It was in truth a picture not soon to be forgotten. Behind the mirrored
Bay of Moons, its crescent of sand gleaming white against the rocks, the
bands of dusky men and women stood motionless as statues in the quiet
light of the setting sun, while in the doorway of his lodge, his
daughter close beside him, Torquam waited with simple dignity to receive
his guests, the fair-skinned strangers.

At length along the beach advanced the little group of English, friends
and fellow adventurers with the most renowned of all their great queen's
buccaneers. Beside Sir Francis himself marched young Harold of Wessex,
little more than a boy in years, yet dreaded and feared in his own land
even then - a possible heir to Elizabeth's throne. Some short distance
in front of these two, standard bearers carried the flags of Merry
England, each glorious with fringes and tassels of gold. Well might such
banners dazzle the eyes and wits of simple savages.

Yet, possibly, for all that, had it not been for the lengthy ceremonial
of the peace-pipe, Wildenai could not have taken time to observe so
closely, in stolen glances from beneath her long black lashes, the
splendor of the young noble standing proudly erect beside his captain;
nor could he have stared so often, with no attempt to hide his
admiration, at the dark beauty of the princess.

Perhaps, too, if fate had not contrived to place them side by side at
the feast which followed, young Harold might never have discovered that
an Indian girl, however beautiful, possessed the wit to learn a foreign
language. Yet it was certainly Spanish and that well spoken in which, at
length, she softly asked of her father a question intended obviously for
himself.