"This has of a truth been a day for thee long to be remembered," said the Governor, "and I rejoice with thee, for I grew to know and esteem thee for thy worth and valor, whilst thou wert with me upon the ship."
"Not more than I did thee," I replied. "But hast thou heard aught of thy little grandchild and the lost colony since I left thee?"
His old face saddened, and a look of grief came into his eyes.
"No," he replied, "I have heard no word of them; they were probably captured by the savages and carried far into the interior, never to be seen again. Poor little Virginia!—so innocent, so bright and happy, 'tis a hard fate for her. Rather would I have seen her in her grave; then would I have known she was beyond all harm and sorrow, and I could have come sometimes to drop a tear or lay a flower upon the mound. But this is worse than death," and he wrung his hands in grief, his haggard, care-worn face working with emotion.
Margaret bent towards him, a tear in her blue eyes.
"God will watch over her, Governor," she said softly. "Safe in His protecting care, she is secure from harm."
"I thank thee, Lady Margaret," he said huskily. "'Tis a beautiful thought, and one that I shall treasure," and he strode rapidly away.
Coming towards us now I saw Manteo; silently he made his way, until he stood in front of us.
"The Eagle and the beautiful one will in a few moments be upon the breast of the great water," he said. "Manteo would say farewell to them before they go. He is glad that the beautiful one will be with the Eagle in his tepee, to cheer him when Manteo is gone."
"Surely thou too wilt not leave us, Manteo?" I cried. "Winona has gone back into the forest. Wilt thou desert us too? I had planned many pleasant things for the future, when thou too shouldst walk with us the smooth sod of my own green country."