Those who were evil were afraid to meet his gaze, and hated it as old
Judith did, though, as he was not their servant, they dared not strike
him when he lifted his soft, heavy eyelids.

But Zia could not understand what people meant when they whispered about
him or turned away fiercely. A weight was lifted from his soul when he
realized that he was not as revolting as he had believed. And when
people spoke kindly to him he began to know something like happiness for
the first time in his life. He brought home so much in his alms-bag that
the old woman ceased to beat him and gave him more liberty. He was
allowed to go out at night and sleep under the stars. At such times he
used to lie and look up at the jeweled myriads until he felt himself
drawn upward and floating nearer and nearer to that unknown something
which he felt also in the high blueness of the day.

When he first began to feel as if some mysterious ailment was creeping
upon him he kept himself out of Judith's way as much as possible. He
dared not tell her that sometimes he could scarcely crawl from one place
to another. A miserable fevered weakness became his secret. As the old
woman took no notice of him except when he brought back his day's
earnings, it was easy to evade her. One morning, however, she fixed her
eyes on him suddenly and keenly.

"Why art thou so white?" she said, and caught him by the arm, whirling
him toward the light. "Art thou ailing?"

"No! no!" cried Zia.

She held him still for a few seconds, still staring.