“Matter enough!” he answered. “This man has come, post haste, from the plantations above Paspahegh. Three days ago, Morgan, the trader, was decoyed into the woods by that Paspahegh fool and bully, Nemattanow, whom they call Jack of the Feather, and there murdered. Yesterday, out of sheer bravado, the Indian turned up at Morgan's house, and Morgan's men shot him down. They buried the dog, and thought no more of it. Three hours ago, Chanco the Christian went to the commander and warned him that the Paspaheghs were in a ferment, and that the warriors were painting themselves black. The commander sent off at once to me, and I see naught better to do than to dispatch you with a dozen men to bring them to their senses. But there 's to be no harrying nor battle. A show of force is all that 's needed,--I'll stake my head upon it. Let them see that we are not to be taken unawares, but give them fair words. That they may be the sooner placated I send with you Master Rolfe,--they'll listen to him. See that the black paint is covered with red, give them some beads and a knife or two, then come home. If you like not the look of things, find out where Opechancanough is, and I'll send him an embassy. He loves us well, and will put down any disaffection.” “There's no doubt that he loves us,” I said dryly. “He loves us as a cat loves the mouse that it plays with. If we are to start at once, sir, I'll go get my horse.” “Then meet us at the neck of land,” said Rolfe. I nodded, and left the room. As I descended the steps into the growing light outside, I found Master Pory at my side. “I kept late hours last night,” he remarked, with a portentous yawn. “Now that this business is settled, I'll go back to bed.” I walked on in silence. “I am in your black books,” he continued, with his sly, merry, sidelong glance. “You think that I was overcareful of the ground, that morning behind the church, and so unfortunately delayed matters until the Governor happened by and brought things to another guess conclusion.” “I think that you warned the Governor,” I said bluntly. He shook with laughter. “Warned him? Of course I warned him. Youth would never have seen that molehill and fairy ring and projecting root, but wisdom cometh with gray hairs, my son. D' ye not think I'll have the King's thanks?” “Doubtless,” I answered. “An the price contents you, I do not know why I should quarrel with it.” By this we were halfway down the street, and we now came upon the guest house. A window above us was unshuttered, and in the room within a light still burned. Suddenly it was extinguished. A man's face looked down upon us for a moment, then drew back; a skeleton hand was put out softly and slowly, and the shutter drawn to. Hand and face belonged to the man I had sent tumbling among the graves the evening before. “The Italian doctor,” said Master Pory.