answered; "who knows?"
"What foolery is this?" said he, and as he spoke to the chief again, he sniffed indignantly.
"Translate what I have said," I replied sternly, "without any more words, or by the gods, I will teach thee a lesson that thou shalt not forget," and I frowned at him.
His knees quaked under him at this, and he spoke to the chief quickly in his own language.
"Ugh," grunted the savage, his fierce eyes upon my face, and again he uttered a few words.
The white man interpreted. "Where is the beautiful one, who sat with the white chief in the lighted wigwam many moons ago, when Manteo saw them in the camp of the pale men?"
"Tell him," I said, "she is far away, and I am alone." He did so.
"And now," I said to the white man, "who art thou?"
"John Marsden," he answered, cringing low, "a poor apothecary at thy lordship's service, who seeks his fortune in the new region beyond the sea."