ace. I took his hand and raised it to my lips. "I owe you more than I
can ever pay," I said. "Where is she, my friend?"

"Not far away," he answered. "We sought the centre of the wood, and
because she was so chilled and weary and shaken I did dare to build a
fire there. Not a foe has come against us, and we waited but for the
dusk of this evening to try to make the town. I came down to the stream
just now to find, if I could, how near we were to the river"--

He broke off, made a gesture with his hand toward one of the long aisles
of pine trees, and then, with a muttered "God bless you both," left me,
and going a little way down the stream, stood with his back to a great
tree and his eyes upon the slow, deep water.

She was coming. I watched the slight figure grow out of the dusk between
the trees, and the darkness in which I had walked of late fell away. The
wood that had been so gloomy was a place of sunlight and song; had red
roses sprung up around me I had felt no wonder. She came softly and
slowly, with bent head and hanging arms, not knowing that I was near.
I went not to meet her,--it was my fancy to have her come to me
still,--but when she raised her eyes and saw me I fell upon my knees.

For a moment she stood still, with her hands at her bosom; then, softly
and slowly through the dusky wood, she came to me and touched me upon
the shoulder. "Art come to take me home?" she asked. "I have wept and
prayed and waited long, but now the spring is here and the woods are
growing green."

I took her hands and bowed my head upon them. "I believed thee dead,"
I said. "I thought that thou hadst gone home, indeed, and I was left in
the world alone. I can never tell thee how I love thee."

"I need no telling," she answered. "I am glad that I did so forget my
womanhood as to come to Virginia on such an errand; glad that they did
laugh at and insult me in the meadow at Jamestown, for else thou mightst
have given me no thought; very heartily glad that thou didst buy me with
thy handful of tobacco. With all my heart I love thee, my knight, my
lover, my lord and husband"--Her voice broke, and I felt the trembling
of her frame. "I love not thy tears upon my hands," she murmured. "I
have wandered far and am weary. Wilt rise and put thy arm around me and
lead me home?"

I stood up, and she came to my arms like a tired bird to its nest. I
bent my head, and kissed her upon the brow, the blue-veined eyelids, the
perfect lips. "I