—MARLOWE, in _Edward the Second_. We come now to a mile-stone in the road of Time, a mere pebble it may seem to some, but to the colony of Roanoke it marked a sudden turning in Life’s pathway. Perhaps nothing is more unaccountably inconsistent than the action of men under new and strange conditions. As there is no precedent to predict the issue, reason falls back upon itself, and fails; the unexpected happens. Even keen perception and an intimate knowledge of human nature confound the rule with its exception, trying to solve the problem by its proofs, or to prove it by the solution. The colonists of Roanoke had fought bravely for their rights. Surely men like these could be abashed by nothing. But to make war against a present, actual enemy and against obscure, slow-moving Destiny are different matters. Many are fitted for one or the other contest, few for both. On a morning early in September numerous planters and soldiers, led by Ananias Dare, stood before the house of Governor White. The governor himself was in his doorway, listening sadly to their appeal. “We have been so weakened in numbers,” said Ananias, “that there is but one chance left. It is true the Spanish ship has not reappeared, but who shall say that a force far more powerful may not at any time return against us? The _Admiral_ and fly-boat go back, as you know, to England, necessarily in charge of Captain Pomp, who alone is fitted to command them, and of several mariners. This, however, is not enough. Let us _all_ return.” The governor looked from the face of his son-in-law to the many others, and, with dismay, found only agreement in their expressions. “What mean you?” he asked, helplessly. “Cannot all the planters and chartered officers wait yet longer? Others will come, I doubt not, from England without our seeking. To return as the earlier settlers did will cast discredit not only on us, but upon this great land of which a part is now our country’s.” He paused, seeking vainly for looks of acquiescence. “Nay, we can return anon,” said Ananias, “with more husbandmen to superintend the raising of our crops; with more soldiers to defend us, and artificers to enlarge our town; with additional supplies, of which we are in so sore a need—” he broke off suddenly, his wife appearing at an open window near the door. The child was in her arms. There was a long silence, but at last the governor spoke again. “Some must, of a surety, stay. This dominion is a charge not to be forsaken utterly. Who, then, must needs depart?”