From the rock dwellings of the Turkey people there was a gentle declivity to the houses which the clan Tyame had constructed against the perpendicular wall of the cliffs.  Okoya walked rapidly; now that he had started, he longed to reach Mitsha’s home.  Children still romped before the houses; on the roofs entire families were gathered, loudly talking, laughing, or singing.  Some of them had even built small fires and cooked their evening meal in the wonderfully cool and invigourating air.  The terrace of the abode whither Okoya directed his steps was deserted, but a ray of light passed through the opening in the front wall.  Nothing seemed to stir inside when the boy approached.

Had Okoya glanced at that little opening he might have discerned a woman’s face, which looked out of it for a moment and then disappeared within.  Had he stepped closer to the wall he might have heard a woman’s voice inside calling out in a low tone,—­“Mitsha, he is coming!” But he neither looked nor listened; he was barely able to think.  His feelings overpowered him completely; wrapped in them he stood still, lost in conflicting sentiments, a human statue flooded by the silvery moonlight.

Somebody coughed within the house, but he did not hear it.  Again the face appeared in the small, round air-hole.  Okoya had his face turned to the east and away from the wall of the house.  At last the spectator within thought that the boy’s musings were of a rather long duration, and she called out,—­

“Sa uishe, opona!”

He started and looked toward the dwelling, but saw only two black points peeping through the port-hole.  Again the voice spoke,—­

“Why don’t you come in, mot[=a]tza?” Now he became conscious that Hannay was calling him into her home.

His first impulse was to run away, but that was only a passing thought; and it became clear to him that he had reached the place whither he was going, and furthermore that the women were alone.  Without a word of reply he climbed the roof and nimbly down into the apartment.  He was still on the ladder when Hannay repeated the invitation,—­

“Opona, sa uishe.”

His greeting was responded to by a loud and warm “Raua, raua” from the mother, and a faint, slightly tremulous “Raua [=a]” from another voice, which from its softness could only be that of Mitsha.  The room was dark, for the fire was about to go out; but beside the hearth cowered a female figure who had placed fresh wood on the embers and was fanning them with her breath.  It was Mitsha.  At the entrance of the visitor, she quickly stroked back the hair that streamed over her cheeks and turned her face half around.  But this was for a moment only; as soon as the wood caught fire and light began to spread over the room she again blew into the flames with all her might.  It was quite unnecessary, for the fire burned lustily.

Hannay stood in the middle of the floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  Stepping up to the boy she said,—­