On the fourth night after the ships’ arrival, the colonists and Hatteras Indians, all of whom, at Vytal’s command, had come from Croatan, congressed near the fortress of Roanoke. In the centre of the square a camp-fire of great logs and dried branches roared and crackled cheerfully, while encircling the blaze sat red men and white, some half prone in sleep, others upright and talking. Somewhat apart from the main gathering, and just beyond range of the firelight, were Vytal and Manteo, while, midway between them and a number of sleeping soldiers, sat Virginia Dare and her Indian comrade. Not far away lay Hugh Rouse, sprawled near the outer border of embers, and snoring loudly, while next to him sat Roger Prat, blinking at the fire. In the fortress most of the women and children, under Dyonis Harvie’s protection, were slumbering peacefully, while Dyonis himself sat yawning in the doorway. Each of the three entrances to the town was guarded by one or more pickets, well armed. At the northern gateway, which led to Vytal’s cabin, a single sentry stood alert; at the southern and nearest, by which Eleanor had made egress that night when Frazer and Towaye had captured her, another soldier kept careful watch; at the main portal on the eastern side two sentinels paced to and fro with muskets loaded. Furthermore, a body of twelve arquebusiers lay far below on the beach, to make sure that from the Spanish ships no landing was attempted. To trade at night, or leave the town without Vytal’s permission, was forbidden. And perhaps only one person at Roanoke rebelled inwardly against the latter restriction. This was Virginia Dare, whose nature demanded absolute freedom. “Oh, tell me, Dark Eye,” she said, as the silence and bondage became unbearable, “why are we compelled to remain here like prisoners?” “It is the will of our father, the Wolf,” replied the Indian. “He seeks to protect his children.” She made an impatient gesture. “Come, Dark Eye, let us ask Roger Prat if we may not go down to the sea for another shell and for my father. Dost know he strangely disappeared to-day and has not been seen again?” “Thy father disappeared?” exclaimed the Indian. “Yes, within the forest. But come!” and together they joined the soldier. “Goodman Prat, I pray you give us liberty. Not all the armies of the world can find us an we hide. There are caves, ravines, arbors—” “Yes,” interposed Prat, dreamily, “arbors, grape-arbors.” “Come,” she persisted, “take us past the centronel.” With a jerk of his head, as though awaking from reverie, Roger looked up at her. “Nay, White Doe, it is impossible. Will you not sit here and comfort me? I am depressed.” Poutingly, she granted his request, and, patting the grass beside her, indicated an adjacent seat for the Indian. “How now, Roger?” said she. “Why so glum and owlish? Is ’t because your friend King Lud is absent?”