"Winona is not blind," she replied, "the beautiful one loves the Eagle. Sharp are the eyes of love to discover love. And now," she said, as I stood staggered by her last words, "Winona would tell the Eagle farewell, for she knows she will see him no more." And catching my hand in hers, she pressed it to her lips. Then turning, she sped lightly away. "Winona," I cried, "come back! Go not thus!" but only the moaning of the pines answered me--she was gone. A light step from the other side of the fire, and my lady stood before me, her face wet with tears. One look at her, and I knew she had heard all. "She has gone!" she cried. "Not back into the woods? Quick! After her, thou mayest yet save her." "'Tis useless," I answered quietly, "she is far into the depths of the forest by now--besides, why should I bring her back? She is better thus. Thou hast heard what she said, and thou knowest why she left." "I but rested upon the other side of the fire," she answered hurriedly, "when her voice fell upon my ear. I could not withdraw without being seen by her, so I was forced to play the spy against my will." "It matters not," I replied; "there was naught said that I would not have thee know. But sit down, Lady Margaret. I have a few words to say to thee, before we part forever." I motioned her to a seat upon a stone in front of me. "I am about to reopen a painful subject for the last time, but as we part in a day or two, I would wish to speak of it again. I cannot go back to England; it would be sheer madness to return and face the Queen. And after all, England holds naught for me but sorrow and pain. I have passed from the lives of those I once knew, as the dead leaves of last year's trees, and I shall return no more. "Margaret," I said, "I cannot go back into those great wastes behind me, without telling thee of what my love for thee has been to me. It has been a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night; it has been the sweetest drop in the bitter cup of life. Life would be worth the struggle, had it held naught else for me save this. See," I continued, "I found months ago by the trail, this little miniature of thee. I have kept it ever since where I could feast my eyes upon it. I am a better man because I have known and loved thee." "Thou art the noblest gentleman I have ever known," she sobbed. "I am unworthy of such love as this." "No," I answered, "thou art worthy of a finer, truer man, and such a love thou hast. When thou art happy in thy far-away home, wilt thou not think of one who loves thee and wanders in exile in Virginia? The grass is green in old England now, Margaret, and the birds are singing on every hedge; greet the old place for me, and remember me to my old friends, Bobby and Steele, for I shall never see them more." "I will think of thee often," she answered, the tears still in her azure eyes. "Must thou remain here, alone in this strange land?"