So when a cracked voice broke the early stillness out of shadow where
the garden wall shut off the nearer view, Theresa Blaine paid small
attention to it.

"Memsahib! Protectress of the poor!"

She continued watching the mystery of coming light. The ancient city's
domed and pointed roofs already glistened with pale gold, and a pearly
mist wreathed the crowded quarter of the merchants. Beyond that the
river, not more than fifty yards wide, flowed like molten sapphire between
unseen banks. As the pale stars died, thin rays of liquid silver touched
the surface of a lake to westward, seen through a rift between purple
hills. The green of irrigation beyond the river to eastward shone like
square-cut emeralds, and southward the desert took to itself all imaginable
hues at once.

"Colorado!" she said then. "And Arizona! And Southern California!
And something added that I can't just place!"

"Sin's added by the scow-load!" growled her husband from the farther bed.
"Come back, Tess, and put some clothes on!"

She turned her head to smile, but did not move away. Hearing the man's
voice, the owners of other voices piped up at once from the shadow,
all together, croaking out of tune:

"Bhig mangi shahebi! Bhig mangi shahebi!" (Alms! Alms!)

"I can see wild swans," said Theresa. "Come and look--five--six--seven
of them, flying northward, oh, ever so high up!"