He rose. The struggle was over: the better self had conquered; but the fight had been a hard one. As he walked through the forest he mused. Should he tell Owaissa, or let her discover that they were gone in the morning? He never thought of including her in the party that were to go; and yet, why not? If it were unsafe for the other whites, might it not be unsafe for her? Would she not want to go with her people? She belonged to them.
He passed through the little village; all were sleeping; even the night itself seemed awed by the dreadful deed of the day. There lay the great Werowance Manteo. On the ground by the bier Virginia had thrown herself.
As he looked at her, she stirred, sighed, and muttered something. He caught his own name, the rest was indistinct.
“The Owaissa is like unto the angels she used to say were guarding our Werowance!” It was Ranteo’s voice. He was on watch, fortunately for Iosco’s plan.
“Ranteo knew my father when he was made a Christian; Mrs. Dare has told me about it. When the white man put the water on the Werowance’s head, Ranteo was by his side. It was in the moon before the great canoes went over the water with all the white hearts, who left the pale-faces with black hearts behind,” Iosco said.
Iosco continued, “Christians forgive those who do them harm, so I am going to do what a Christian would; I am going to let all the pale-faces go away, and not harm them. The son of Manteo the Christian will be Christian too. Will Ranteo help him?”
Ranteo looked more surprised than if the skies had fallen. Then he walked over, and stood looking at Virginia for some time; coming back he said, “In that dark night long ago, when the child crouched on the rock to save Ranteo, as a dove might try to save an eagle, the pale lady spoke, and Ranteo promised to be the friend to her child,” he said, pointing to Virginia, “and he will keep that promise now.”
“Thinks Ranteo that Owaissa must go too?” Iosco asked. The old man shook his head. “It is not safe for a dove to be with hungry foxes. The white dove must go,” he said.
An hour later a little group stood on the bank of the James River, known then as the Powhatan flu, on which they were to fly to safety. Iosco was to go with them till daybreak, when he was to return, and send Ranteo to guide them the rest of the way to Powhatan, on the Youghianund flu. They were to conceal themselves during the day. The moon was far on its way, but it smiled on them as they glided swiftly over the smooth water.