It is true that I did not make confession of this belief until I had tormented my would-be lord with every teasing device that entered into my brain. But though he was often cast down for hours together, he gave me to understand that he could read my heart in my blue eyes. "An you were to swear upon your soul you hated me, dear lady, I'd not believe it," he once said. "Mistress Margaret is too unversed in city ways and shallow coquetries to play a part--and 'tis for that I love her so." And though it angered me to have him praise my innocence and country airs, I knew he spoke the truth, and that a time would come when I would own my love for him. And so it did. A terrible storm had raged for eight-and-forty hours. There had been wild, black, awful nights, and sullen days when the gray curtains of the sky were torn asunder and whirled over us in inky folds, their tattered fringes lashing up the seas, and whipping our frail bark till it skulked and cowered, like a beaten cur that looks in vain for mercy. We had drifted northward far from our course, our two consorts had disappeared, and we had well-nigh given up hope, when with the dawning of the third day the wind lulled, and through the ragged clouds we saw the blue arch of heaven high above us. I had climbed out upon the deck alone; and from a sheltered corner I saw the sun rise and gild a far-off strip of shore that lay to west of us. It seemed a vision of a new heaven and a new earth, and I gave God thanks. Then a hand touched mine, and a voice whispered my name--and other words that need not be recorded here; and I could answer nothing in denial, for the reason that my heart was too full. CHAPTER II. The land to west of us was Virginia, and we sought harbour at Nancemund, and lay there some weeks for needful repairs on the sloop, which was also provisioned afresh for her further voyage. It was then the month of February; we had been six months a-journeying, and still the promised land was far away. This tale of mine, however, bids fair to spin itself at too great length, so I must hasten on to the story of our captivity. In spite of fairly good weather on our way southward we somehow over passed the latitude of Port Royal harbour; and of a Saturday in May--the fifteenth day of the month--we did cast anchor at a little isle upon the coast, in order to obtain wood and water for the sloop's needs. This island is within the territory of the Spaniards, who have named it Santa Catalina. It lies some days' journey north of San Augustin,--the exact latitude I know not, although I have heard it more times than one; but there are some things that abide never in a woman's brain. Here appeared many Indians, who seemed at first not unfriendly, and spoke words of welcome to us in the Spanish tongue.