west was pink. The wind had
died away, and the river lay like tinted glass between the dark borders
of the forest. Above the sky was blue, while in the south rose clouds
that were like pillars, tall and golden. The air was soft as silk; there
was no sound other than the ripple of the water about our keel and the
low dash of the oars. The minister rowed, while I sat idle beside my
love. He would have it so, and I made slight demur.

We left the bank behind us and glided into the midstream, for it was as
well to be out of arrowshot. The shadow of the forest was gone; still
and bright around us lay the mighty river. When at length the boat head
turned to the west, we saw far up the stream the roofs of Jamestown,
dark against the rosy sky.

"There is a ship going home," said the minister.

We to whom he spoke looked with him down the river, and saw a tall ship
with her prow to the ocean. All her sails were set; the last rays of the
sinking sun struck against her poop windows and made of them a half-moon
of fire. She went slowly, for the wind was light, but she went surely,
away from the new land back to the old, down the stately river to the
bay and the wide ocean, and to the burial at sea of one upon her. With
her pearly sails and the line of flame color beneath, she looked
a dwindling cloud; a little while, and she would be claimed of the
distance and the dusk.

"It is the George," I said.

The lady who sat beside me caught her breath. "Ay, sweetheart," I went
on. "She carries one for whom she waited. He has gone from out our life
forever."

She uttered a low cry and turned to me, trembling, her lips parted, her
eyes eloquent. "We will not speak of him," I said. "As if he were dead
let his name rest between us. I have another thing to tell thee, dear
heart, dear court lady masking as a waiting damsel, dear ward of the
King whom his Majesty hath thundered against for so many weary months.
Would it grieve thee to go home, after all?"

"Home?" she asked. "To Weyanoke? That would not grieve me."

"Not to Weyanoke, but to England," I said. "The George is gone, but
three days since the Esperance came in. When she sails again I think
that we must go."

She gazed at me with a whitening face. "And you?" she whispered. "How
will you go? In chains?"

I took her clasped hands, parted them, and drew her arms around my neck.
"Ay," I answered, "I will go in chains that I care not to have broken.
My dear love, I think that t