Prat stepped out from the ranks, and, wheeling, faced the company. One hand was on his sword-hilt, the other he waved aloft. “Thank you,” he said; “I shall play to you my own new song called ‘Roanoke’ in reward for this, and you shall see King Lud dance for very joy. Your consciences, moreover, shall tickle you, which spitefully pricked before.” Then, pushing his way through the double file, he stood before the rear group, who, headed by Ananias Dare, hung their heads in sullen silence. “The rear-guard,” said Prat, surveying them with contemptuous irony, “hath also its uses. It makes our front the more glorious by comparison; it inspires thankfulness in our hearts that we are not of it. A lion, now, might not be half so proud had he not a frightened hare to look upon.” His manner grew more serious. “You are determined to leave?” “Yes, determined,” replied Ananias, who like most weak natures had his moments of fitful obstinacy. And the men, in concert, echoed, “Yes.” Once more Eleanor spoke. “There shall be no strife,” she said. “We cannot stay you. Go, then; but my father and I remain.” “Nay, nay,” came from the voices not of those who were to leave, but of the others who had elected to cast in their lot with Vytal’s. “Nay, the governor must go to seek assistance, and return hither for our salvation. That is sure.” Eleanor’s voice broke. “My people, you hurt me to the quick.” Prat, doffing his cap, turned to her. “It must be,” he said, mournfully. “Oh, indeed, it must be! I have collogued with them, I have lost at dice, I have harangued them, but all in vain.” He went forward, wheeled about again, and addressed the group of volunteers. “Comrades, I have but one suggestion.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ananias. “Master Dare must stay. We cannot spare the governor’s assistant.” The men smiled grimly. “And, if I may say so, Mistress Dare should likewise remain among us as a—a kind of hostage from his Excellency, her father, to assure us that he will return with aid.” This was the moment in which Roger meddled with Fate. The governor’s benevolent face went a shade paler as he looked at the corpulent soldier. “Then you, too, Prat, are against us?” But Roger only wagged his head and rolled his eyes as who should say, “Interpret the action as you will, I, at least, feel no compunction.” Eleanor scanned his face, a new flush mounting to her cheeks. Her mind was in a turmoil. Great forces strove one against another in her heart; on the one side her powerful filial devotion, which impelled her to depart from England with her father; on the other her love for the colony, her unflinching resolution to stand by it, her scorn for the husband who sought only selfishly to escape; and, with all these—but no; she would not define that control even to herself. Yet deep, vivid, merciless, a name in her soul defined it whether she would or not.