ainly as though
she had stood there under the trees, in a flood of noon sunshine. Now
she was the Jocelyn Percy of Weyanoke, now of the minister's house, now
of a storm-tossed boat and a pirate ship, now of the gaol at Jamestown.
One of my arms was free; I could take from within my doublet the little
purple flower, and drop my face upon the hand that held it. The bloom
was quite withered, and scalding tears would not give it life again.

The face that was, now gay, now defiant, now pale and suffering, became
steadfastly the face that had leaned upon my breast in the Jamestown
gaol, and looked at me with a mournful brightness of love and sorrow.
Spring was in the land, and the summer would come, but not to us. I
stretched forth my hand to the wife who was not there, and my heart lay
crushed within me. She had been my wife not a year; it was but the other
day that I knew she loved me--

After a while the anguish lessened, and I lay, dull and hopeless,
thinking of trifling things, counting the stars between the pines.
Another slow hour, and, a braver mood coming upon me, I thought of
Diccon, who was in that plight because of me, and spoke to him, asking
him how he did. He answered from the other side of the lodge, but the
words were scarcely out of his mouth before our guard broke in upon us
commanding silence. Diccon cursed them, whereupon a savage struck him
across the head with the handle of a tomahawk, stunning him for a time.
As soon as I heard him move I spoke again, to know if he were much hurt;
when he had answered in the negative we said no more.

It was now moonlight without the lodge and very quiet. The night was
far gone; already we could smell the morning, and it would come apace.
Knowing the swiftness of that approach, and what the early light would
bring, I strove for a courage which should be the steadfastness of the
Christian, and not the vainglorious pride of the heathen. If my thoughts
wandered, if her face would come athwart the verses I tried to remember,
the prayer I tried to frame, perhaps He who made her lovely understood
and forgave. I said the prayer I used to say when I was a child, and
wished with all my heart for Jeremy.

Suddenly, in the first gray dawn, as at a trumpet's call, the village
awoke. From the long, communal houses poured forth men, women, and
children; fires sprang up, dispersing the mist, and a commotion arose
through the length and breadth of the place. The women made haste w