"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." "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.