But Say was too excited to listen to her.  She drew Shotaye’s hand away from her mouth and exclaimed,—­

“Remember that it is but a short time that the Koshare have known about the feathers.”

“And remember, you, that Okoya is of your own blood!”

“He is young, and the makatza has great power over him, for he likes her.  When Zashue”—­her voice trembled and she turned her face away with a suppressed sigh—­“came to me and I went to him, he often told me things about your people,—­things that your hanutsh would not have liked, had they known that I knew of them.”

“Hush!  I tell you again.  Hush, koitza!” the other commanded.  “Hush! or I will never listen to you any more.  You loathe your own flesh, the very entrails that have given birth to the mot[=a]tza!  I tell you again, Okoya is good.  He is far better than his father!  Thus much I know, and know it well.”  She looked hard at the wife of Zashue, while her lips disdainfully curled.  Say cast her eyes to the ground; she did not care to learn about her husband’s outside affairs.

It was very still in the dark room.  Even the rain was scarcely heard; and from the ceiling it dripped in one place only,—­the very spot where the owl’s feathers had lain buried.  It seemed as if the waters from heaven were eager to assist in obliterating every trace of the fatal tuft.  Shotaye turned away from her friend indignantly; the mere thought of a mother accusing her child, and such a son as Okoya, was revolting to her.  Say hung her head and pouted; and yet she felt that Shotaye was right, after all.  And then it was so gratifying to hear from Shotaye’s own lips how good her son was.

“Sanaya,” she asked after a while, timidly, “tell me for what you came.”

“No,” the other curtly answered.

Say started.  “Be not angry with me,” she pleaded.  “I do not mean anything wrong.”

“And yet you slander your best child.”

Say Koitza began to sob.

Shotaye continued, angrily,—­

“You may well weep!  Whoever speaks ill of his own blood, as you do, ought to be sad and shed tears forever.  Listen to me, koitza.  Okoya is good; he will not betray anybody, and least of all his mother.  And hear my words,—­Mitsha also is good; as good as her father is bad, as wise as her mother is foolish.  Even if Okoya had found the feathers, and had told makatza of it, she would keep it to herself, and the secret would lie buried within her heart as deep as if it rested beneath the nethermost rock on which the Tetilla stands.  And in the end let me tell you,”—­she raised her head defiantly and her eyes flashed,—­“if Okoya likes the girl and she wants him, they are sure to come together.  You cannot prevent it; neither can Tyope, the tapop, the Hotshanyi,—­not even the whole tribe!  Those on high hold the paths of our lives; they alone can do and undo, make and unmake.”

Say wept no more.  She was convinced, and lifted her eyes again.