Then, noting her puzzled, downcast face, with the impulsive changeableness which had so endeared him to her, he caught one little brown hand and raised it to his lips.

“But I do love thee even as thou art, my Wildenai,” he told her with the careless assurance of one much older speaking to a child.  “Is not a wild rose sweet as any garden bloom?  Nay, methinks ’tis often sweeter!”

Again he laughed and the little princess laughed with him now, for into her heart at his words had come a happiness so unlooked for and so wildly sweet as wholly to bewilder her.  Quickly she rose, struck by a sudden thought, and running to the farthermost corner of the cavern she brushed aside a pile of leaves and lifted some stones, disclosing at length a box fashioned from the choicest cedar.  Out of it, while the Englishman watched with wondering eyes, she drew a garment made of creamy doeskin, deeply fringed and trimmed besides with strings of wampum, the polished fragments of abalone shells and many-colored beads.  Silently she brought it to him and when he touched it admiringly, for the dress was beautiful.  “It is my marriage robe,” she told him gravely.

That night, while the rain tapped softly at her tepee, the princess dreamed of a wondrous land beyond the sea where proudly she walked by her white chief’s side and fair women with braided, golden hair spoke kind words of welcome, smiling at her out of sweet blue eyes.

Then, without warning, came the end of all her dreams.  Hurrying along the beach at sunset only a few days later, Wildenai caught the first glimpse of the returning vessel as it stole around a distant point.  For the space of a second her heart stood still, then throbbed wildly, but whether with joy or pain she could not herself have told.  One question only demanded all her thought.  Should she let Lord Harold know?  Perhaps the great white captain would not remember their bay.  Perhaps, — her breath came fast, — perhaps the ship, unseen by anyone, would pass and Lord Harold remain behind content.  With hands tight-clenched she watched the distant sail, fear growing in her eyes.  Yet she knew that she would tell him.  Nothing else was honorable.  This, surely, he must decide for himself.

But tidings of such moment outran even her swift feet.  She found him buckling on his swordbelt, in his eyes the glad light of some trapped bird which sees the door of its cage suddenly open.

“The ship — " she began with sinking heart.

“Yes, yes, I know!  I saw it!” he answered, a fever of impatience in his voice. “’Tis Drake.  I knew he dared not leave me!  ’Twill soon be too close in.  Needs not he risk his safety.  I must go before he gains the shore.”

The princess hesitated.  What meant that strange heaviness at her heart?  Was he not still her brave, true warrior, — her great white chief?  Had he not told her that he loved her?  Crossing to where he stood she bowed herself before him until her silver fillet touched his feet.