not stir at her coming though she felt convinced that he was aware of
her, aware probably of everything that passed within a considerable
radius of his disreputable person. His dark face, lined and dirty,
half-covered with ragged black hair that ended in a long thin wisp like
a goat's beard on his shrunken chest, was still turned to the east as
though challenging the sun that was smiting a swift course through the
heavens as if with a flaming sword. The simile rushed through her mind
unbidden. Where would she be--what would have happened to her--by the
time that sword was sheathed?

She conquered her repulsion and approached the man. As she did so, Peter
glided silently up like a faithful watch-dog and took his place at her
right hand. It was typical of the position he was to occupy in the days
that were coming.

Within a pace or two of the huddled figure, Stella stopped. He had not
moved. It was evident that he was so rapt in meditation that her
presence at that moment was no more to him than that of an insect
crawling across his path. His eyes, red-rimmed, startlingly bright,
still challenged the coming day. His whole expression was so grimly
aloof, so sternly unsympathetic, that she hesitated to disturb him.

Humbly Peter came to her assistance. "May I be allowed to speak to him,
_mem-sahib?_" he asked.

She turned to him thankfully. "Yes, tell him what I want!"

Peter placed himself in front of the stranger. "The noble lady desires
your service," he said. "Her gracious excellency is waiting."