shots. Is that your
reverence?"

In a sentence I told her the truth. "They forced my back to the wall,"
I said, "and there was no other way. I have never uttered your name to
a living soul."

Was it my fancy that when she spoke again there was a faint accent of
disappointment?

"You are an uncomfortable being, Mr. Garvald. It seems you are
predestined to keep Virginia from sloth. For myself I am for the roses
and the old quiet ways."

She plucked two flowers, one white and one of deepest crimson.

"I pardon you," she said, "and for token I will give you a rose. It is
red, for that is your turbulent colour. The white flower of peace shall
be mine."

I took the gift, and laid it in my bosom.

* * * * *

Two days later, it being a Monday, I dined with his Excellency at the
Governor's house at Middle Plantation. The place had been built new for
my lord Culpepper, since the old mansion at James Town had been burned
in Bacon's rising. The company was mainly of young men, but three
ladies--the mistresses of Arlington and Cobwell Manors, and Elspeth in
a new saffron gown--varied with their laces the rich coats of the men.
I was pleasantly welcomed by everybody. Grey came forward and greeted
me, very quiet and civil, and I sat by him throughout the meal. The
Governor was in high good humour, and presently had the whole company
in the same mood. Of them all, Elspeth was the merriest. She had the
quickest wit and the deftest skill in mimicry, and there was that in
her laughter which would infect the glummest.

That very day I had finished my preparations. The train was now laid,
and the men were ready, and a word from Lawrence would line the West
with muskets. But I had none of the satisfaction of a completed work.
It was borne in upon me that our task was scarcely begun, and that the
peril that threatened us was far darker than we had dreamed. Ringan's
tale of a white leader among the tribes was always in my head. The hall
where we sat was lined with portraits of men who had borne rule in
Virginia. There was Captain John Smith, trim-bearded and bronzed; and
Argall and Dale, grave and soldierly; there was Francis Wyat, with the
scar got in Indian wars; there hung the mean and sallow countenance of
Sir John Harvey. There, too, was Berkeley, with his high complexion and
his love-locks, the great gentleman of a vanished age; and the gross
rotundity of Culpepper; and the furtive eye of my lor