"Listen, then," I said in a low voice. "I have three enemies who have sought my life long, and but a moment ago, I heard the pale one, Marsden, speak to the fat carpenter, plotting my death. I would know which of the three it is that sets on foot this scheme; do nothing rash, only dog both of these men, search their cabins when thou dost get a chance, and let me know what thou findest. My brother must be as cunning as a serpent, for he tracks those who are subtle and wary." "Manteo understands," he answered, his face brightening. "It shall be as my brother says," and he glided silently from the room. Three days had passed, and still the Indian had said naught. I knew he was at work, silently, quietly following the conspirators, for once as I turned the cabin upon the deck, I had seen a sudden shadow upon the floor but as I looked around I had discovered nothing. I knew it must have been Manteo, for no one else could have vanished in an instant like that. Out of mere curiosity, I searched everywhere for him, for I knew the savage Indians prided themselves upon their skill and cunning. I peered into every nook and cranny, looked behind every box and barrel, but as well look for last year's flowers or the frost of a winter ago--he had vanished. I knew that he would say nothing until he had found some trace of what he sought, and so I waited in patience. I had walked about the deck most of the morning and was weary. It was near noon, so I made my way to the cabin where I dined by myself, unless White or the Indian ate with me. My dinner sat hot and smoking upon the table as usual, and by it the customary bottle; for the Governor kept me supplied with his own wine, and as fast as I emptied a bottle (which was but slowly, as I drank sparingly) I found a fresh one at my plate. A little piece of paper lay upon the table. I picked it up and looked at it. "A bottle of my best wine; see how thou dost like it." "WHITE." I picked up the bottle. It was dusty and covered with cobwebs, and upon it was the label, "La France, 1408." I seated myself, and taking the bottle in my hand, looked at it. It was a mellow liquid, yellow and generous with age. Over one hundred and fifty years ago, some hand long since gone had pressed the grapes, and laid the bottle away for some unborn man to quaff in the ages to come. It was too good wine to gulp down with my food; I could wait until I had finished dinner, and sip it at my leisure.