hat led toward the palisade. Beneath the burning stars
the town lay stark in sleep. So bright in the wintry air were those
far-away lights that the darkness below them was not great. We could
see the low houses, the shadowy pines, the naked oaks, the sandy lane
glimmering away to the river, star-strewn to match the heavens. The air
was cold, but exceedingly clear and still. Now and then a dog barked, or
wolves howled in the forest across the river. We kept in the shadow
of the houses and the trees, and went with the swiftness, silence, and
caution of Indians.

The last house we must pass before reaching the palisade was one
that Rolfe owned, and in which he lodged when business brought him to
Jamestown. It and some low outbuildings beyond it were as dark as the
cedars in which they were set, and as silent as the grave. Rolfe and his
Indian brother were sleeping there now, while I stood without. Or did
they sleep? Were they there at all? Might it not have been Rolfe who had
bribed the gaoler and procured the pass from West? Might I not find him
at that strange trysting place? Might not all be well, after all? I was
sorely tempted to rouse that silent house and demand if its master were
within. I did it not. Servants were there, and noise would be made, and
time that might be more precious than life-blood was flying fast. I went
on, and Diccon with me.

There was a cabin built almost against the palisade, and here one man
was supposed to watch, whilst another slept. To-night we found both
asleep. I shook the younger to his feet, and heartily cursed him for his
negligence. He listened stupidly, and read as stupidly, by the light of
his lantern, the pass which I thrust beneath his nose. Staggering to his
feet, and drunk with his unlawful slumber, he fumbled at the fastenings
of the gate for full three minutes before the ponderous wood finally
swung open and showed the road beyond. "It's all right," he muttered
thickly. "The commander's pass. Good-night, the three of ye!"

"Are you drunk or drugged?" I demanded. "There are only two. It's not
sleep that is the matter with you. What is it?"

He made no answer, but stood holding the gate open and blinking at us
with dull, unseeing eyes. Something ailed him besides sleep; he may have
been drugged, for aught I know. When we had gone some yards from the
gate, we heard him say again, in precisely the same tone, "Good-night,
the three of ye!" Then the gate creaked to, and we hear