She was not there. The silken skirt that I had seen, and--there being but one woman in all the world for me--had taken for hers, belonged to Lady Wyatt, who, pale and terrified, was sitting with clasped hands, mutely following with her eyes her husband as he walked to and fro. West had come in from the street and was making some report. Around the table were gathered two or three of the Council; Master Sandys stood at a window, Rolfe beside Lady Wyatt's chair. The room was filled with sunshine, and a caged bird was singing, singing. It made the only sound there when they saw that I stood amongst them. When I had made my bow to Lady Wyatt and to the Governor, and had clasped hands with Rolfe, I began to find in the silence, as I had found in Master Pory's loquaciousness, something strange. They looked at me uneasily, and I caught a swift glance from the Treasurer to Master Pory, and an answering shake of the latter's head. Rolfe was very white and his lips were set; West was pulling at his mustaches and staring at the floor. “With all our hearts we welcome you back to life and to the service of Virginia, Captain Percy,” said the Governor, when the silence had become awkward. A murmur of assent went round the room. I bowed. “I thank you, sir, and these gentlemen very heartily. You have but to command me now. I find that I have to-day the best will in the world toward fighting. I trust that your Honor does not deem it necessary to send me back to gaol?” “Virginia has no gaol for Captain Percy,” he answered gravely. “She has only grateful thanks and fullest sympathy.” I glanced at him keenly. “Then I hold myself at your command, sir, when I shall have seen and spoken with my wife.” He looked at the floor, and they one and all held their peace. “Madam,” I said to Lady Wyatt, “I have been watching your ladyship's face. Will you tell me why it is so very full of pity, and why there are tears in your eyes?” She shrank back in her chair with a little cry, and Rolfe stepped toward me, then turned sharply aside. “I cannot!” he cried, “I that know”-- I drew myself up to meet the blow, whatever it might be. “I demand of you my wife, Sir Francis Wyatt,” I said. “If there is ill news to be told, be so good as to tell it quickly. If she is sick, or hath been sent away to England”-- The Governor made as if to speak, then turned and flung out his hands to his wife. “'T is woman's work, Margaret!” he cried. “Tell him!” More merciful than the men, she came to me at once, the tears running down her cheeks, and laid one trembling hand upon my arm. “She was a brave lady, Captain Percy,” she said. “Bear it as she would have had you bear it.” “I am bearing it, madam,” I answered at length. “'She was a brave lady.' May it please your ladyship to go on?”