and ran, still pursued by the "him, barn, boum" till he reached the
fort, where the frightened sentries, who had no orders to keep any
Indian from _leaving_ the town, let the masked figure through the gates.

Dr. James Buck, who with Dr. Whitaker, was to perform the ceremony,
arrived at the church just as the wedding party was starting from the
other end of the town. His foot hit against something. He stooped and
picked up a rattle and his fingers were covered with brown dust. Hastily
seizing a broom which stood in the vestry-room, he swept the tobacco
down the aisle and into a corner. The curious rattle he hid with the
replaced broom, to be investigated later. Then he took his stand in the
chancel, where Dr. Whitaker soon joined him, and through the open door
the two clergymen watched their flock approach. Most of them were men,
cavaliers as finely dressed, if their garments were somewhat faded, as
though they were to sit in Westminster Abbey; soldiers in leathern
jerkins; bakers, masons, carpenters, with freshly washed face and hands,
in their Sunday garments of fustian and minus workaday aprons; and the
few women were in figured tabbies and damasks.

Now when the congregation had filled every seat and were lined up
against the walls, a number of Indians, all relatives of Pocahontas,
slipped in and stood silently with faces that seemed not alive except
for the keenness of their curious eyes. Them through the doorway came
Pocahontas and old Opechisco and Nautauquas.

A sudden feeling of the wonder of this marriage overcame Alexander
Whitaker. This Indian maiden who was a creature of the woods, shy and
proud as a wild animal, was to be married by him to an Englishman with
centuries of civilization behind him. What boded it for them both and
for their races?

Then with love for the maiden whom he had baptized and with faith in his
heart, he listened while Dr. Buck began, until he himself asked in a
loud, clear voice:

"Rebecca, wilt thou take this man to be thy wedded husband?"

After the feast was over the bride said to her husband, using his
Christian name shyly for the first time:

"John, wilt thou walk with me into the forest a little?"

And Rolfe, nothing loath to escape the noisy crowd, rose to go with her.

"Why dost thou care to come here?" he asked when they found themselves
beyond the causeway in the woods flecked with the white of the
innumerable dogwood trees.

"Because I feel Jamestown too small