"Manteo thanks the Eagle," he replied. "Manteo loves him, and would wish him well, but the fish cannot live out of the water, nor the bird when it beats its wings against the cage; neither can Manteo in that crowded land to which thou goest. His heart would yearn for the great, free forest; for the call of the wild bird to its mate; for the flowing river and the scent of the wild flowers—no, the Eagle and the beautiful one will return again to their own land, and Manteo will remain here."
"But, Manteo," cried Margaret, "'twill cloud our happiness to leave thee behind—thou who hast done so much for us," and she cast a coaxing look toward him.
"The beautiful one is kind to Manteo," he answered, "still he cannot go to that far land. Manteo first saw the light in this wild land, and here he has lived; his heart loves its shadowy depths and waving trees; here came into being his father, and their bones molder away among its sighing pines." And folding his robe about him he stood silent, as some old Roman wrapped in his toga, his motionless eyes fixed upon me.
The great ship came around in the breeze; the shouts of the men reached us, as they hoisted sail and prepared for the homeward journey. The little canoe of the Indian had been placed upon the water, and now danced and eddied on the waves, as some impatient steed awaiting its rider.
White came forward to where we stood; I with my heart full to overflowing, and my lady with wet eyes. I was about to part from a noble soul, who had stood by me, undaunted and unafraid, when all others had shrunk from me, and I was torn with sorrow.
"If the Indian would leave, it is high time, Sir Thomas," he said; "for in an instant we will make out for the open sea, and his little canoe could not safely float upon the ocean."
Margaret had taken a little gold pin from her dress, and held it out to the Indian. "Keep it, Manteo," she said. "Do not forget me. And shouldst thou ever come to England, I shall be proud to entertain thee."
I unbuckled my gold-hilted sword from my side, and stepping forward, I fastened it around his waist.
"Take this sword," I said in a husky voice, "and when thou drawest it, Manteo, remember to whom it once belonged. Draw it not in an unworthy cause, nor sheath it in a just one; of all who have worn this blade, there has been none nobler and truer than thyself."
The chief's bronze face worked with emotion.