Presently she turned and peered into the house.  She beckoned to Lewis.  He rose and followed her.  She led him around the house, through a thicket of thorn-trees, and up the slope of a small sand-dune.  Toward the west sand-dunes rose and fell in monotonous succession.

At the top of the dune the old woman crouched on her heels and motioned to Lewis to sit.

“My son,” she said, “thou hast taken my carcass for the common clay of these parts.  I cannot blame thee, but had I the water to wash this cursed dust from my face and hands, I would show thee a skin that was stained at birth with the olive and veins whose blood flows unmixed through generations without end.  These wrinkled feet have flattened the face of the earth bit by bit.  Bear witness those who left me here behind to die!  My eyes have looked upon things seen and unseen.  I am old.  To youth is given folly; to the old, wisdom.  To-night my wisdom shall suckle thy folly, for the heavens have shown me a sign.”

Lewis stared at the old woman with wondering eyes.  He had never seen a Gipsy.  What was she? he asked himself.  No native.  The native’s mind was keen with knowledge of horses, cattle, and goats, but stolid, almost stupid, when it came to words and thoughts.  There was an exception—­the mad.  The mad prattled and sometimes said extraordinary things.  Perhaps this woman was mad.  He turned half toward her.

“Look up,” she commanded.  “Dost thou see no sign?”

Lewis lay on his back and gazed into the sky.  “I see the moon and the stars, Auntie—­a young moon and very old stars—­but no sign.  Not even a cloud to remind the world of rain.”

The old woman leaned forward and touched his arm.  He started.

“Look over there!” She pointed to the west and south.  “See how the young moon is held within the claws of Scorpion.  His back is arched across the quarter.  His tail points to the south.  The Cross that some call Holy hangs like a pendent upon its tip.  Look up.  Upon his arched back he bears the circlet—­the seven worlds of women.”

“I see the Scorpion, Auntie,” said Lewis, humoring her.  “I see the 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.”