In silence Torquam inclined his head.  Nothing could have pleased him more.  He would be the first then, of all his tribe to own one of those strange yet wondrous creatures never before seen in his world until the Spanish landed!  Yet only the eager gleam in his eyes betrayed his pleasure.  But Harold of Wessex stared at his captain in blank astonishment, for the gift he had just bestowed with such apparent carelessness was the most valuable bit of cargo in the ship, a costly Arabian horse intended for the young noble’s own special comfort and convenience during the search for gold on which they were bound.  Was Drake gone suddenly mad, then, thus to throw away, and that without permission, his choicest property on a mere savage?  Hot with resentment he was about to interfere; but before he could obey the rash impulse his better judgment prevailed, and just in time he remembered how, on several other such occasions, his very life had been saved by some swift expedient of Drake’s and his tact in handling the natives.

Slowly Sir Francis continued, and now one watching intently might have sensed from the gleam in his eyes that he had reached the real point in the interview.

“One question, nevertheless, would I ask of all-wise Torquam before we part.”  He hesitated, searching the impassive face of the Indian.  “Can’st tell me of a Spaniard, one Cabrillo, son to that arch pirate of Spain, who, since his father’s death, still sails upon these waters?  To him I bear a message,” — again he paused while the heart of Wildenai beat in sudden panic beneath her fawnskin tunic; but Torquam’s face remained blank as a page unwritten, — “a message from our queen,” added Drake.  The last words were uttered with significance.

The Indian slowly shook his head.

“The noble white chief asks what is unknown to any man,” he answered.  “The young Cabrillo once landed, ’tis true, on Punagwandah.  Many moons ago it was.  Where he is now, how should Torquam know?”

In his bitter disappointment the hand of the Englishman sought the hilt of his sword.  Instantly a ring of warriors closed darkly about the chief.

Drake laughed.

“Nay then, ’tis but by chance I asked thee, thinking thou mightst tell me.  It matters not.  The gift I promised thee will come, as I said, tonight.”

He turned to go and young Harold rose to follow.  Then, perceiving the dark eyes of the princess fixed wistfully upon him, he hesitated and, obeying a sudden impulse, he stepped hastily to her side.

“When they return with the gift for thy father,” he whispered, “I will come with them,” he smiled into her soft eyes shining with pleased surprise, “and I will bring a gift to thee as well, oh Wildenai, fairest of maidens!”

Drake gave a sharp command.  His followers sprang to their feet, and without further ceremony the party passed quickly down the beach to their boat.

But the princess Wildenai did not leave the feasting ground.  Hidden by deepening shadows she watched the ship’s lights glimmer across the water.  Glad indeed was she of the darkness, for a warm flush glowed in her cheeks and her heart throbbed with a strange new pleasure, a pleasure bordering close on fear, yet wholly sweet.