“That's right, my dear daughter; remember that your old mother knows what is best for you, and she will never advise you wrong. I think it is very plain that this young gentleman has taken a fancy to you already, and while I would not have you too pert and forward, yet it is well enough to show off, and, in a modest way, do everything to encourage him. You know I always said, my dear, that you were too young when you formed an attachment for that young Hansford, and that you did not know your own heart, and now you see I was right.” Virginia did not see that her mother was right, but she was too well trained to reply; and so, without a word, she yielded herself once more to her own sad reflections, and, true-hearted girl that she was, she soon forgot the fascinations of Alfred Bernard in her memory of Hansford. They had not proceeded far, when Bernard saw, seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, the dusky form of a young Indian, whom he soon recognized as the leader of the party who the day before had made the attack upon Windsor Hall. The interest which he felt in this young man, whose early history he had heard, combined with a curiosity to converse with one of the strange race to which he belonged, and, as will be seen, a darker motive and a stronger reason than either, induced Bernard to rein up his horse, and permitting his companions to proceed some distance in front, to accost the young Indian. Alfred Bernard, by nature and from education, was perfectly fearless, though he lacked the magnanimity which, united with fearlessness, constitutes bravery. Laying his hand on his heart, which, as he had already learned, was the friendly salutation used with and toward the savages, he rode slowly towards Manteo. The young Indian recognized the gesture which assured him of his friendly intent, and rising from his rude seat, patiently waited for him to speak. “I would speak to you,” said Bernard. “Speak on.” “Are you entirely alone?” “Ugh,” grunted Manteo, affirmatively. “Where are those who were with you at Windsor Hall?” “Gone to Delaware,[21] to Matchicomoco.”[22] “Why did you not go with them?” asked Bernard. “Manteo love long-knife—Pamunkey hate Manteo—drive him away from his tribe,” said the young savage, sorrowfully. The truth flashed upon Bernard at once. This young savage, who, in a moment of selfish ambition, for his own personal advancement, had withheld the vengeance of his people, was left by those whom he had once led, as no longer worthy of their confidence. In the fate of this untutored son of the forest, the young courtier had found a sterner rebuke to selfishness and ambition than he had ever seen in the court of the monarch of England. “And so you are alone in the world now?” said Bernard. “Ugh!” “With nothing to hope or to live for?” “One hope left,” said Manteo, laying his hand on his tomahawk. “What is that?” “Revenge.” “On whom?” “On long-knives and Pamunkeys.”