“Not beautiful was she,” he replied, “but a very king of men!”

He puffed a moment reminiscently, then continued: 

“I was born some years ago in a part of our island called Lincolnshire, where it is low and marshy in places like unto the morass where thine uncle took me prisoner.  Yet it is a land I love, though it grew too small for me, and when I was old enough to be a brave my hands itched to be fighting our enemies.  So I went forth on the warpath against our foes in France and in the Netherlands.  Then when I had fought for many moons and had gained fame as a warrior I felt a longing to return to mine own home.  I abode there for a time, then I set forth once more and travelled long in a land called Italy and entered later the service of a great werowance, the Emperor Rudolph, to fight for him against the tribes of his foes, the Turks.  I cannot explain to thee, Princess, how different are their ways from our ways; perchance theirs were nearer to thine understanding since they are not given to mercy and take to themselves many squaws; but let that rest.  I fought them hard and often, and one day before the two armies, that ceased their combat to witness, I slew three of their great fighters, for which the Emperor did allow me to bear arms containing Three Turks’ Heads—­that is, as if one of thy kinsmen should sew upon his robe three scalps of enemies he had killed.  But soon after that was I taken prisoner by these Turks and sold into captivity as a slave.”

“Ah!” breathed Pocahontas deeply.  For once in her life she was getting her fill of adventures.

“I was given as a slave to another princess—­Tragabizzanda—­in the City of Constantinople; then I was sent to Tartary, where I was most cruelly used.  One day I fell upon the Bashaw of Nolbrits, who ill-treated me, and I slew him.  I clothed myself in his garments and escaped into the desert and finally after many strange adventures I reached again a land where I had friends.  Then—­”

“Tell me of the princess,” interrupted Pocahontas.  “Did she ill-use thee also?”

“Nay, in truth, she was all kindness to me,” replied Smith, his eye kindling at the remembrance of the Turkish lady who had aided him.  “She was very beautiful, with lovely garments and rich jewels,” he added, thinking to interest the girl with descriptions of her finery, “and I owe her many thanks.”

“Was she more beautiful than I?” asked Pocahontas, her brows knitting angrily.

“She was very different,” the amused Englishman answered.  It was scarcely possible for him to consider these savages as being real human creatures, to be compared even with the Turks; yet he did not wish to hurt the feelings of one who had done so much for him.  “She was a grown woman,” he added, “and therefore it boots not to compare her with the child thou art.”

“I am no child.  I am a woman!” cried Pocahontas, springing up in a fury and rushed off like a whirlwind towards the forest.