to eat and drink, for the long watching had tired her. As for Kara he
crawled again into the underwood to search for his knife. Apparently he
did not trust Chaldea as much as she wanted him to.

Thus it came about that when the moon rolled through a starry sky like a
golden wheel, Lambert, sighing at his studio window, saw a slim and
graceful figure glide into the clear space of lawn beyond the monoliths.
So searching was the thin moonlight that he recognized Chaldea at once,
as she wandered here and there restless as a butterfly, and apparently
as aimless. But, had he known it, she had her eyes on the cottage all
the time, and had he failed to come forth she would have come to inquire
if he was at home. But the artist did come forth, thinking to wile away
an hour with the fascinating gypsy girl. Always dressing for dinner,
even in solitude, for the habit of years was too strong to lay
aside--and, moreover, he was fastidious in his dress to preserve his
self-respect--he appeared at the door looking slender and well-set up in
his dark clothes. Although it was August the night was warm, and Lambert
did not trouble to put on cap or overcoat. With his hands in his pockets
and a cigar between his lips he strolled over to the girl, where she
swayed and swung in the fairy light.

"Hullo, Chaldea," he said leisurely, and leaning against one of the
moss-grown monoliths, "what are you doing here?"

"The rye," exclaimed Chaldea, with a well-feigned start of surprise.
"Avali the rye. Sarishan, my Gorgious gentleman, you, too, are a
nightbird. Have you come out mousing like an owl? Ha! ha! and you hear
the nightingale singing, speaking in the Gentile manner," and clapping
her hands she lifted up a full rich voice.