back their heads suddenly, as he turned toward them in his walk.  And Ayacanora looked, and looked, with no less admiration than the urchins at the gate:  but she got no more of an answering look from Amyas than they did; for his head was full of calculations of tonnage and stowage, of salt pork and ale-barrels, and the packing of tools and seeds; for he had promised Raleigh to do his best for the new colony, and he was doing it with all his might; so Ayacanora looked back again to her book, and heaved a deep sigh.  It was answered by one from Mrs. Leigh.

“We are a melancholy pair, sweet chuck,” said the fair widow.  “What is my maid sighing about, there?”

“Because I cannot make out the long words,” said Ayacanora, telling a very white fib.

“Is that all?  Come to me, and I will tell you.”

Ayacanora moved over to her, and sat down at her feet.

“H—­e, he, r—­o, ro, i—­c—­a—­l, heroical,” said Mrs. Leigh.

“But what does that mean?”

“Grand, good, and brave, like—­”

Mrs. Leigh was about to have said the name of one who was lost to her on earth.  His fair angelic face hung opposite upon the wall.  She paused unable to pronounce his name; and lifted up her eyes, and gazed on the portrait, and breathed a prayer between closed lips, and drooped her head again.

Her pupil caught at the pause, and filled it up for herself—­

“Like him?” and she turned her head quickly toward the window.

“Yes, like him, too,” said Mrs. Leigh, with a half-smile at the gesture.  “Now, mind your book.  Maidens must not look out of the window in school hours.”

“Shall I ever be an English girl?” asked Ayacanora.

“You are one now, sweet; your father was an English gentleman.”

Amyas looked in, and saw the two sitting together.

“You seem quite merry there,” said he.

“Come in, then, and be merry with us.”

He entered, and sat down; while Ayacanora fixed her eyes most steadfastly on her book.

“Well, how goes on the reading?” said he; and then, without waiting for an answer—­“We shall be ready to clear out this day week, mother, I do believe; that is, if the hatchets are made in time to pack them.”

“I hope they will be better than the last,” said Mrs. Leigh.  “It seems to me a shameful sin to palm off on poor ignorant savages goods which we should consider worthless for ourselves.”

“Well, it’s not over fair:  but still, they are a sight better than they ever had before.  An old hoop is better than a deer’s bone, as Ayacanora knows,—­eh?”

“I don’t know anything about it,” said she, who was always nettled at the least allusion to her past wild life.  “I am an English girl now, and all that is gone—­I forget it.”

“Forget it?” said he, teasing her for want of something better to do.  “Should not you like to sail with us, now, and see the Indians in the forests once again?”