Quick as thought the young Indian left the room, and descended the stairs. Drawing the bolt of the back door so softly, that she scarcely heard it move, herself, she went to the kitchen, where old Giles, a prey to a thousand fears, was seated trembling over the fire, his face of that peculiar ashy hue, which the negro complexion sometimes assumes as an humble apology for pallor. As she touched the old man on the shoulder, he groaned in despair and looked up, showing scarcely anything but the whites of his eyes, while his woolly head, thinned and white with age, resembled ashes sprinkled over a bed of extinguished charcoal. Seeing the face of an Indian, and too terrified to recognize Mamalis, he fell on his knees at her feet, and cried, “Oh, for de Lord sake, massa, pity de poor old nigger! My lod a messy, massa, I neber shoot anudder gun in all my born days.” “Hush,” said Mamalis, “and listen to me. I tell lie, you say it is truth; I say whites in Jamestown; you say so too—went yesterday.” “But bress your soul, missis,” said Giles, “sposen dey ax me ef I shot dat cussed gun, me say dat truf too?” “No, say it was thunder.” At this moment the tall dark form of Manteo entered the room. He started with surprise, as he saw his sister there, and in such company. His dark eye darted a fierce glance at Giles, who quailed beneath its glare. Then turning again to his sister, he said in the Indian tongue, which we freely translate: “Mamalis with the white man! where is he that I may drown my vengeance in his blood.” “He is gone; he is not within the power of Manteo. Manitou[11] has saved Manteo from the crime of killing his best friend.” “His people have killed my people for the offence of the few, I will kill him for the cruelty of many. For this is the calumet[12] broken. For this is the tree of peace[13] cut down by the tomahawk of war.” “Say not so,” replied Mamalis. “Temple is the netoppew[14] of Manteo. He is even now gone to the grand sachem of the long knives, to make Manteo the Werowance[15] of the Pamunkeys.” “Ha! is this true?” asked Manteo, anxiously. “Ask this old man,” returned Mamalis. “They all went to Jamestown yesterday, did they not?” she asked in English of Giles, who replied, in a trembling voice, “Yes, my massa, dey has all gone to Jimson on yestiddy.” “And I a Werowance!” said the young man proudly, in his own language. “Spirits of Powhatan and Opechancanough, the name of Manteo shall live immortally as yours. His glory shall be the song of our race, and the young men of his tribe shall emulate his deeds. His life shall be brilliant as the sun's bright course, and his spirit shall set in the spirit land, bright with unfading glory.” Then turning away with a lofty step, he proceeded to rejoin his companions.