Throughout the long bright day the women toiled, preparing a ceremonial feast.  Three antelope, a deer, and half a dozen of the wild sheep which roamed the hills were killed and placed for roasting over deep pits dug in the sand.  Nor did any member of the tribe forget in his own crude fashion to deck himself for the occasion.  The warriors adorned their heads with feathers and daubed their cheeks and lips with ochre.  The women clothed themselves in loose-hanging tunics of doeskin girt with strings of wampum, and hung about their tawny shoulders the lovely greens and blues of uncut turquoise.  Meanwhile, also, the great chief Torquam donned his ceremonial dress, a string of eagle feathers held by the crimsoned quills of the porcupine and extending down his back until almost it touched the ground.  About his neck, as token of his priesthood, he threw the bear-claw necklace, known far and wide among the tribes for its famous powers of healing.  Wildenai alone made no change except to bind the satin black of her hair still more smoothly within a fillet of silver.  In the center of the band, so that it rested just above her brow, a strange device appeared, a circle enclosing many rays, — the royal insignia of the tribe which only the daughter of the chief might wear.

Then at last when, in the sunset, level rays of light rested golden on the bay and turned to amethyst the distant mountains on the mainland, all was ready.  Once again, this time to the weird music of tom-toms and the beating of drums, a boat was lowered from the ship while on the shore the Indians watched.

It was in truth a picture not soon to be forgotten.  Behind the mirrored Bay of Moons, its crescent of sand gleaming white against the rocks, the bands of dusky men and women stood motionless as statues in the quiet light of the setting sun, while in the doorway of his lodge, his daughter close beside him, Torquam waited with simple dignity to receive his guests, the fair-skinned strangers.

At length along the beach advanced the little group of English, friends and fellow adventurers with the most renowned of all their great queen’s buccaneers.  Beside Sir Francis himself marched young Harold of Wessex, little more than a boy in years, yet dreaded and feared in his own land even then — a possible heir to Elizabeth’s throne.  Some short distance in front of these two, standard bearers carried the flags of Merry England, each glorious with fringes and tassels of gold.  Well might such banners dazzle the eyes and wits of simple savages.

Yet, possibly, for all that, had it not been for the lengthy ceremonial of the peace-pipe, Wildenai could not have taken time to observe so closely, in stolen glances from beneath her long black lashes, the splendor of the young noble standing proudly erect beside his captain; nor could he have stared so often, with no attempt to hide his admiration, at the dark beauty of the princess.

Perhaps, too, if fate had not contrived to place them side by side at the feast which followed, young Harold might never have discovered that an Indian girl, however beautiful, possessed the wit to learn a foreign language.  Yet it was certainly Spanish and that well spoken in which, at length, she softly asked of her father a question intended obviously for himself.