drawn by some subtile excitement of the soul which she could not have fathomed had she tried—which she did not try to fathom.
Around her slim, graceful figure was draped the glossy, black pelt of Nagoola—another trophy of the prowess of her man. It half concealed but to accentuate the beauties of her form.
With eyes half-closed she took a half dozen graceful, tentative steps. Now the eyes of Thandar and several others were upon her, but she did not see them. Suddenly, with outthrown arms, she commenced to dance, bending her lithe body, swaying from side to side as she fell, with graceful abandon, into steps and poses that seemed as natural to her as repose.
About the little circle she wove her simple yet intricate way, and now every eye was upon her as every savage heart leaped in unison with her shapely feet, rising and falling in harmony with her lithe, brown limbs.
And of all the hearts that leaped, fastest leaped the heart of Thandar, for he saw in the poetry of motion of the untutored girl the proof of her birthright—the truth of all that he had guessed of her origin since her foster father had related the story of her birth upon his death bed. None but a child of an age-old culture could possess this inherent talent. Any moment he expected her lips to break
