hand, the other hand over her eyes as she slowly looked from point to
point of the horizon.

The two watched her without speaking. Presently she saw them. She gazed
at them for a minute, then descended to them. Lawless and Pierre rose,
doffing their hats. She looked at both a moment, and her eyes settled on
Pierre. Presently she held out her hand to him. "I knew you--yesterday,"
she said.

Pierre returned the intensity of her gaze with one kind and strong.

"So--so, Cynthie," he said; "sit down and eat."

He dropped on a knee and drew a scone and some fish from the ashes. She
sat facing them, and, taking from a bag at her side some wild fruits, ate
slowly, saying nothing. Lawless noticed that her hair had become grey at
her temples, though she was but one-and-twenty years old. Her face, brown
as it was, shone with a white kind of light, which may, or may not, have
come from the crucible of her eyes, where the tragedy of her life was
fusing. Lawless could not bear to look long, for the fire that consumes a
body and sets free a soul is not for the sight of the quick. At last she
rose, her body steady, but her hands having that tremulous activity of
her eyes.

"Will you not stay, Cynthie?" asked Lawless very kindly.

She came close to him, and, after searching his eyes, said with a smile
that almost hurt him, "When I have found him, I will bring him to your
camp-fire. Last night the Voice said that he waits for me where the mist
rises from the river at daybreak, close to the home of the White Swan. Do