Stephen Hopkins winced; he saw that Constance did not know that anything was again amiss between the two who were dearest to her on earth, but he said: "'Us women,' indeed, Constantia! Do you reckon yourself a woman, who art still but my child-daughter?" "Not a child, Father," said the girl, truly enough, shaking her head hard. "No pilgrim maid can be a child at my age, having seen and shared what hath fallen to my lot. And to-morrow there is to be another treaty made of peace and alliance, which is much on my mind, because I am a woman and because I love Priscilla. To-morrow is Pris married, Father." "Of a truth, and so she is!" cried Stephen Hopkins, slapping his leg vigorously. "Well, my girl, and what is it? Do you want to deck her out, as will not be allowed? Or what is on your mind?" "Oh, I have made her a white gown, Father," said Constance. "Whatever they say, sweet Pris shall not go in dark clothing to her marriage! But, Father, Mr. Winslow is to marry her, as a magistrate, which he is. Is there no way to make it a little like a holy wedding, with church, and prayers, and religion?" "My dear, they have decided here that marriage is but a matter belonging to the state. You must check your scruples, child, and go along with arrangements as they are. There is much of your earliest training, of your sainted mother's training, in you yet, my Constance, and, please God, you will remain her daughter always. But you cannot alter the ways of Plymouth colony. So be content, sweet Con, to pray for our Pris all you will, and rest assured they receive blessings who seek them, however they be situate," said Stephen Hopkins, gently touching his girl's white-capped head. "Ah, well," sighed Constance, turning away in acquiescence. Captain Myles Standish and her father watched Constance away. Then they turned in the other direction with a sigh. "Hard to face westward all the time, my friend; even Con feels the tug of old ways, and the old home, on her heartstrings," said Captain Myles. CHAPTER XI A Home Begun and a Home Undone "Do you know aught of your brother, Constance?" asked Stephen Hopkins when he appeared in the great kitchen and common room of his home early the following morning. "He hath been away from home all night," Dame Eliza answered for Constance, her lips pulled down grimly. "Which I know quite well, wife," said her husband. "Constance, did Giles speak to you of whither he was going?" Constance looked up, meeting her father's troubled eyes, her own cloudless. "No, Father, but he must be with the other lads. Perhaps they are serving up some merry trick for the wedding. Nothing can have befallen him. Giles was the happiest lad yesterday, Father dear! I must hasten through the breakfast-getting!"