beside his master: even such a creature could love. From his skeleton throat came a low, prolonged, croaking sound, and his bony hands strove to wipe away the blood. The Paspaheghs drew around us closer and closer, and the werowance clutched me by the shoulder. I shook him off. “Give the word, Sharpless,” I said, “or nod, if thou art too frightened to speak. Murder is too stern a stuff for such a base kitchen knave as thou to deal in.”

White and shaking, he would not meet my eyes, but beckoned the werowance to him, and began to whisper vehemently; pointing now to the man upon the floor, now to the town, now to the forest. The Indian listened, nodded, and glided back to his fellows.

“The white men upon the Powhatan are many,” he said in his own tongue,