The well-known voice was no longer weak as when she had last heard it bid her farewell. There they were, the gentlemen all bowing to her but remaining in the background, while Rolfe came forward with Smith.

"I have brought thee an old friend, Rebecca," he said.

Pocahontas saluted him, but words were impossible.

John Smith afterwards wrote concerning this interview:

"After a modest salutation, without any word, she turned about, obscured her face, as not seeming well contented, and in that humor her husband with divers others, we all left her two or three hours."

Seeing that she preferred to be alone, the men departed to talk over the affairs of the Virginia Colony since Smith had left Jamestown. Pocahontas, sitting quietly on a garden bench near the carp pond, went over in her thought all that had taken place in her own life since then.

Then she saw him coming towards her again, alone, and she stretched out her hand to him.

"My father," she cried, "dost thou remember the old days in Wingandacoa when thou earnest first to Werowocomoco and wert my prisoner?"

"I remember well. Lady Rebecca," he said, leaning down to kiss her hand, "and I am ever thy most grateful debtor."

"Call me not by that strange name. Matoaka am I for thee as always. Dost thou remember when I came at night through the forest to warn thee?"

"I remember, Matoaka; how could I forget it?"

"Dost thou remember the day when, lying wounded before thy door, thou didst make me promise to be ever a friend to Jamestown and the English?"

"I have thought of it many a day."

"I have kept my promise, Father, have I not?"

"Nobly, Matoaka; but it is not meet that thou shouldst call me father."