e preoccupied with momentous business. Presently he arrived at a small
open space, remote and secluded. It was completely surrounded by tall
shrubbery. In the centre was a basin of stone, evidently very ancient,
filled to the brim with the clear water of a spring, which bubbled up
from the bottom, and, overflowing by way of a gap in the edge, became a
small rivulet, which stole away in the direction of the sea. Across the
slightly undulating surface of the basin trembled the radiance of the
star.

Kamaiakan knelt down beside it, and, bending over, gazed intently into
the water. Presently he dipped his hands in it, and sprinkled shining
drops over his own gaunt person, and over the ground in the vicinity of
the spring. He made strange movements with his arms, bowed his head
and erected it again, and traced curious figures on the ground with his
finger. It appeared as if the venerable Indian had solemnly lost his
senses and had sought out this lonely spot to indulge the vagaries of
his insanity. If so, his silence and deliberation afforded an example
worthy of consideration by other lunatics.

Suddenly he ceased his performance, and held himself in a listening
attitude. A light, measured sound was audible, accompanied by the
rustling of leaves. It came nearer. There was a glimpse of whiteness
through the interstices of the surrounding foliage, and then a slender
figure, clad in close-fitting raiment, entered the little circle. It
wore a sort of tunic, reaching half-way to the knees, and leggings of
the same soft, grayish-white material. The head was covered with a sort
of hood, which left only the face exposed; and this too might be covered
by a species of veil or mask, which, however, was now fastened back on
the headpiece, after the manner of a visor. The front of the tunic was
embroidered with fantastic devices in gold thread, brightened here and
there with precious stones; and other devices appeared on the hood.
The face of this figure was pale and calm, with great dark eyes beneath
black brows. The stature was no greater than that of a lad of fifteen,
but the bearing was composed and dignified. The contours of the figure,
however, even as seen by that dim light, were those of neither a boy nor
a man. The wearer of the tunic was a girl, just rounding into womanhood,
and the face was the face of Miriam.

Yet it was not by this name that Kamaiakan addressed her. After making
a deep obeisance, touching his hand to her