circlet too, but it is far above his back. It is like a crown. Read me
the sign of the seven worlds of women."

Lewis propped his head on one elbow. Before him squatted the old woman.
Her hands were locked about her legs. Her chin rested on her knees. Her
beady eyes shone like two black stars.

"And shall I not read thee a sign?" she continued, swaying from side to
side. "Child of love art thou. At thy birth was thy mother rent asunder,
for thou wert conceived too near the heart. Thy path through the world
is blazed as one blazes a path in the forest. He who is at thy side is
before thee and after thee. Thou travelest in darkness, but thou art
cursed and blessed with the gift of sight. The worlds of women are
seven: spirit, weed, flower, the blind, the visioned, libertine, and
saint. None of these is for thee. For each child of love there is a
woman that holds the seven worlds within a single breast. Hold fast to
thy birthright, even though thou journey with thy back unto the light. I
have spoken."

A long silence fell upon the sand-dune. Lewis felt held, oppressed. He
was tired. He wished to sleep, but the woman's words rang in his brain
like shouts echoing in an empty hall.

Presently came sounds from the mud hut beyond the thorn-thicket. Men
were calling. There was the patter and scrape of mules' hoofs, the
whistle of those that urged them on. Lewis and the old hag hurried down.
The guide, the muleteers, and the stranger were having a wordy struggle.

"Hallo," said the stranger, "where have you been? What are they trying
to say? I need you even in my sleep."