“I know it, Princess, in exactly the same way you love Roy Garnett, and immeasurably less than you love Berkeley.  That isn’t what I wanted, dear.  I’m a dull fellow, slow at understanding things, and I can’t put my thoughts into graceful, fluent language; but I know what love is, and what I wanted you to feel is very different.  Don’t be unhappy about it—­or me.  I’ll worry through the pain in time, or grow accustomed to it.  It’s tough, just at first, but I’ll pull through somehow.  It shall not spoil my life either, although it must mar it; a man must be a pitiful fellow, who lets himself go to the bad because the woman he loves won’t have him.  God means every man to hold up his own weight in this world.  I’d as soon knock a woman down as throw the blame of a wasted life upon her.”

Pocahontas listened with her eyes on the folded hands in her lap, realizing for the first time how deeply the man beside her loved her.  Would any other man ever love her with such grand unselfishness, she wondered, ever give all, receive nothing in return, and still give on. Why could not she love him?  Why was her heart still and speechless, and only her mind responsive.  He was worthy of any woman’s love; why could not she give him hers?

Ask the question how she would, the answer was always the same.  She did not love him; she could not love him; but the reason was beyond her.

After a little while Jim spoke again:  “When you were a little girl,” he said, “I always was your knight.  In all our plays, and troubles, it was always me you wanted.  My boat was the one you liked best, and my dog and horse would come to your whistle as quickly as to mine.  I was the one always to care for you and carry out your will.  That can never be again, I know, but don’t forget me, Princess.  Let the thought of your old friend come to you sometimes, not to trouble you, only to remind you when things are hard and rough, and you need comfort, that there’s a heart in the world that would shed its last drop to help you.”

With quick impulse Pocahontas leaned forward and caught his hand in hers, and before he could divine her intention, bent her head and laid her soft, warm lips against it.  When she lifted her eyes to his there were tears in them, and her voice trembled as she said:  “I will think of you often, old friend; of how noble you are, and how unselfish.  You have been generous to me all my life; far more generous than I have ever deserved.”

As they arose, to return to the house, the jasmin blossom fell from the girl’s hair to the ground at Jim’s feet; he stooped and raised it.  “May I keep it?” he said.

She bowed her head, silently.

CHAPTER V.